Amortentia
by olivieblake
Summary: Will they or won't they? Oh, they will. Fluff for when you need it. Romantic short stories, multiple pairings, mostly Dramione but some by request. Includes Bachelorette, Reunion, and The Real World: Hogwarts series.
1. Moves

**Amortentia**

 _ **Summary:** Will they or won't they? Oh, they will. Fluff for when you need it. Romantic drabbles, multiple pairings, mostly Dramione but some by request._

 _ **Disclaimer:** I do not own these characters. Credit where credit is due, Joanne Rowling._

 _ **A/N:** Amortentia will be a collection of romantic drabbles, some sexually explicit, some not; mixed pairings, mixed universes, etc. Each drabble/one-shot will be labeled with the title, pairing, universe, rating, and summary. There will be no tragedies here. Fluff only. Enjoy!_

* * *

 **Table of Contents:  
** _(Updated as new chapters are added)_

 **Humor Series**

5 | _Bachelorette_ , Pt. I of V, Dramione (Draco x Hermione)  
7 | _Bachelorette_ , Pt. II of V, Dramione (Draco x Hermione)  
9 | _Bachelorette_ , Pt. III of V, Dramione (Draco x Hermione)  
12 | _Bachelorette_ , Pt. IV of V, Dramione (Draco x Hermione)  
13 | _Bachelorette_ , Pt. V of V, Dramione (Draco x Hermione)  
21 | _Reunion_ , Pt. I of IV, Ensemble Pairings (Dramione, Ronsy, Blinny, Nottgrass, Pottgood)  
24 | _Reunion_ , Pt. II of IV, Ensemble Pairings (Dramione, Ronsy, Blinny, Nottgrass, Pottgood)  
25 | _Reunion_ , Pt. III of IV, Ensemble Pairings (Dramione, Ronsy, Blinny, Nottgrass, Pottgood)  
73 | _Reunion_ , Pt. IV of IV, Ensemble Pairings (Dramione, Ronsy, Blinny, Nottgrass, Pottgood)  
18 | _Marauders Doing Everyday Things_ , Ep. I (Marauders)  
20 | _Drunk Epilogue Rewrite_ (Canon pairings)  
29 | _Drunk Rewrite_ , Pt II: The Forest Again (Canon pairings)  
35 - 59 | _The Real World: Hogwarts_ , Ensemble Pairings  
65 | _Drunk History: The Voldemort Wars_ , Part I (No pairing)  
68 | _Drunk History: The Voldemort Wars_ , Part II (No pairing)  
76 - 95 | _The Real World: Ministry of Magic_ , Ensemble Pairings

 **Dramione one shots**

2 | _Mousetrap_ , Pt. I of II, Dramione (Draco x Hermione)  
3 | _Mousetrap,_ Pt. II of II, Dramione (Draco x Hermione)  
4 | _Reparations_ , Dramione (Draco x Hermione)  
11 | _Wedding Dates_ , [background pairing] Pottgrass / Ronsy (Harry x Daphne, Ron x Pansy)  
19 | _Below the Surface_ , Dramione (Draco x Hermione)  
27 | _How to Lose Her_ , Dramione (Draco x Hermione)  
28 | _Ride or Die*_ , Dramione (Draco x Hermione)  
60 | _Correspondence_ , Dramione (Draco x Hermione)  
63 | _Pirate Queen_ , Dramione (Draco x Hermione)  
64 | _Better If You Run_ [background pairing] (Theo x Harry)  
66 | _Paradox_ ¹, Dramione (Draco x Hermione)  
69 | _Rook_ [background pairing] (Theo x Daphne)  
72 | _Valour,_ Dramione (Draco x Hermione)  
96 | _A Gentleman's Guide to Incandescence,_ Dramione (Draco x Hermione)  
100 | _The Commoner's Guide to Bedding a Royal_ ², Dramione(Draco x Hermione)  
101 | _Reverie_ , Dramione (Draco x Hermione)

 **Mixed Pairing one shots**

6 | _Toothbrush_ , Hinny (Harry x Ginny)  
11 | _Wedding Dates_ , Pottgrass / Ronsy (Harry x Daphne, Ron x Pansy)  
16 | _American Boys_ , Theomione (Theo x Hermione)  
14 | _Locker Room_ , Viktevra (Ginny x Krum)  
22 | _Chaotic Good**_ , Hansy (Harry x Pansy)  
23 | _Happenstance_ , Tomione (Tom x Hermione)  
26 | _Chimera_ , Sevmione (Severus x Hermione)  
32 | _Three Wishes_ , Krumione (Viktor x Hermione)  
33 | _Better_ , Parkweasel (Percy x Pansy)  
34 | _The Fairer Sex_ , Hidden Pairing  
61 | _Movements_ , Black Pansy (Sirius x Pansy)  
62 | _The List_ , Pottgrass (Harry x Daphne)  
64 | _Better If You Run_ , Nottpott (Theo x Harry)  
67 | _Battle of the Bands_ , Lucissa (Lucius x Narcissa), Mulcibery (Darian x Caleb), Wolfstar (Sirius x Remus), Jily (James x Lily), Tedromeda (Ted x Andromeda)  
69 | _Rook_ , Nottgrass (Theo x Daphne)  
70 | _Wonderland_ , Tomcissa (Tom x Narcissa)  
71 | _Beast_ , Jily (James x Lily), Wolfstar (Sirius x Remus)  
74 | _S.P.E.W._ , Themione friendship (platonic Theo x Hermione)  
75 | _Vive le Tour_ , Mulcibery (Darian x Caleb), Nottpott (Theo x Harry)  
97 | _Survival Techniques_ , Parkweasel (Pansy x Percy), Nottgrass (Theo x Daphne)  
98 | _Things About You,_ Nottgrass (Theo x Daphne)  
99 | _Death Wish,_ Nottpott (Theo x Harry)  
102 | _Convenient Ways to Kill a Man_ , hidden pairing  
103 | _Primo_ , Nottpott (Theo x Harry)  
104-106 | _Rebel North_ , Jily (James x Lily)

 **This World or Any Other Storyverse ( _Clean/Marked/Youth_ )**

1 | _Moves_ , Nottgrass (Theo x Daphne)  
8 | _The Story_ , Dramione (Draco x Hermione)  
10 | _Epilogue_ , Dramione (Draco x Hermione)

 **Stories that have been moved to _Draught of Living Death_ :**

15 | _Not With a Bang_ (hidden pairing)  
17 | _100 Days_ , Dramione (Draco x Hermione)  
30 | _Perchance to Dream_ , Pottgrass (Harry x Daphne)  
31 | _Birds_ , Regulene (Regulus x Marlene)

* Now a complete multi-chaptered fic: _Ride or Die_  
** Now a complete multi-chaptered fic: _Nobility  
_ ¹ Now a complete multi-chaptered WIP: _Paradox  
_ ² Now a multi-chaptered WIP: _The Commoner's Guide to Bedding a Royal_

* * *

 **Moves**

 _Pairing:_ Nottgrass (Theo x Daphne)

 _Universe:_ _This World or Any Other_ storyverse ( _Clean/Marked_ )

 _Rating:_ M for sexual content, language

 _Summary:_ Daphne Greengrass is tired of being put on a pedestal. Enter Theo Nott.

* * *

This was not the best party Daphne had ever been to. Not the worst, either, but certainly leaning more towards that end of the spectrum. She had fervently hoped that coming of age and entering the social scene would be a little more exciting, but really, it was more of the same. The only difference was that now, she _had_ to be there, smiling politely while her parents discussed her pedigree, offering her up to the rich and inbred like she was some kind of prized livestock. It was exhausting.

 _Top of her house, you know._

Not true. Pansy's grades were better.

 _She would have been a shoo-in for prefect if not for ridiculous politics._

If you consider "having less merit than other possible options" to be politics, then yes.

 _Comes from beautiful stock, as you can see._

She half expected her father to strip her naked and gesture enthusiastically to her breasts and thighs. It was only a matter of time.

She sighed, growing bored with her surroundings. It was still fairly early in the night, so she had a considerably long time to waste; unfortunately, Pansy wasn't there, and Astoria was still too young for these things, so Daphne was left to her own devices.

She looked around the room, admiring the ceiling of Narcissa Malfoy's charmed ballroom. It was a beautiful home. Unlikely to be hers, of course; not that she was all that unhappy about it. She'd held tight to her virginity until curiosity had gotten the better of her, and she thought she'd chosen well in Draco. They were highly compatible in looks, for one. There was no denying he was exceedingly handsome, and he was only improving over time. He would have been an ideal match in every way her parents considered important - wealthy, well-bred, well-mannered - and not exactly a worst case scenario as far as Daphne was concerned. Smart, attractive - and the sex hadn't been _unpleasant_ , per se. She just wanted someone who was going to be a little more in love with her than they were with themselves.

So Draco was out.

They agreed to keep their single tryst between them, and she hadn't done anything with anyone else since then. Not that she'd really felt that compelled, if she were being honest. Her other options weren't exactly ideal, and she figured she could manage to wait until someone interesting came along. Everyone she knew at this point was either a moron, an outright snob, or they were constantly putting her on a pedestal. Either they advised her that she should bed them because of how impressive they were, or they insisted that she should love them without question because of their mindless devotion.

She wanted neither.

Was it so _hard_ to just be genuine?

She looked around the room. Draco was there, but busy. Elsewhere. She didn't particularly care. Marcus Flint was there - _again_. Giving her eyes, of course.

She shifted away. No thank you.

She heard a small cough behind her, and then someone sidled up next to her.

"These things are fucking murder, aren't they?"

Daphne looked over to make eye contact with Theo Nott, whom she hadn't even noticed was at the party. Not that anyone ever seemed to notice Theo Nott. Certainly not Daphne. He wasn't particularly . . . well, _notable_ , was he?

 _Well dressed, at least_ , she remarked internally, biting her lip appreciatively at his elegantly cut dress robes.

A shame he was so . . . what was a nice way to say it? _Slender_ , she supposed.

"Could be better," she allowed, giving him a disinterested shrug.

"Here," he said, handing her a small flask.

"What's this?" she asked, wrinkling her nose.

"Firewhiskey," he replied. "You look like you need it. I nearly always do."

She pursed her lips, flashing him a look of haughty skepticism. "Really?" she asked drily. "So you're, what - a bad boy?"

"That's Draco's move," he corrected her, bringing the flask to his lips and tossing it back. "I'm actually wonderful."

"Draco's move, hm?" she murmured, fighting a smile. "Okay. So what's yours?"

"I don't need moves," he told her, giving her an impertinent smirk.

She let her eyes travel deliberately up and down his lithe frame, lingering on his narrow chest as he stretched out languidly, leaning casually against the wall.

"Actually, you kind of do," she said, lightly admonishing him in her most aristocratic tone.

To her surprise, he laughed.

"I might need them," he admitted. "But I suspect you've seen all the moves already, haven't you?"

"A few." She sighed, putting her hand out. "Fine. I'll have a drink."

"There you go," he said jovially, putting the flask in her hand and grinning at her as she took a sip, grimacing as it went down. "Daphne Greengrass, witch gone wild."

"Don't," she threatened, giving him a look. "This doesn't mean I like you."

"Oh, I know that," he agreed. "I mean, you do like me, but I would hardly consider this my primary evidence."

"I didn't realize you were collecting evidence," she remarked faintly, unimpressed.

Okay. A _little_ impressed.

He looked around. "Walk with me," he suggested.

"Why?"

"You don't like to sit still," he said, shrugging.

She raised a perfectly arched brow. "Me specifically?" she asked dubiously. "I hardly think you'd know."

"Walk with me," he said again, more a recommendation than a request, "and I'll tell you how I know."

She rolled her eyes. "Fine," she conceded. "But only because there's nothing else to do."

"I can't imagine there would be a better reason," he said solemnly, moving to exit the ballroom. "Gardens?"

"This isn't some romantic walk," she warned, though she moved to follow. "Don't think you're going to get anywhere with me."

"It is already not a romantic walk by virtue of me being present," he informed her. "I'm not here for romance. Thoughtful intellectualism, though." He gestured wildly. " _Boatloads_."

"Sarcasm, you mean," she corrected him, feeling the breeze rustle through her auburn hair as they stepped outside. "Not a particularly high form of wit."

"You injure, Greengrass, really," he replied loftily.

Well. She could do worse for entertainment than sparring with Theo Nott, she supposed.

"So," she said. "What do you know about me?"

"Did you only come outside with me to talk about yourself?" he asked, taking another swig from his flask. "I thought you were raised better than that."

She glared at him. "Don't," she said again.

"How about a trade," he offered. "I'll tell you something that I know about you, and in return, you can tell me something you know about me."

"I don't know anything about you," she said, sniffing.

He nudged her slightly. "Same, then," he told her, adopting her arrogant tone.

"Fine." She stopped, turning to face him. "I know you're a too-clever prick with no moves."

"Ouch," he said, grinning again despite the slight. She was almost taken aback by how thick-skinned he was. "Okay. And you, Daphne Greengrass," he said, making good on his promise, "you have your best grades in the classes where we move around a lot. Herbology, Care of Magical Creatures - you know, that ilk. You don't like theory, because like I mentioned before, you don't like to sit still."

She felt her jaw drop - _how did he know that?_ \- but recovered quickly.

"Stalk much?" she managed arrogantly, pivoting to continue their walk. They were well into Narcissa's gardens now, and she could smell the gardenias.

"Your turn," he said with a shrug, and she looked at him in disbelief.

"Seriously?" she asked, and he gave her a curt nod. "Fine."

She paused for a moment, thinking about what she knew about him. Not much, really.

"Is it true your mother died when you were born?" she asked, and she saw him flinch.

"Ouch," he said again. "Heavy."

She offered him a half-hearted head tilt of apology. "I told you I don't know much," she reminded him.

"Fair," he pronounced. "Yes, that's true. And my very aged father, who saw nothing in me but the ghost of his beautiful dead wife" - his tone utterly reeked of bitterness and Daphne could tell this was a sensitive area for him - "never forgave me for it."

"Well, it's not like it was your fault," she said, slightly appalled.

Theo shrugged. "I'm not sure he would agree."

He'd been right. Too heavy.

"Your turn," she reminded him, and he exhaled slowly, nodding with relief.

"You bite your nails and then charm them to look like you don't," he said, and she instinctively reached out and grabbed his shoulder.

"How did you know that?" she demanded, fixing him with a sullen glare.

"You bite them in class when you're thinking, but obviously they're charmed," he said, grabbing her hand from his shoulder and waving it around in front of her. "This can't be what they really look like."

She ripped her hand from his grasp, hiding it behind her back. "Do you just stare at me all day?" she asked, indignant.

"I notice things," he replied evasively. "Your turn."

"You are extremely creepy," she said, pouting.

"Opinion, not fact," he said, shrugging dismissively. "Try again."

She huffed a little. "You - " she paused. "You swear a lot."

"A _lot_?" he echoed, feigning confusion. "Fuck, I hadn't noticed."

"Hilarious," she said, grimacing.

He smiled. He was sort of handsome when he smiled. His eyes were so green.

"I suppose that one can stand," he said, humming with thought as he considered his next observation. "Let's see." He perked up, thinking of something. "You never eat dessert at school, but you do have a stash of Fizzing Whizbees."

"Don't tell me you've been in my room!" she exclaimed, aghast.

"No, no," he said quickly. "Your mum sends them to you every month, and sometimes you have them in your schoolbag."

"They're really good!" she insisted, feeling her cheeks flush. "Better than treacle tart, in my opinion."

"They _are_ good," he agreed. "I'm not judging you."

She squinted at him. He really wasn't, was he?

"Good," she said, nodding firmly.

Okay. He was more than sort of handsome, she supposed, looking at him again. Maybe it was just the moonlight or something.

"Your turn again," he said casually.

"Your eyes are green," she offered, trying to sound aloof and failing tragically. Her stomach flipped a little when he let his tongue trace over the smile on his lips.

"That's true," he said, sparing her the trauma of a sarcastic response.

"Your turn," she said, coughing a little as she ducked to hide her face. How embarrassing. She didn't know what had come over her.

"You're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen," he told her, not breaking eye contact.

Well, she'd certainly heard that one before. Many times. Because, of course, she was beautiful, and not in a subjective way, either. She was classically, proportionally, artistically beautiful; the architecture of her face was flawless. But there was something about the way it sounded when it was Theo Nott who said it. It was effortless. Factual. Not a trace of irony or ulterior motives. Just a small thing, some little observation that he'd thought about before. An easy, passing remark, like he knew she knew it - the same way he knew she liked Fizzing Whizbees - but wanted to tell her anyway.

"You've been wanting to tell me that all night," she said, hazarding a rather safe guess.

He shrugged. "Six years if we're doing the math, but who's counting?"

She smiled. It was her first real smile all night.

"You won't be able to trick me into anything with flattery, you know," she said, playfully tapping his arm.

"I don't have to," he said loftily. "Want to hear something else about you?"

"Sure," she said, suddenly conscious of his proximity to her. They had stopped walking several minutes ago and now stood face to face, alone in the garden.

His mouth twitched into a smirk. "You want to kiss me," he informed her.

"Big words from someone who hasn't even tried," she mocked, lifting her chin defiantly. She didn't want to give him the satisfaction of being right.

Though he was. Stupid Theo Nott.

"And deprive you of the honor?" he asked, catching her chin in his hand and running his thumb across her lower lip. "Never."

She could hear her blood rushing in her ears, felt her heart pounding in her chest. Stupid Theo Nott.

"Only if you want to," he whispered.

 _Strange_ , she thought. He meant it. He wasn't going to pressure her. That much was obvious, as she watched him swallow with difficulty.

Oh, hell. Why not.

She tentatively lifted her chin, touching her lips to his. It was gentle, soft, experimental - almost not a kiss at all. Almost nothing more than him being the air she breathed, her just _being_ there, next to him, with him, _touching_ him - a brush of curiosity, and then she pulled away.

"Is it my turn again?" she asked, dazed.

"I have no fucking idea," he mumbled incoherently, closing his eyes and touching his forehead to hers.

"Kiss me instead," she suggested, and he didn't hesitate.

His lips were soft but commanding and she could taste the firewhiskey on his breath, the spice of it filling her mouth in a way that stirred excitement she'd never felt before. His kiss was dizzying in the best of ways and when he let the tip of his tongue trace across her lip, she slid her tongue along his, inviting him. Coaxing him. His hands were on her waist and she slid them up along her gown, taking his hands and placing them over her breasts. He inhaled sharply against her mouth and she smiled in spite of herself.

 _Not always so confident, are we, Theo Nott?_

"Come on," she whispered, pulling him a little bit further and stepping into the gazebo in the garden. She'd been here often enough to know her way around the Manor's manicured grounds, and while there was no chance of being seen among the gardenias, there was no reason to disregard romance entirely. This place was beautiful.

He pressed her against a pillar, moving to kiss her neck and she slid her hand against his stomach, starting to unbutton his shirt. He wasn't as muscular as Draco or some of her other suitors but he was firm and sturdy under her touch, and she felt his abs contract as she brought her fingers to the waistband of his trousers.

A little clever maneuvering from her quick fingers and she had his full length in her hand.

"Daphne," he hissed, gasping a little as she slid her palm against it. "Are you - "

"I'm sure," she told him, and she was. _Quite_ sure.

He pulled her towards him, wrestling with her gown to bring his hands to her thighs, running them along her legs and then gently putting her against the low fencing, propping her up. She wrapped her long legs around him, giggling a little at his haste, tugging the hair at the back of his head to catch a glimpse of his green eyes, darkened with longing.

"Slow down," she told him, kissing him slowly, languorously. "Take your time."

He was a quick learner. He brought his hands up to the top of her gown, letting his thumbs trace the outline of her neckline and slipping them under the fabric, teasing her nipples as he bent to kiss her neck.

"Better?" he asked, and she nodded.

He let his mouth travel lower until he'd peeled the dress away from the top of her breast, taking her nipple in his mouth and flicking his tongue over it. She moaned a little at that, leaning back and pulling him towards her, returning her attention to her ministrations along his hardened length. In response, he bit down a little, sucking against her skin.

Who knew he had it in him?

His hands slipped back under her gown, pushing aside the lace of her underwear as he let his index finger circle her opening, teasing her. Torturing her.

"Faster than _that_ ," she gasped, leaning into his touch.

He grinned, taking her clit between his fingers and waiting for her tell-tale whimper.

"As the lady wishes," he murmured, lifting her gown up to her thighs and dropping to his knees.

His breath on her inner thighs brought her a mystifying elation that she'd never known and she gladly parted her legs, reaching down to take a tight handful of his thick, dark hair. He sunk his teeth into her thigh and she gasped, stumbling back against the railing as he roughly pushed her knees further apart, simultaneously bringing his mouth to her clit and slipping his finger inside her.

She let her head fall back, limp at the feel of his tongue against her, knowing her legs were shaking and wondering how much longer she could stand. There was a pulsing inside her that she hadn't known could exist; a tiny, mystifying ball of agonizing pleasure that nagged at her for escape.

"Theo," she said, raking her fingers through his hair. "Theo, I - "

He abruptly came to his feet, turning her around and keeping his hand against her, slipping his fingers inside her and then bringing them back to rub against her clit, his movements crude and rapid and anything but gentle.

"Yes," she managed. "There - like that - "

She leaned back into his chest, enjoying it. She wasn't a delicate flower, after all. She found she was quite enjoying him being a little rough with her.

"Your cock, Theo," she said, turning to mutter in his ear. "I want your cock."

"I'm not the only one with a filthy mouth," he mused, complying. Some readjustment on his part and then he was inside her, buried into her in a single thrust, his hand still relentless against her clit and she was speechless, so close to the edge she thought she might explode.

Was this how it was supposed to feel? She didn't know. She didn't care. Whatever this was, it was bliss. It was savage and wild and untamed bliss.

"There, yes - _yes_ , yes - Theo, _yes_ \- "

He brought his free hand to her mouth and she bit down hard as she came, every muscle in her body suddenly finding release, shaking as she heard him stifle a groan into her hair, twitching against her and staggering forward, bracing them both with one arm against the pillar.

It took almost a full minute for even a partial recovery.

"We can't date, you know," she panted, still relying on him to remain upright.

"Oh I don't want to date," he said, gasping for breath. "Can you imagine, if I had to date you? Flowers and makeup sex and all that? Exhausting."

"Too much," she agreed, tipping her head back against him.

He kissed her slowly, sweetly.

"I realized there is one thing I don't know about you," he commented when they broke apart.

"I find that hard to believe," she remarked, rolling her eyes.

He chuckled against her skin. "Just one thing," he said, and she smiled.

"Go ahead," she murmured.

He shifted, wrapping his arms around her. "I don't know your move," he said regretfully.

"I don't need moves," she told him, and he laughed.

"No," he agreed, pressing his lips to her shoulder. "No, you certainly don't."

* * *

 **a/n:** fluffy Dramione to come in the next day or so. Thanks for reading!


	2. Mousetrap, Part I of II

**Mousetrap, Part I**

 _Pairing:_ Dramione (Draco x Hermione)

 _Universe:_ Post-Hogwarts, EWE

 _Rating:_ M for language, implied sex, implied masturbation

 _Summary:_ Based loosely on the plot of the movie " _Sleeping With Other People._ " Hermione is dealing with her "love addiction" (read: pining) for Ron, who's long since moved on; Draco is sleeping with everything that moves. When they run into each other 6 years after the war, they both manage to find a little healing.

* * *

"Are you fucking kidding me, Draco?" Astoria shrieked, pointing her wand at him. " _Affligo_!"

He ducked her spell, lunging around a pillar. "Would you stop for a second, _please_?" he panted. "Just let me talk to you."

"What can you possibly say this time, Draco?" she said angrily, tossing another hex his way. "My best friend? My _best friend?_ "

"I'd like to remind you once again that _you_ agreed to this arrangement," he shouted, peeking around to see if she was listening and then narrowly missing a particularly vicious stinging jinx. "I told you I wasn't looking for a relationship, and you _agreed_ \- "

"Yeah, _three months ago!"_ she yelled, blasting off a chunk of the pillar he hid behind. "I thought - "

"You thought what? That I'd change my mind?" he asked drily, darting away as the pillar started to crack and then leaping to duck behind a table. "Astoria, listen to me. I know you agreed to it because you thought it would make you sound, I don't know - hip and appealing - "

"Fuck you, Draco!"

" - but seriously, either you were never interested in a relationship to begin with and you just _think_ we should be in one because of, I don't know, _society_ , which is ridiculous - "

" _Alveusio!"_

" - or, _or_ , you thought I would change my mind, which makes you totally unrealistic," he concluded, putting his hands up. "Would you please just listen to me?" he begged. "You know, have an adult conversation with me?"

"Fine," she spat, and he poked his head out from behind the table, hands still raised.

"I'm sorry," he told her, and he was. Sort of. "But to be fair, I didn't know she was your best friend - "

Astoria raised her wand again. "What the _fuck -_ "

"Stop, stop," he said hastily, motioning his desperate surrender. "Stop, just listen to me, would you?" At her silence, he frantically continued. "I didn't break any rules here, okay? I mean, I know you're unhappy that it was Tracey - "

"Don't say her fucking name," she snarled, her fingers white where she gripped her wand.

"Fine," he said hurriedly. " _Fine_. I know you're unhappy about who it was, but come on, Astoria. Be real for a minute. You were never serious about me," he reminded her. "You wanted to have fun and we are having fun. _Lots_ of fun. You can't just change the rules just because you're upset."

"I didn't realize you'd need to have fun with other witches, too!" she exclaimed, her chest heaving.

"Look, the opportunity presented itself, and I went with it," he said, semi-regretfully. "I'm sorry, really, but listen. Don't pretend this is more than what it is, okay?" He looked meaningfully at her. "But regardless of our arrangement, you don't hold a candle to her, Astoria. She's got nothing on you."

Astoria sighed heavily, slowly calming down.

"I mean it," he said gently, beginning to crack a smile as he watched her lower her wand. "But look at it this way," he suggested. "Isn't this an excellent opportunity for you to, I don't know" - he shrugged, feigning innocence - "slip out of that dress and let me show you how sorry I am?"

A slow smile started to spread across her face and he relaxed, letting his arms fall to his side.

"Fuck you, Draco," she said sweetly, right before she hit him with a wrathful swarm of conjured bees.

* * *

"You look beautiful, Hermione," Cormac said fondly, reaching out to touch her wrist. "I can't believe it's already been three months."

"Yes," she said, shifting uncomfortably. "I can hardly believe it myself," she added faintly.

"Sorry, I interrupted you," he said jovially, turning briefly to gesture to the waiter. "Firewhiskey, please?"

"Right," she said hesitantly, once she'd regained his attention. "Yes, well. There's - " she bit her lip. "There's something I need to tell you."

"Something good, I hope," he said, flashing her his too-charming grin. "Worthy of the occasion?"

"Er," Hermione said, nervously letting her tongue drag across her lip. "Um. Maybe if you just let me get it out, all in one go?"

"Certainly," he said, reaching out for her hand. "Go ahead."

"We probably shouldn't, you know, hold hands," she said anxiously. "Just - just let me get through this."

He seemed to finally register that something was wrong.

"What is it?" he asked, his tone suspicious.

"Well," Hermione said, taking a deep breath. "It's been pointed out to me that I've been - well. Less than admirable," she confessed, struggling to get through the statement. "I think perhaps I need to tell you - " She paused.

"Tell me what?" he demanded, leaning forward. "What is it?"

"I'm so sorry, Cormac," she said, her cheeks flushing. "It's just that - it's just that I slept with someone else."

"Firewhiskey?" the waiter asked, suddenly appearing and setting a glass down in front of each of them. "Anything else?"

"You cheated on me?" Cormac repeated, and the waiter's face went pale.

"Nothing then, okay," he said, hastily exiting the conversation.

"Yes, and I'm _so_ sorry," Hermione said, cringing. To be honest, she was rather relieved to have it out in the open. "Cormac, really, I mean it - I never meant to hurt you - "

"How many times?" he asked.

An odd question, in her estimation.

"Sixteen?" she hazarded, tilting her head to think. "More than a dozen, but less than twenty. I think," she added.

He gaped at her. " _Sixteen_ people? Merlin, Hermione - "

"No, no," she said frantically. "Just - just one person, but, you know, sixteen times - "

"Who?" he demanded, bringing his fists down in a loud bang against the unsteady table. "Who was it?"

"Nobody," she said, biting her lip again. She couldn't name him. It would be in the papers if she did.

"Hermione - "

"I'm sorry!" she cried. "It's - it's like an addiction, okay? I'm trying to fix it - I'm trying to come clean to you so that I can _do_ something about it - "

"An addiction?" he echoed, sneering. "Fuck, Hermione."

"It's real!" she squeaked. "I - I talked to a muggle therapist, and it's - it's called a love addiction, but - I think there's something to be done about it - "

"Oh fuck _that_ , Hermione," he growled, throwing his napkin on the table in disgust. "You're not an addict."

She faltered. "But - "

"You're not an addict," he repeated, giving her a last look of revulsion. "You're just a whore."

He disapparated on the spot and she bent her head over her plate, sniffing quietly.

She pulled the galleon out of her pocket, tapping it with her wand.

"Hi," she wrote, though she didn't expect a response.

The coin glowed within a minute.

"Where are you?"

She let out a ragged exhalation, feeling the rush she always did when she heard from him. Every once in a blue moon.

"Come get me, Ron."

She waited.

"I'm with her right now. I'll be by your place after midnight."

She sighed shakily. Good enough.

* * *

Ginny slammed the small glass of firewhiskey on the table, making a face that was equal parts utter disgust and boundless ecstasy.

"I'm _so_ glad you were able to come out tonight," she said, coughing and nudging Hermione. "I love that tiny baby but I _swear_ , he's already a little shit - "

"How is James?" Hermione asked, daintily sipping her wine.

"He cries, he shits, he's the miracle of life," Ginny proclaimed, gesturing to the barkeep. "Another, please!"

"Slow down," Hermione said, laughing. "We have all night."

"Not true," Ginny grunted, sighing. "Harry's not exactly confident with handling James. He could send his stupid deer-faced Patronus in here at any moment - ' _Ginny, he's crying, what now?'_ " she mimicked, and Hermione had to admit, it was a very solid impression.

"Could be worse," Hermione suggested, shrugging. "You could still be sleeping with your engaged ex-boyfriend."

"Hermione," Ginny said, aghast. "Not Ron _again -_ "

"Just the one time," Hermione said, hanging her head. "But then I heard about the engagement, so, you know," she trailed off lamely.

"You know, he's my brother and I love him," Ginny reminded her, "but he's a real shit, and I'm getting pretty tired of keeping your secrets. I like Lavender," she added. "I mean, I'm sorry things didn't work out between you two, obviously, but - "

"It wasn't meant to be," Hermione concluded. "I know. I'm coming to terms with it."

"Are you?" Ginny asked skeptically, picking up the firewhiskey as it was set down in front of her. "Hold on." She vigorously knocked it back, then hiccuped. "What was I saying?"

"You were doubting me," Hermione said primly.

"Right," Ginny proclaimed. "I mean, have you tried getting back out there?"

"I'm not really into the idea of dating," Hermione said, wrinkling her nose. "Cormac calling me a whore was kind of a downer."

"I didn't say _dating_ ," Ginny corrected her. "What you should be doing is _fucking_."

"Ginny!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Oh, hush," Ginny said, frowning. She looked around the tavern. "Maybe there's someone in here you can fuck."

Hermione buried her face in her hands. "Ginevra Weasley Potter, will you _please_ not do this right now - "

She looked up at the sound of Ginny's gasp.

"Look," Ginny said, pointing. "Look who it is! _Perfect_."

Hermione looked up to catch a glimpse of silvery blond hair, a bent head that was so pale it could almost be white from a distance.

"No," she grumbled, immediately turning away. "Absolutely not."

"It's _Malfoy_!" Ginny exclaimed, giggling. "Hermione. Hermione." She nudged the horrified brunette. "You should fuck _him_."

"Please stop," Hermione begged. "Please. I will do anything."

"Fuck him and I'll stop," Ginny said, grinning maniacally. "Please." She dramatically clasped her hands together, begging Hermione. "It would make my night, seriously - "

"He _hates_ me," Hermione reminded her. "And you're drunk."

"Oh, too true," she agreed. "The drunk part. But we're older now," she said pointedly. "He's already spoken publicly about his change of heart about blood status, remember? And to be honest, I doubt he ever really _hated_ you."

"He did," Hermione said grimly, frowning into her glass. "And more importantly, I hate _him_."

"Only your brain does," Ginny told her. "And your brain doesn't really need to be involved."

"Ginny!"

" _Look_ at him, Hermione!" Ginny said longingly, practically drooling onto the bar. "I love Harry more than life itself but _Merlin_ , what I would do to see what's under those robes, I swear - "

"I'm leaving," Hermione said abruptly, standing. "I can't be here, this is ridiculous - "

"That you, Granger?"

 _Oh, hell._

He was coming towards them, Theo Nott strutting smugly at his side.

"Well, well," Malfoy said, grinning at her. "Look who's out of the library."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "We're not at Hogwarts anymore, Malfoy," she said irritably. "And I was just leaving."

"You should stay," Theo advised. "Have a drink."

"Agreed," Ginny said, an obnoxious smile slapped across her face. "You need to stay. I can't entertain these two all by myself, you know," she added, lifting her left hand. "Seeing as I'm all wifed up."

"Same!" Theo exclaimed, lifting his own left hand. "Who?"

"Harry," Ginny said. "Of the Potter variety. You?"

"Daphne," Theo returned. "Of the Greengrass ilk."

"Babies?"

"Yes, in fact. Twins. You?"

"Yes! Bab _y_ , just the one, but feels more like twelve - "

They were babbling together while Hermione pointedly avoided Malfoy's glance.

"Let me buy you a drink, Granger," he suggested, uncharacteristically polite.

"I can buy my own drinks, Malfoy," she insisted stubbornly.

"Fine," he pronounced. "Buy yourself a drink, Granger, and let's catch up."

"Since when do _you_ want to 'catch up'?" she asked suspiciously, narrowing her eyes at him.

"Since my friend here started talking to your friend, and I've got nowhere else to be," he said, his stormy grey eyes dancing a little as he looked at her. "Come on. I won't bite."

"Maybe you should," Ginny interjected loudly, and she and Theo snorted with laughter.

Hermione sighed. "Fine," she conceded, taking a seat. "A drink. But no biting," she said firmly, and Ginny and Theo howled even louder.

"She hasn't changed a bit, has she?" Theo asked, and Ginny shook her head dramatically.

"Oh, a bit," she said. "Still pretty rigid, though."

"A shame," Theo proclaimed. He was clearly also very drunk.

Hermione rolled her eyes. What was it about new parents already trying to escape their spouses and children?

To her surprise, Malfoy also sighed impatiently. "Ignore him," he said briskly. "Come on. Let's sit over here."

"But - " Hermione sputtered. "I mean, I came here with Ginny - "

"She's in safer hands than you think," Malfoy told her. "Theo is madly in love with his wife, and just wants someone to go wild with him, I think." He grimaced. "Which won't be me."

"Why not?" Hermione asked, following him as he gestured to an open table. "Not interested in going wild?"

"I have work to do in the morning, Granger," Malfoy said irritably. "Important businessman and all that. Can't just frolic all the time."

"I'd heard that," she commented. "The businessman part. And other things about you," she added evasively.

"Good things?" he asked, his eyes laughing as he tipped his still relatively full tankard against his lips.

She shrugged. "Depends," she said impassively.

"On?" he prompted.

"Whether or not you consider the notches on your bedpost to be a good thing," she said, and he choked a little on his mead.

"Damn, Granger," he said, coughing. "Tough critic."

"Not going to deny it?" she asked pointedly, raising her brow.

"I'm sure some of it is overstated," he insisted innocently.

She smirked at him. "Some of it?"

"I mean, statistically speaking, there's got to be a margin of error," he said, flashing her the arrogant smile she remembered from her school days.

Funny. She didn't remember it affecting her this way before, she thought, shifting uncomfortably.

"Good for you, Malfoy," she managed faintly, taking a sip of her drink.

"What's new with you?" he asked. "Sex or otherwise."

"Otherwise," she determined. "I work for the ministry. Legal department."

"I'd heard," he commented. "Doing well."

Sort of.

"For the most part," she agreed, not really interested in sharing.

"Such a _shame_ that things didn't work out with Weasley," Malfoy drawled, and she could see the laughter in his eyes that told her he was mocking her.

"Don't," she warned.

"Sorry, sorry," he said quickly, putting his hands up in mock surrender. "Seriously," he added, and he did look quite serious. "I'm glad you didn't end up with that twat. He was never good enough for you."

She put her glass down, stunned. "What?"

"Well he was a dumb little shit, wasn't he?" Malfoy said, smirking. "He'd have never been able to keep up with you."

"Not that that was the problem," she grumbled.

Malfoy seemed to catch something in either her tone or her expression.

"Not over it?" Malfoy asked gently.

The question was surprisingly inoffensive.

"It's not quite as over as you might think," she said quietly, and then immediately frowned, wondering what had possessed her to share that information with him.

This was _Draco Malfoy_ , arsehole extraordinaire. She hadn't told anyone in the world besides Ginny about what had been going on with Ron. What on earth had come over her?

He was looking at her with blank confusion.

"He's engaged, isn't he?" he asked.

She grimaced. "His moral fiber is not quite as durable as you might think," she said glumly. "And neither is mine, as it turns out."

"Prick," Malfoy declared. "Idiot, too, if you ask me. I'd pick you over Lavender Brown any day of the week."

She didn't know whether to be suspicious of that statement or not.

"What?" she asked, blinking.

"Granger, don't overthink it," he advised, pushing her glass towards her. "Just have another drink."

With more ease than she would have anticipated, she unexpectedly complied.

* * *

"Are we friends now?" she asked, taking another bite of her salad.

"This is, what, the second weekday lunch?" he asked, thinking. "I assume so."

"If anyone asks, it happened against my will," she said, and he smiled.

"This is the thanks I get for letting you tell Weaslette that we made hot, passionate love to each other all night?" he asked her, his tone deceptively innocent.

"While I appreciate that very, very miniscule favor, I think my debt has been paid," she said, gesturing to the meal before them.

Draco had been doing his damndest to spend more time on quality relationships. Specifically, the non-sexual kind. He hadn't recovered all that well from the episode with Astoria - from a healing standpoint, that is; she was a _very_ talented witch - and really, he couldn't afford to be stung by any more conjured bees, so sex was really off the table. And since his male friends were married and his female friends didn't exist, that didn't leave him a lot of options.

As it turned out, Granger's company wasn't half bad. They'd realized at the pub that as fully matured adults, they ended up having a fair amount in common, and he was more pleased than surprised when she'd invited him out for coffee. It seemed her friends, too, were not as available as she would have liked.

Marriage, babies. They were the only ones left without any obvious prospects, and even though it was largely by choice, it was still difficult to be the only ones falling behind. He made a point to never mock her for needing company.

"Maybe we should just have sex," he suggested, and she choked a little on her overlarge forkful of lettuce. "What could it hurt, really?"

"Haven't we already determined that we just ruin any relationship we have once it turns sexual?" she asked pointedly. "No. Thank you, but no."

"Harsh, Granger," he said, but he smiled. "Tough, though, you know. You've really pulled it together," he added, gesturing across the table at her overall appearance.

She rolled her eyes. "Stop."

"I mean it," he said. "Look at you. You look great."

Much to his disappointment, she remained regretfully unaffected by his flattery.

"You do too, but that's hardly the point," she reminded him, her tone so chastely academic that he couldn't even enjoy the compliment. "Don't even think about it."

"Don't think about sex?" he echoed, aghast. "Granger. I don't think you understand how impossible that is."

"Maybe we should come up with a code word," she suggested, taking a sip of gilly water. "You know. For if you're getting too . . . "

"Aroused?" he supplied, grinning.

She grimaced. "Yeah," she said, wrinkling her nose.

"Would you use it too?" he asked, genuinely curious. "The code word?"

She shrugged. "Maybe," she said indifferently. "Never know."

He smirked at her, feeling triumphant. "Like what you see, Granger?"

"You're exhausting," she retorted, rolling her eyes.

"See? There's innuendo there," he said, gesturing. "It's arousing. I'm aroused."

"Stop saying aroused, first of all," she pronounced bossily. "And secondly, we can think of a code word. Like, I don't know." She shrugged. "Treacle tart."

"Oof," he said, making a face. "All sweet and sticky? That's sexy. _Too_ sexy."

She pretended to gag, and he laughed. "Fine," she said. "Devil's snare."

"Whoa!" he half-shouted, sitting back in his chair. "Sex. That has sex implied all over it."

"You're impossible," she said indignantly. "What do you suggest?"

"I don't know. Everything is sexy."

"Ugh." She paused. "Dick in a mousetrap."

"What?" he asked, alarmed. "What the fuck is a mousetrap?"

"It's a muggle contraption," she explained, putting her fork down and placing her hands together to mimic a snapping gesture. "To catch mice."

He pictured his dick in it and winced. "Fuck!" he exclaimed. "That is _dark_ , Granger."

"Perfect," she declared. "You hate it, so mousetrap it is."

"You're really fucked up," he told her.

She smiled at him.

"Mousetrap," she said, shrugging, and then took an excessively large bite.

* * *

"I miss him," she admitted.

"Weasley?" Malfoy asked, scowling. "Gross."

"Stop!" she said, kicking him. They were having a drink at her house, sprawled out on her living room floor. "You're supposed to be understanding."

"Fine," he said, sighing dramatically. He sat up, looking at her curiously. "Why don't you just . . . I don't know." He shrugged. "Try telling me all the things you would say to him."

She made a face. "You won't like it."

"We're friends, right?" he said pointedly, and she bit her lip, considering. He caught the gesture. "Oi! Mousetrap."

"Ugh," she said, rolling her eyes.

"Just try it."

"Fine," she conceded. She looked at his grey eyes, picturing Ron's blue ones. "I miss you."

"Okay," he said. "Not exactly earth-shattering. What else?"

She had to close her eyes for this one. "I miss your cock."

"Mousetrap," he grumbled. "Okay."

She opened one eye, glaring at him. "You _said_ \- "

"No, no, you're right. Keep going."

"I miss your cock. I miss the feel of your hands on my breasts. I miss the way your mouth feels on my - "

"Fucking hell, Granger, what is this?" he asked, and she laughed.

"You suggested it."

"I didn't realize you were going to be so . . . _un_ -Granger," he told her. "I mean, doesn't it feel strange for you to say those things?" At her blank look, he made a face. "Feels so out of character for you."

She sighed wistfully. "He likes me to say those things," she admitted.

"Do _you_?" he asked pointedly, and she frowned.

"I don't know," she confessed. "But I do like the sex. And I miss it."

"How long has it been?"

She shrugged. "Months."

"When was your last orgasm?"

"Um." She looked down. "Well, since I can only have them with _him_ \- "

"No," he declared, jaw falling open. "You mean, you haven't - "

"Malfoy, you know perfectly well I'm not having sex right now - "

"Still!" he shouted, sitting upright. "You're not - you know. Masturbating?"

"Eh," she said, shrugging. "Doesn't feel as good. Feels . . . I don't know. Weird."

"You're probably doing it wrong," he decided. "I'll teach you."

"Whoa!" she exclaimed. "Mousetrap!"

"Calm down, Granger," he said quickly, scanning her living room. "Ah. Here."

He picked up a small jar and crawled over to sit next to her.

"So, for the purposes of this demonstration, this is your vagina," he said, gesturing to the jar. "Say hi."

"No thanks," she said, and he shrugged.

"Your loss," he said indifferently. "Okay, so first, take a finger" - he lifted his index finger, wiggling it in the air - "and put it inside you. You know, think of something sexy first. Whatever."

"Mousetrap," she sighed, but he ignored her.

"See how I'm curling my finger up, right here?" he asked, gesturing. "That spot, right _here_ , it's your g-spot."

"Okay," she said, curious in spite of herself. "And then?"

"Then you want to kind of - feel around the squishy part back there. You'll tap the roof" - he tapped the jar's imaginary g-spot - "and kind of circle the opening back here. Don't know what it's called."

"Masterful," she said carefully, swallowing.

"Anyway, you'll start to get wet at this point. Or at least, if I were doing it, you would," he said, smirking, and he interrupted her before she opened her mouth. "I know, I know. Mousetrap."

"Definitely mousetrap," she warned.

"Anyway, at this point, you know, you'll want to sort of" - he slid his fingers out, rubbing them aggressively against the lip of the jar - "like this, you know? Against the clitoris."

"Mm," she managed. _Mousetrap. Mousetrap._

"You can be rude to it, you know," he informed her. "The clitoris, that is. Don't need to be a lady." He grinned at her. "Personally, I am _never_ a gentleman to the clitoris."

"I believe you," she said, wondering how flushed her cheeks were.

"So, you know," he said, continuing to rub against the jar. "Just sort of . . . " he trailed off, still rubbing.

She met his darkened grey eyes.

"Mousetrap," they both said, and he leapt up.

"Bye," he said awkwardly, disapparating with a loud crack.

* * *

 **a/n:** Sorry to cut it off here, but to do it justice, this needs a second installment. Hope you're enjoying!


	3. Mousetrap, Part II of II

**Mousetrap, Part II**

 _Pairing:_ Dramione (Draco x Hermione)

 _Universe:_ Post-Hogwarts, EWE

 _Rating:_ M for language, implied sex

 _Summary:_ Continuation of _Mousetrap, Part I_.

* * *

She walked into her living room wrapped only in a towel and screeched abruptly at the unexpected presence.

"Malfoy!" she exclaimed, pulling the towel tight around her.

"Let me start by saying that this is your fault," he said quickly, immediately clapping his hands over his eyes. " _You're_ the one who changed your wards to let me in here any time."

She scoffed loudly. "My mistake," she said grumpily. "Anything else you'd like to say?"

"Yes," he mumbled. "Mousetrap."

She shook her head, sighing. "Why are you in my house?" she demanded. "It's Saturday morning, Malfoy, I was going to have a bath and _relax_ \- "

"Mousetrap, mousetrap to all of this," he said, blindly waving one hand in her direction while the other remained over his eyes. "No, Granger, seriously. I need a favor. Please. Take pity on me."

"What is it?" she snapped indignantly. "And you can put your hand down, I'm covered."

"Barely," he said, though he obediently lowered his hand. "I need you to come with me to Theo's house."

She flashed him a highly dubious smirk.

"No," she said tightly. "Get out of my house."

"Please, Granger, please, I promise you, I'll do anything you want," he said, lunging forward and falling to his knees. "Anything." He took her hand in his, giving her a piteous look of utter devotion.

"Mousetrap," she groaned, and he smiled triumphantly. "Why can't you go alone?"

"It's the twins' birthday party and I'm their godfather," he explained.

"And?" she prompted wearily.

"Astoria's their godmother," he said, wincing.

Hermione shook her head. "You're an idiot."

"I'm _your_ idiot." He kissed her hand soundly. "Please, Granger. Please don't make me do this alone."

"I doubt she's going to hex you at a children's birthday party," she told him, privately enjoying the groveling. "I hardly think you need a human shield."

"I thought she was going to be out of town, but Theo owled me this morning to warn me," Malfoy explained. "Apparently she's still rather . . . put out."

"As she should be!" Hermione exclaimed. "Bore me with the technicalities all you want, but if you had just _kept it in your pants_ \- "

He cocked his head at her, smirking. "I'm not sure we've been properly introduced," he said airily. "Pot, is it? I'm kettle."

She huffed. "Touché."

He grunted in discomfort, still groveling at her feet. "Can I stand, please?"

She shrugged. "I think I prefer you on your knees."

"Mousetrap!"

"Fine," she permitted, yanking him up. "Fine."

"So you'll come with me?" he asked, flashing her his most obnoxiously handsome smile.

"When is it?" she asked, pretending to consult her schedule.

"Now."

She gave him a look of supreme displeasure, the kind she normally saved for Harry and - at one time - for Ron. "You owe me."

"Ah!" he cried, pulling her into his arms. "Thank you, thank you." He planted a loud, dramatic kiss on her that landed somewhere near her ear. "You're a goddess, Hermione Granger. An absolute goddess."

"Let me get dressed," she said, sighing dramatically and dragging her way through her flat.

"Um," he said, hurrying forward. "Can I maybe take a look at your closet, you know, just to, er, _see_ \- "

She glared at him. "Are you suggesting I don't know how to dress myself?"

"No, no," he assured her tentatively. "I'm sure whatever you have will be suitable" - he trailed off a bit, starting to mutter regretfully to himself - "for a garden party at Nott Manor, thrown by the woman with the _world's highest standards_ \- "

"Fine," she said, crossing her arms in exasperation. "Go ahead."

" _Goddess_ , you are," he told her apologetically, rushing ahead of her and racing to her room.

He picked out a tasteful summer dress for the occasion - one that she was surprised to find he appreciated, as it had always been a favorite of hers - while she battled her hair, taming it into something resembling submission and then getting yanked into the Floo the moment she set down her mascara.

"Why are you so nervous?" she hissed, knocking into him as they hurriedly stepped out of the fireplace at Nott Manor.

"I just hate these things," he muttered. "The twins are fine, Theo's great, but the whole thing is sure to be stuffy and" - he cut himself off, seeing the hostess. "Daphne!"

"Oh, hi Draco," she said, shifting the little girl in her arms to her hip. "Hermione," she said, surprised, then turned back to the pale blond wizard beside her. "Draco, _please_ tell me you didn't bring her here to rub it in Astoria's face - "

"No, no," Malfoy said quickly. "Granger and I are just friends - she's just here to, you know - " he faltered. "Keep things . . . calm," he decided, settling on a phrase. "And free of conjured bees."

"Oh _please_ ," Daphne scoffed. "You are such a baby," she added, smirking.

Hermione could see now why Malfoy had been concerned with her apparel; Daphne Greengrass - Daphne _Nott_ , now, she supposed - was flawless, her auburn chignon perfectly in place and her dress both clearly expensive and almost unnaturally clean, considering the armful of toddler. Hermione had never seen Ginny be this pulled together since having James - and didn't _this_ woman have _twins_?

"I'm so sorry, Hermione," Daphne said suddenly, interrupting her reverie. "I don't mean to be rude, it really is _lovely_ to have you - "

"Granger!" Theo exclaimed, strutting over to them with his son tossed over his shoulder. "What a surprise!" He glanced at Malfoy and regarded him warily, his eyes darting pointedly between the two of them. "You two aren't - "

" _No_ ," Malfoy said, sighing. "We're just friends. Will you kindly refrain from your blind accusations?" He sniffed. "They offend."

"Fine, fine," Theo relented, smiling casually. "Well let's get the lady a drink, Daph, what do you think?"

"Will you please not toss our son around like he's a sack of potatoes?" Daphne said crossly, following after him and turning to call out to Hermione. "Wait here, Hermione, give me a moment - "

Hermione realized she was smiling. Something about Theo and Daphne was very relaxed - despite their obvious refinement - and the lump of dread that had formed in her stomach at the thought of being in the metaphorical den of snakes slowly loosened.

"The kids are cute," Hermione commented, watching as Daphne handed Theo his daughter. The moment his wife's back was turned, Theo promptly flipped the little girl upside down, letting her giggle shrilly as she dangled above the floor. "What are their names?"

"Alessia and Milo," Malfoy replied, and then grinned fondly at them, watching them cling to their father's legs as Daphne spun around, admonishing her husband at once to _put them down, Theo, for heaven's sake!_ "They're good kids."

"Draco Malfoy," Hermione said, feigning shock. "I never took you for the type to enjoy spending time with children."

He shot her a sideways glance, brow arched. "I could say the same."

"What!" she exclaimed, her forehead creasing. "I'm great with kids! James loves me."

"Not a convincing sample size," he joked, and she rolled her eyes.

"I feel like I am very maternal," she insisted, and he chuckled a little.

"That's true," he allowed, nodding. "I can just see it now - you with a baby on your hip, transfiguring things and filing legal briefs while you read your little frizzy mini-Granger a chapter on Ancient Runes . . . "

"Whereas your mini-Malfoy would be born with a permanent smirk and its nose in the air," she said, and he laughed.

"Enjoying yourself, are you, Draco?"

A very stunning Astoria Greengrass sidled up next to him and he jumped about a foot in the air.

"Ah, Astoria," he said, a little too brightly. "Good to see you! You look - "

"Save it," she snapped.

"Right," he said meekly. "I have to, um - " he glanced apologetically at Hermione before darting away. "Have to help Daphne with the drinks!"

Hermione sighed, and Astoria shook her head.

"Smooth," Hermione commented, and Astoria grimaced.

"Are you sleeping with him?" she asked tightly.

"No," Hermione proclaimed loudly, a derisive snort nearly escaping her. "No. Definitely not."

"Good," Astoria replied, her lips pressed together in a thin, impatient line. " _Don't_."

Upon reaching Daphne and Theo, Malfoy bent to open his arms to his godchildren and they squealed in delight, wrapping their arms around his neck and giggling in his ears.

"They're such happy kids," Hermione remarked.

Astoria nodded. "It helps that their father isn't a monumental twat," she said primly, still staring at Malfoy.

Malfoy held out his hand to tiny, adorable Alessia and kissed it politely, offering her a low, dramatic bow. The little girl - a perfect miniature of her mother - smiled up at him, her large eyes shining with adoration, and Hermione could tell Malfoy was enraptured.

"Mousetrap," she muttered under her breath.

"What was that?" Astoria asked, taking a sip of her beverage.

"Nothing," Hermione said vaguely.

* * *

"This hardly seems like a fair trade, Granger," Draco grumbled in her ear, placing a hand on her back to steer her towards an empty seat. "Everyone here _hates_ me."

"I fended off your ex-girlfriend and hung out with a bunch of Slytherins for you," she reminded him. "How is that not a fair trade?"

"Well for one thing, _neither_ of us wants to be here," he said irritably, taking a seat beside her. "Or are you going to pretend you're enjoying this?"

"I have to be here," she reminded him. "He's my best friend. I can't not go."

" _I'm_ your best friend," Draco corrected her. "He's your ex, and a shitty one at that."

"Hush," she snapped, looking around. "You know I couldn't be here alone."

"I don't know why you couldn't have just skipped this altogether and settled for sending them a very mediocre gift," he muttered, orating an imaginary card. " _Dear Ron and Lavender, have a happy fucking life together, here's a goddamn set of tea cups_."

"Malfoy!" she scolded him, smacking his chest. "Don't be difficult." She sighed. " _Please_ ," she added.

He softened, adjusting to put his arm around her. "Fine," he said in her ear. "If it helps, you look fucking gorgeous." He leaned back to nod approvingly at her, grinning triumphantly. "Eat your heart out, Weasley."

She smiled weakly. "Mousetrap."

"Fuck yeah, mousetrap," he sniffed, smiling to himself as he settled back against the chair.

The wedding was tacky and unpleasant, though Draco had decided that it would be long before he'd even showed up. He'd already hated Weasley more than enough when they were younger, and now the simmering revulsion was practically unbridled on Granger's behalf.

Lavender soon-to-be Weasley's gown was horrific, too. Draco snuck a look at Granger, whose tasteful red dress was perfect. She would surely _never_ wear such a cupcake monstrosity.

 _Mousetrap_ , he scolded himself.

Draco was only barely able to hear Lavender's vows; she sobbed through the whole thing, making them utterly incomprehensible.

"Lav-lav," Weasley began, and Draco nearly gagged. "Over the last few years, we have come a long, long way together - "

Draco looked surreptitiously at Granger; she seemed . . . a tinge green.

" - I promise to love and cherish you for the rest of our lives, to be faithful to you, and to always put you above all others - "

 _What a twat_ , Draco thought, fuming on Granger's behalf, and then looked over to realize she was struggling to breathe, doubled over in her seat.

" - I stand here today with you, the love of my life, to tell you with absolute confidence that you are the only woman I have ever loved - "

Granger did _not_ look good.

"Up, get up," he urged her, pushing her and then half-lifting her in his attempt to unseat her from her chair, hurrying her along the side of the large tent and getting her out of sight.

The moment they'd gotten around to the other side of the Burrow she promptly threw up, coughing and sputtering as he stroked her exposed back in small circles.

"It's okay, Granger, it's okay," he coaxed her, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. "You're okay. I've got you."

"Did you hear him?" she asked bitterly. "Did you hear him say she was the only woman he ever loved?"

"Fuck him," Draco spat, scowling. "He's even dumber than I thought."

"I shouldn't have left the ceremony," she said, sighing as she dragged the back of her hand across her mouth. "Now people will talk."

"Let them talk!" Draco insisted, taking her face between his palms and then smoothing his hands over her shoulders and down her arms. "Fuck Weasley, fuck Brown, fuck everyone. He was never good enough for you," Draco added. " _Never_."

She blinked back tears, and he realized they were holding hands.

"Are we in love with each other?" she asked him.

It probably should have been a more startling realization than it was, but the truth was that he'd already known that for quite some time.

"I think so," he informed her sadly.

She sighed. "But I'm a mess right now."

He nodded. "That's fine." He lifted her chin to get the full benefit of her overlarge brown eyes. "I've always been a mess."

"So . . . should we do nothing?" she asked, biting her lip.

"Probably best," he agreed, nodding. "For now."

She cocked her head at him. "You'll still dance with me at the reception, right?"

"We're _staying_?" he asked, throwing his head back in disbelief. "Fuck _me_ , Granger."

She grinned at him. "Mousetrap."

* * *

"Hermione, I need you to come up to the aurors' offices, right now."

Hermione smirked a little, remembering Ginny's reference to Harry's ill-timed "deer-faced Patronus." Sure, Harry, of _course_ she'd be right there, she wasn't busy _at all_ , she could just come _right up_ , couldn't she?

She sighed, collecting the papers on her desk, tucking them under her arm, and slowly making her way to the Ministry elevator. She figured she might as well finish up her work from home if she was going to be interrupted this late in the day.

"What is it, Harry?" she sighed indignantly, opening the door to his office and striding in without a second glance. "Wait - "

Malfoy was there and so was Ron, who must have only just gotten back from his month long trip with Lavender; it took Hermione a moment to realize that Ron had a black eye and a broken nose, and Malfoy sported a deep gash across his cheek.

"What is this?" Hermione demanded, putting her hands on her hips. "What on _earth_ \- "

"I told you not to call her," Malfoy mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest and addressing Harry. "I take full responsibility, okay? I don't need her to bail me out - "

She shook her head, half-laughing. "What did you do now, Malfoy?"

"Bloody git just attacked me!" Ron said, wincing as his swollen, cut lip brushed against his teeth. "No reason whatsoever - "

"Yeah, _no reason_ ," Malfoy snarled. "Not because you're worthless piece of rubbish, certainly not _that_ \- "

Harry sidled over to Hermione, speaking directly in her ear as Malfoy and Ron continued to goad each other, restrained magically in their respective chairs.

"When I pulled them apart, Malfoy kept saying ' _you hurt my girl_ '," Harry said, a slight tone of amusement reaching his voice. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

"What happened?" Hermione asked, dazed. Malfoy was fuming silently now, his arms still crossed angrily over his chest. He seemed to have gotten quite a few hits in before Harry had separated them; Ron was certainly worse for wear.

"They ran into each other in the hallway," Harry explained. "Malfoy's here for a permit or something, and I guess he, um," Harry paused, running his hand through his hair and laughing a little. "Felt the need for a little vigilante justice."

Vigilante justice. _Hm._

Hermione narrowed her eyes, looking questioningly at Harry. "Do you know something?"

"I know I'm definitely not planning on writing Malfoy up for anything," Harry said casually, offering her an ambivalent shrug. "Can't really blame him for losing his temper. But," he added, grinning mercilessly, "I _also_ couldn't pass up a chance to watch him sweat a little."

She rolled her eyes. "Fine," she said faintly, looking at her hands. "Why didn't you tell me you knew about Ron?"

Harry shrugged. "He's my best friend, and you hadn't told me about it," he said. "It wasn't my place to intervene."

"It's over," Hermione insisted quickly. "Long, long over."

"Oh, I know," Harry assured her, nodding. "Still." He offered her a crooked smile. "Can't say I'm too upset that _someone_ got a punch in, even if it had to be Malfoy."

She sighed, patting Harry's knee gratefully, before walking over to where Malfoy sat, crouching a little to make eye contact with him.

"Is he good to go, Harry?" she called over her shoulder, and Harry nodded.

"What?" Ron sputtered. "But - but he just _attacked_ me, out of bloody _nowhere -_ "

"Before I set you loose," Hermione warned loudly, not taking her eyes off Malfoy's face, "I need to ask you a question."

He sighed, looking down sheepishly as though he expected a lecture. "Go for it, Granger."

"Draco," she said, and at that, he looked up in surprise. "Um - " she bit her lip.

"Mousetrap," he cautioned, and she smiled.

"Marry me," she demanded bluntly, and across the room, Ron let out a strangled gasp.

Malfoy blinked. "I'm . . . not totally sure that counts as a question, Granger," he said slowly, a small smile creeping over his face.

"Hermione," she corrected. "And fine. _Will you_ marry me?"

He grinned at her. "Yes," he told her, nodding vigorously. "Yes, Hermione. _Fuck_ yes."

"Good," she said, smiling, and then she flicked her wand, allowing him to gather her in his arms and sweep her off her feet, her toes dangling above his shoes as he swung her around Harry's office.

"This is a really, really big mousetrap," he told her, finally stopping and hugging her so tightly she thought she might burst. "The _worst_ possible mousetrap."

"Hermione!" Ron exclaimed, though she wasn't listening. "You can't _marry_ him - he's - he's _awful -_ "

"Shut up, Ron," Harry cut him off dreamily, smiling at her from where he leaned against his desk.

* * *

"Holy fucking shit, _mousetrap_ ," Draco gasped, walking into what would soon be their bedroom.

She grinned at him. "You like?" she asked, gesturing to her new lingerie. "I got it for after the wedding."

"I just - I can't even - " he gaped at her, his mouth opening and closing vacantly. "Just - fucking _mousetrap_."

"You don't have to say that anymore," she told him, sauntering over to him and kissing him chastely on the cheek. "In a few hours, you'll be married to me, and then you can have _all_ the sex."

"All of it," he agreed. "I hope I don't disappoint you," he added, smirking at her. "Though I'm absurdly proud of us for waiting."

"Well, we'd already come so far," she said primly, though she smiled rather lasciviously when he put his hands on her waist.

 _Merlin_ , her tiny, perfect waist and all that _lace_ -

"Um, Granger," he said, coughing. "I think I just need to - "

She grinned at him, pulling him forward and kissing him soundly.

"Yes?" she asked, still smiling at him when they broke apart.

He shook his head. "I love you," he said, a preface.

The truest thing he'd ever said. A thing he'd say every day. Forever.

"I love you too," she told him, and she had never been more beautiful, her face alit with pleasure.

 _Fuck it._

"Tell Harry we'll be late," he instructed gruffly, picking her up and tossing her on the bed.

"I already did," she told him, eagerly yanking him on top of her. He groaned appreciatively in response.

"Fucking _mousetrap_ , Granger," he said again, dipping to kiss her neck.

"I think you mean Malfoy," she reminded him, and he smiled against her skin.

Yes.

Yes, he did.

* * *

 **a/n:** I forgot to dedicate the NottGrass drabble, so this one is dedicated to UnicornShenanigans, the one who demands _all_ the drabbles with all the grabby hands. Thanks for reading!


	4. Reparations

**Reparations**

 _Pairing:_ Dramione (Draco x Hermione)

 _Universe:_ AU, canon-compliant up to Battle of Hogwarts

 _Rating:_ T for some implied violence, some graphic images

 _Summary:_ Voldemort won the war and after five years, the Order of the Phoenix is reduced to a chaotic band of troublemakers, struggling to survive without money or resources. Draco is sent to the Malfoy Manor vault to check on a mysterious presence, and what he sees will make him question everything.

* * *

"Draco." His mother stopped, throwing her hand out and reaching for him. "Did you feel that?"

He stopped, stiffening. "The vaults?" he asked, sensing the shift in presence. "Where's Father?"

"Out," Narcissa replied, frowning. She glanced warily at him. "Who else is in the house?"

"Nobody," he said, thinking. "Though I could be wrong." He shrugged. "Want me to take a look, Mother?"

She nodded regally. "If you wouldn't mind, darling," she said airily, patting his shoulder.

He gave her a curt nod and pivoted quickly, heading for the stairs to the vault. He could have apparated there, certainly, as he was given to do when he didn't feel like traversing the expansive, palatial estate that was Malfoy Manor - but life as a Death Eater had taught him it was generally safer to open a door and prepare a defense than to materialize in the midst of a trap.

His feet tapped against the stone as his long legs carried him down the stairs, following the winding and darkened path to the place where the Malfoys stored their treasures.

Draco paused abruptly, holding his breath as he jerked to a sudden halt. The door to the vault was open.

 _How was that possible?_

His father was with the Dark Lord, he knew that; there was a mission of sorts happening. Whoever was here, they weren't welcome.

He edged closer to the door, peeking inside; a very small, petite form was quickly sorting through the gold, tossing handfuls of it into a tiny beaded bag - altered with an undetectable extension charm, Draco guessed - and then taking care to rearrange the piles, making the absence indiscernible.

 _That hair_ . . . but it couldn't be.

Could it?

"Granger?" Draco croaked, his heart thudding wildly in his chest.

She whipped around, gasping, and pointed her wand straight at his chest.

"Malfoy?" she echoed, free hand still grasping the open bag. She coughed loudly, tucking it behind her. "How are you, er - doing?"

He couldn't seem to find the words to speak. "How are you not dead?" he asked bluntly, finally settling on the only coherent thing that came to mind.

She paused, thinking. "Oh, I'm dead," she said seriously. "This is a fantasy. I'm not actually here."

He smirked at her. "You certainly give yourself a lot of credit, Granger," he declared loftily. "Sorry, but you're not really one of my fantasies."

"Ah, well," she said, shrugging. "I tried."

She'd changed. There was a lightness about her, even in the midst of the dystopia that was the Dark Lord's new world. Or maybe Draco was just consumed by darkness, and she had always been the light.

"How are you not dead?" he repeated. "And how did you get in my house?"

"You know, you purebloods think you're _so_ smart," she said musically, taunting him a little with a twist of her pretty mouth. "Blood wards and all that. But you know how easy it is to fool a blood ward?"

She flashed him the inside of her wrist, which was gorily cut and smeared. "A little blood from Harry, a little from Ron, a little from Lavender - and oh, you know. Others here and there," she said casually, listing the sources of her grotesque concoction with a carelessness that nearly made Draco's stomach turn. "You're all related, you know," she said, tsking. "A little clever mixing and _voilà_ \- I'm a Malfoy."

She was grinning mercilessly at him. "Ironic, isn't it?" she asked him, her eyes flashing. "You always mocked me for my blood. And yet if _I_ set a blood ward, I'd be perfectly safe."

"Why are you telling me this?" he asked her, a little dazed by her response.

"Because you're not going to catch me," she told him. "And if you come any closer, I'll just disapparate."

Fair.

"You're alive," he said again, still unable to process it. "And the others - they're alive?"

"Any information that you think you have, it's only because it's what _I_ wanted you to think," she told him - rather smugly, in his opinion. "Funny how much easier it is being dead," she added, giving him a mocking bow and gesturing to the bag she'd filled with his family's gold.

"How long have you been stealing from us?" he asked, still partially in shock.

"Years," she said tightly. "Though not just you. That would be unfair," she added, flashing him an impish smile.

His jaw dropped. "You've been stealing from purebloods for _years_?"

"Yes," she replied, her chin raised haughtily as though she dared him to _try_ and insult her. "I'm dead, remember? Everyone's dead. So the Ministry has control of all of our vaults and assets." She shrugged again. "We need to survive, you know."

"Everyone," Draco echoed. "So the Order - does it still exist?"

"Of course it exists," she said, shaking her head exasperatedly. "You really think it would be that easy? That You-Know-Who would just win and we'd all . . . go away?"

Well, yes.

"I thought that's exactly what happened," Draco replied, frowning. "But you're alive."

"And interestingly, I'm _still_ alive," she said, pointing to his wand where he fingered it loosely in his hand.

He realized he had never even pointed it at her.

Hardly seemed any point in doing so now.

"How did you get caught?" he asked. "This isn't exactly careful. My mother felt you in the wards."

"You weren't supposed to be here," she pointed out. "Everyone was supposed to be out of the house."

"How did you know that?" he asked suspiciously, furrowing his brow.

"Well, as a reminder, I didn't," she said, gesturing to him again. "But don't you find it odd that an anonymous tip finds its way to you all every - _oh_ , month or so?"

He shook his head slowly, laughing. "You draw us out of our homes and steal our gold," he said, nodding with understanding. "Wow."

She curtsied, ducking her head with a devilish grin.

"You certainly are different, aren't you?" he asked, looking at her. She was more confident somehow; fearless. Undaunted. Brassy and gritty, and stunning somehow in her conceit.

Perhaps a life of crime suited her sensibilities more than a life of virtuous martyrdom.

"So are you," she told him. She finally lowered her wand and brought her hands into view, and he caught a glimpse of the scar on her wrist.

 _Mudblood._

"Not different enough," he said softly, feeling sick at the reminder of what he'd allowed to happen to her in his house.

She caught his glance and stiffened, tugging her sleeve down. "So why are you here, anyway?" she asked loudly, cutting through the tension.

"My mother isn't well," he told her. "I try to stay back with her when I can." He swallowed uncomfortably. "I'm not exactly a favorite of the Dark Lord," he added. "I don't quite have the stomach for . . . what he requires."

She hummed softly, nodding. "I thought as much," she said, biting her lip. She flashed him a brilliant smile. "I'm glad I wasn't wrong about you."

The words went straight to the core of his soul.

He opened his mouth to answer, but stopped when he felt a shift in the wards.

"Someone's here," he said, his heart thudding loudly. He looked intently at her for a minute, considering his options.

"Obliviate me if you need to," he said, choosing a side.

 _Hers._

Her face, which had been bordering on smug throughout the entire conversation, suddenly went pale, and he realized she was struggling with indecision.

"Do it," he said quickly, turning over his shoulder. "Someone's coming."

She lifted her wand and pointed it at his face; he closed his eyes.

"Nevermind," he heard her say, and he opened one eye to see her hesitate. "You won't catch me, anyway."

Then a soft crack, and she was gone.

Footsteps.

"Draco."

It was his father.

"Draco, your mother said you were down here," Lucius said, looking around. "Was someone here?"

"I think so," Draco managed faintly. "We should . . . probably change the wards."

Lucius shrugged. "By all means," he said, and left Draco to ponder what exactly had just happened.

* * *

She was alive. All this time he thought she'd been dead. He thought they'd _all_ been dead - not that it mattered. Potter and Weasley and the others. Not that they mattered. _She_ was alive.

He had never forgotten her face. He'd lied to her, about the fantasies. He'd thought for a moment that that was precisely what she was.

She was alive. That changed everything. That meant there was hope, somewhere, a life different from _this_. Someone else could still win. Someone else could still triumph.

She was alive.

 _She changes everything._

* * *

It took him almost three months before he found the Order's hideout. Or at least, the hideout belonging to what now seemed more like the Disorder of the Phoenix.

Her eyes were wide when he knocked on the door.

"How did you find me?" she snarled. " _How_?"

"Relax," he said, holding up a large bag of galleons and food. "Brought you something."

She snatched it out of his hands. "Why?" she asked, holding it protectively to her chest. He imagined she hadn't been eating much; she looked thinner than the last time he'd seen her, and he figured the last batch that she'd stolen had likely run out.

"You need it," he said, shrugging.

"How did you find me?" she repeated, not letting him in. He could see that there were people behind her; he assumed there were at least two other wands trained on him from somewhere he couldn't see.

"I know you," he reminded her. "You said I wouldn't be able to catch you. But I didn't want to _catch_ you," he said. "And you obviously know that, or I'd already be dead."

It was true. She could have easily killed him by now.

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

"You set this place up like the Room of Requirement," he said airily. "The same way you did it in our fifth year, when you set up Dumbledore's Army. Only people who know what they're looking for can get in." He grinned at her. "Right?"

"Clearly not," she said bluntly, gesturing to where he stood in the doorway.

"There's an exception, of course, as I knew there would be," he informed her. "I was looking for you, but not to catch you," he explained, "which was a clever loophole in your wards." He nodded appreciatively at her. "Your idea, I presume."

"What makes you say that?" she asked stiffly, though he could tell by the look on her face that he'd been right.

"I know you, Granger," he repeated. "You wouldn't want to close off a sanctuary from people in need. You've still got that hero complex," he told her, then flashed her his arrogant smirk.

She growled a little. "You say that like it's a bad thing," she said grumpily.

He shook his head. "It's not."

They looked at each other for a long time.

"I'm sorry about your mother," she said softly.

He swallowed. The pain was still fresh.

"Shall I come back next week?" he asked, and she gave him a tentative nod. He turned slowly, beginning to walk away.

"Bring some chocolate, would you?" she called after him. "Any kind. I'm not picky."

He chuckled. "Sure," he said, smiling at her over his shoulder.

* * *

"You're sure?" Potter said, his green eyes flashing. "You're sure this will work?"

"Of course I'm sure," Draco replied, irritated. "I don't make a habit of rushing into things."

"It could work, Harry," Granger said, looking over Draco's notes. "If we can draw most of his forces here - "

She started motioning over Draco's hand drawn plans and he watched her, eyeing the way that even while she hesitantly bit her lip in thought, her gestures were firm and confident. Whatever had happened to her while she'd gone underground, it had managed to make her a leader. It made her self-assured and strong, comfortable in her skin in a way she'd never been at school.

She was beautiful, too. But then again, she always was.

"All I know is that he'll be there," Draco said. "His defenses will be down. He won't be traveling with as many Death Eaters."

"It makes sense," Granger commented, nodding slowly. "He's been taking so few precautions lately."

"He's gotten comfortable," Draco agreed. "You'll have a shot at him, and - " he glanced at Granger. "If you trust me, I'll have a shot at the snake."

Granger's eyes glittered as they met his. "I trust you," she said, and he lay awake that night replaying those precious words, clearing his mind of any thought but the sound of her voice in his ears.

* * *

More than one way to skin a snake. Draco did it with a sword.

He met Potter's eyes across the room. Both their faces were bloodied and bruised.

" _Do it_ ," he shouted.

Green eyes, a spell, and a flash of green light. Howling and cheering. Pain and celebration. Granger running towards him, his arms finally around her. A breath. A deep breath. A second breath, because he could take them now. As many as he wanted. As many as he could.

His arms finally around her.

 _She changes everything._

* * *

"This is so unfair," Granger huffed, straightening and brushing a curl out of her eyes. "You shouldn't have to do this."

"Reparations, Granger," Draco muttered, bending to toss a rather terrifying shrunken head onto the ' _to remove'_ pile. "Someone's got to pay the formerly dead Order members back after losing everything in their vaults to the Ministry."

"Then the _Ministry_ should pay them back, not you!" Granger shouted, stomping her foot. "This - this is just - " she was fumbling for words. "This is just _stealing_."

"Interesting that _you_ would say that," Draco drawled, smiling at her. "I didn't realize you were suddenly so opposed to thievery."

She scowled at him. "That was different!" she insisted. "The purebloods had more than enough, and we - we were trying to _survive_ \- "

"I still have more than enough," he assured her. "I don't need all of this," he added, gesturing around him to everything in the vault. "And with Potter offering me a job with the aurors, I don't need a stockpile of gold. I can actually _work_ for a living."

"You're really just going to get rid of everything?" she asked, pouting a little. "I don't think it's fair, I mean - we couldn't have won without you - "

"I have everything I need," he assured her, stepping in close and bending to kiss her.

 _She changes everything._

"That's sweet," she breathed, her eyes closed. "But I'm still upset."

He laughed. "Well, I am planning on keeping one thing," he said, walking over to the part of the vault he'd intentionally left for last. "If you think I should."

She looked up, following him. "What is it?"

He picked up the small item, holding it out for her to see. "I don't know whether or not this is to your taste," he said carefully. "But it was my mother's, and I think I should keep it." He corrected himself. "I think _you_ should keep it."

She took the ring from him, her mouth falling open. "Malfoy, is this what I think it is?"

He shrugged. "If you want," he said quietly, taking it back from her and slipping it onto her finger.

A perfect fit.

"Looks like you did catch me after all," she said softly, and they both smiled.

 _She changes everything._

* * *

 **a/n:** I have recently begun trying to convince elleaeterna to write a Bonnie and Clyde style Dramione crime AU, and this was an idea that sparked from that conversation. If you like the concept of Dramione as partners in crime, go read her stuff and then bug her until she has no choice but to do that AU.

Obviously, this drabble is for her.

. . . and coming soon, a Hinny (Harry x Ginny) by request.


	5. Bachelorette, Part I of V

**Bachelorette, Part I**

 _Pairing:_ Dramione (Draco x Hermione)

 _Universe:_ Post-Hogwarts, EWE

 _Rating:_ T for now, though that will likely change.

 _Summary:_ Part of what will likely be a lengthy series of drabbles based on the reality show "The Bachelorette," wherein eligible men in the wizarding world compete for Hermione Granger's affections five years after the war.

* * *

 _[Camera pans from a large, stately manor house to where Lee Jordan is holding a microphone, adjusting his suit.]_

"Hello witches and wizards, and welcome to the post-war edition of the Bachelorette!"

 _[Studio applause; Lee starts walking]_

"With You-Know-Who finally bested, it's time to focus on the things that really matter - life, love, and the pursuit of a beautiful witch!"

 _[Editor's cut:_

 _Lee, reading a script and looking confused: "You really want me to say this?"_

 _(Muttered response.)_

 _Lee: "Okay. It's just, you know. Really stupid."]_

"Let's meet our newest Bachelorette, shall we?"

 _[Lee joins Hermione, who is wearing a floor length red gown and looks both extremely beautiful and exceedingly uncomfortable.]_

"Hermione Granger is widely regarded as the brightest witch of her age, and has recently been part of the tour de force that finally dethroned He Who Must Not Be Named. A close friend of Harry Potter, the infamous Boy Who Lived, Hermione enjoys curling up with a good book, long walks on the beach, and spending time with friends."

 _[Lee turns to Hermione.]_

"So, Hermione, tell us - how do you feel?"

 _[She glares at him, her subsequent tone dripping with sarcasm.]_

"Great. I'm living the dream."

 _[Lee turns nervously to the camera.]_

"You heard her, folks! And now, let's meet a few of our contestants, shall we?"

* * *

"Kingsley. You can't be serious," Hermione said roughly, pausing to scoff. "You want me to be on a _reality show_ in which men compete for my attention?"

"Look, it seems ridiculous, I know," Kingsley rumbled. "But test audiences show that the Ministry isn't exactly favored since it was - "

" - taken over by an Imperiused Minister and a psychopathic undersecretary?" Hermione interrupted, feigning surprise. "Color me astonished, sir."

Kingsley had the decency to flush slightly. "In any case, Miss Granger, the important thing here is that we need a trusted face to put before the public, and _ideally_ , one that supports the Ministry."

"Don't you think I'm a little young to have people compete for my hand in _marriage_?" Hermione asked drily. "I mean, among the many other problems with this idea."

"It's entertainment, Miss Granger," Kingsley insisted, unswayed. "You won't be held to any obligations upon completion of filming."

"This seems very bread-and-circus to me, sir," Hermione said bitterly. "How stupid do you think the general public is, exactly, that watching a dating show about me will distract them from the _multitude_ of political problems?"

Kingsley hesitated. "Well, I would hardly say a _multitude -_ "

Hermione pursed her lips primly, raising her hand to enumerate the factors on her slender, unpolished fingers. "There's the fact that the former Death Eaters are still being publicly shamed in the midst of their prosecution, there's the many families struggling from losses from the war, there's the fact that nobody trusts the Ministry - "

"Fine," Kingsley conceded. "A multitude."

"I think this is fruitless," Hermione insisted loftily. "I'm not interested in being part of this . . . sham."

She turned swiftly to exit the room.

"Mr. Weasley and Mr. Potter have agreed to participate as competitors," Kingsley called after her, and she pivoted slowly to face him.

" _What_?" she exclaimed, aghast. "No. They didn't."

"They did," Kingsley replied evenly. "As have many other eligible wizards from your class at Hogwarts."

"What?" Hermione screeched. "Like _who?"_

Kingsley's smile stretched slowly across his face.

"I thought you didn't want any part of it?" he asked demurely, flashing her an irritating smirk.

She sighed, taking a seat and allowing her ankle to dance agitatedly as she fidgeted, legs crossed.

"Who?" she repeated tightly, an unspoken concession.

* * *

 _[Camera focuses on Lee.]_

"Our first contestant, who is undoubtedly the most famous person to ever be featured on the show, is none other than Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived!"

 _[Harry appears, straightening his dress robes and smiling amicably at the host.]_

"Hi Lee! Good to see you."

 _[They shake hands - camera cuts to interview segment.]_

Interviewer (off-screen): "So, Harry, why did you decide to submit yourself as a candidate on The Bachelorette?"

Harry, fidgeting and laughing nervously: "Well, it was a few things, really. Things hadn't really been working out too well with my love life lately. My life in general, if I'm being quite honest."

 _[Screen fills with slow motion images of Harry looking downtrodden, staring at the ocean and skipping rocks from a high, rocky cliff.]_

Harry voiceover: "It's not easy being the Boy Who Lived, you know. I can't exactly live a normal life, and neither can the person I'm with."

 _[Images of Harry and his ex-girlfriend Ginny Weasley during happier times flash across the screen in a montage.]_

Harry voiceover: "My last relationship ended rather terribly, you know - well." _[laughs]_ "Everybody knows. Another fun aspect of being such a public figure."

 _[Close up shot of Harry looking somber.]_

Harry voiceover: "In a way, that's what makes me want to consider this. I mean, if anyone is going to understand what it's like for me, it's Hermione. We've been close for years, and maybe there's something there that I overlooked."

 _[Hopeful music plays.]_

Harry voiceover: "I'm looking forward to giving it a chance. Who knows?" _[shrugs]_ "Maybe it will be . . . magical."

 _[Camera returns to Lee and Harry.]_

Lee: "Well, Harry, I know we all want what's best for you." _[Clasps shoulder]_ "Are you ready to say hello to Hermione?"

Harry, looking relaxed and chipper: "Ready as I'll ever be!"

Lee: "Excellent. Well, you head on in, and we'll check back with you after we meet the rest of our contestants!"

Harry: "Thanks, Lee." _[Nods encouragingly]_ "Wish me luck!"

Lee, to camera: "What a rascal - like he needs luck!" _[Shakes head]_ "Odds-on favorite for sure."

 _[Camera pans to door, which reveals next contestant, a nervous and slightly askew Ron Weasley.]_

Lee: "Next up: Ron Weasley!"

 _[Lee holds his hand out; Ron shakes it vigorously.]_

Lee, suddenly very serious: "Now, Ron, you and Hermione have a history together."

Ron, nodding: "Yes. That's true."

Lee: "You were casually dating after the Battle of Hogwarts, but things have cooled for you recently, correct?"

Ron, embarrassed: "Yes. That's true."

Lee, grinning mercilessly: "So this should be quite fun to watch, then! Let's see what Ron has to say."

 _[Camera cuts to interview segment.]_

Ron: "Hermione and I have a bit of a . . . rocky history."

 _[Screen fills with images of them from school; in some, Hermione is glaring impatiently at Ron. In others, she is eyeing him with adoration. The overall effect is both ambiguous and dizzying.]_

Ron voiceover: "You know, I don't think the timing was ever great, and after she decided to go back to Hogwarts and I went into the Auror program at the Ministry, we didn't see as much of each other."

 _[Images of Hermione in her Head Girl badge, Ron at Auror training with Harry.]_

Ron: "I'm interested to see how things will turn out, once she's forced to focus a little bit more on her personal life."

Interviewer (off-screen): "Do you have any thoughts on what it will be like to compete with your best friend for her affections?"

Ron, noticeably uncomfortable: "Of course I have some reservations, but Harry and I are mates, and it's all in good fun."

 _[Screen fills with a montage of Ron eyeing Harry with suspicion while Harry obliviously does other things; in class, on the quidditch pitch, at family occasions.]_

Ron, smugly: "Whoever Hermione's meant to be with will probably become clear early on."

 _[Camera cuts back to where Lee and Ron are standing.]_

Lee, enthusiastically: "Well, it sounds like you see yourself in the running for the First Impression Rose!"

Ron, shrugging but clearly quite confident: "I think I have a fair chance. There was always something between us, after all."

Lee: "Of course." _[grins]_ "Better head in then, and we'll check in with you later!"

 _[Ron nods, appearing more confident than when he first walked in, and strides comfortably to the door. Lee turns back to the camera.]_

"Let's see who else will be joining us on this season of the Bachelorette! Will the one to win Hermione's heart be the lovable Irishman with arsonist tendencies?"

 _[Seamus Finnigan appears on the screen, crossing his arms and grinning widely.]_

"Will it be the witty Slytherin with the heart of gold?"

 _[A shot of Theo Nott, obviously trying to be cool but abruptly laughing at something from behind the camera.]_

"Or perhaps the handsome charmer with the silver tongue?"

 _[Blaise Zabini offers the camera a smoldering pout.]_

"And coming up after the break - is there someone from Hermione's past that could throw a wrench in her happy ending?"

 _[Ominous music plays; a clip of a pale hand reaches to open a door.]_

Lee, animatedly: "See who it is - and more - coming up next on The Bachelorette!"

* * *

"When you say this is compulsory for me," Draco said through his teeth, "I can only assume you are misremembering the definition of the word compulsory."

"I am not," Narcissa snapped loftily. "Draco. You _will_ participate."

"You understand that this is _Hermione Granger_ , correct?" Draco snapped, thrusting his shoulders back. "The muggle-born?"

"That's not what's important anymore," Narcissa scolded him. "Draco. You know perfectly well what has happened to us since the end of the war - "

" - yes, _and_?"

" - _and_ this is our ticket back into the public's good graces!" Narcissa insisted. "If you can manage to appear likable for one single cocktail party - "

"That's giving me an awful lot of credit," Draco grumbled.

" - that would make a considerable difference for us!" she continued, ignoring him.

Narcissa reached for her son, placing her hands coolly on either side of his face.

"Listen to me, Draco, I want what's best for you," she reminded him. "Trust me. If you can just show up, be a gentleman, play the game for a bit - "

Draco feigned an elaborate, dramatic series of gagging motions.

" - I really think that would open up a world of opportunity for you," she concluded wearily. "Who knows? Maybe she'll take to you." She stroked his hair fondly. "You are quite wonderful when you allow yourself to be, you know."

"She hates me," Draco muttered. "And it's mutual."

"Doesn't matter," Narcissa declared. "Love and hate can look eerily similar."

" _Love_ is quite a stretch, Mother," Draco argued, making a face. "Besides, there's no way she'd want to keep me around. I doubt she trusts me in the slightest."

"Fine," Narcissa said, shrugging daintily. "But if you can make a good impression at the start, I really do think that would be helpful for all of us." She looked pointedly at her son. "Are we in agreement?"

Draco sighed. His mother was an exceedingly skilled tactician, and she made an excellent point. He _would_ very much like to be able to enter a wizard establishment again without facing an instant haze of distrustful silence, or be able to further his own business pursuits without having doors slammed in his face.

"Yes," he grumbled, feeling an instant plummeting in his gut. "Fine. I'll do it."

"That's my charming son," Narcissa said affectionately, kissing his cheek.

* * *

 _[Camera pans to Lee, who is now waiting for the final contestant to arrive.]_

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, the moment you've all been waiting for - this season's resident bad boy, Draco Malfoy!"

 _[Editor's cut:_

 _Draco, making a face of pure revulsion: "Do you really need to call me the 'resident bad boy'?"_

 _(Muttered reply.)_

 _Draco: "Seems . . . gratuitous."_

 _(More mutters.)_

 _Draco, sighing: "I know I signed a contract, but still - " ]_

Lee, gesturing: "Come on out, Draco!"

 _[Camera shows Draco walking through door, forcing a smile.]_

Draco, gallantly: "Hi, Lee."

Lee: "Good to see you, Draco!" _[They shake hands.]_ "Are you ready for this?"

Draco, fighting a grimace: "Absolutely."

 _[Camera cuts to interview.]_

Interviewer, off-screen: "So. Draco. Everyone is pretty aware of your somewhat dark and prejudicial past."

Draco, looking exceptionally handsome in a fitted dark wool jumper: "Yes, but hopefully people are also aware that it's just that - my _past_. I'm hoping that Gr- er, Hermione will be able to see that I've come a long way from who I once was."

 _[Dramatic piano music plays.]_

Draco: "I've clearly made a lot of mistakes in my past, and I had the wrong idea about a lot of things."

 _[Camera cuts to Draco looking broodily out the window while the camera conspicuously focuses on his left wrist.]_

Draco: "But I'm willing to admit that I was wrong, and I've put that behind me. And I'm just - I'm really looking forward to seeing Hermione again." _[His sincerity is questionable.]_

Interviewer: "When was the last time you spoke to her?"

Draco, swallowing uncomfortably: "Um. Not any time that I imagine she looks back on fondly." _[He shifts in his seat.]_ "But I really am here to start over, and I hope she feels the same way."

* * *

"What do you _mean_ Draco Malfoy is going to be on the show?" Hermione insisted. "Surely he knows he's going to be one of the first to go," she muttered, scowling.

"Actually, we'd prefer you kept him on for a while," Kingsley informed her smoothly. "It would help with easing the tension on former Death Eaters, and we think it would make for a compelling story."

"Kingsley!" Hermione snapped, whirling to face him where he sat. "I agreed to do this when I thought I was just going to - I don't know," she fumbled lamely, fully aware she was whining like a child, "Just - hang out with people who don't openly _despise_ me."

She started pacing the room. "But now you want me to pretend to be interested in _Draco Malfoy_?" She was sputtering in anger. "You know what he calls me, right?"

"Times have changed, Miss Granger," Kingsley told her solemnly. "He doesn't need to be your final selection. We would just prefer that you not eliminate him _immediately_."

She clenched her fists tightly in agitation. "But - "

"Early test audiences indicate that he might be very successful for the show," Kingsley added. "And the more popular it is, the better job you're doing, I might add."

Hermione huffed. "I don't care about the show," she insisted stubbornly. "But I _do_ care about my integrity!"

"Fine," Kingsley said, unmoved. "You can employ your integrity."

"Thank you," she said, sniffing.

Kingsley smirked. " _After_ the first episode," he concluded.

* * *

 _[Camera shows clips of Hermione mingling with her guests, smiling politely. She seems happiest to see Harry, whom she greets with a warm embrace, and slightly less comfortable about seeing Ron. He pulls her aside, and the camera follows.]_

Ron: "How are you?"

Hermione, not making eye contact: "Fine. And you?"

Ron: "It's good to see you."

 _[His eyes flick nervously to the camera.]_

Hermione, awkwardly: "Right. Sure."

 _[Camera cuts to interview with Hermione.]_

Hermione: "What's the deal with Ron? Well, it's really not that interesting a story." _[She blushes.]_ "We have some romantic history."

Interviewer, off-screen: "Was there some fallout from the breakup?"

Hermione, hastily: "Oh no! Nothing like that." _[She shrugs.]_ "We just sort of . . . faded away after a bit. We were focusing on other things in our lives, I think." _[She pauses, looking thoughtful.]_ "We never even technically broke up. I hope I'm not cheating!" _[She laughs.]_ "Oh god." _[She stops, startled.]_ "I maybe should have checked on that."

 _[Camera cuts back to her and Ron.]_

Hermione: "Well, I guess I should . . . you know. Mingle."

Ron, openly disappointed: "Right."

 _[They wander off separately. Camera cuts back to interview with Hermione.]_

Hermione: "Am I planning to kiss someone tonight?" _[Laughs.]_ "I hardly think I would plan on that. I don't know. If the moment demands it, I suppose."

 _[Camera pans to Ron looking longingly at Hermione as she attempts to talk to Seamus, who is drunk and has removed his shirt.]_

* * *

Hermione slipped into the kitchen of the mansion they were using for filming, pausing to take a much needed bite of food. She took a bite of a canape and closed her eyes, savoring it. She had been too nervous prior to the events of the night to actually manage to eat much.

There was a cough from her left. "That's the most aroused you've looked all night."

She choked a little, turning to glare angrily at the interruption. "Malfoy!" she exclaimed. "Could you not . . . _skulk_ around?"

"I'm not skulking," he replied evenly, pulling out a kitchen stool next to hers and sitting down. "I was here first."

"Still," she insisted warily. "You could have - I don't know. Announced your presence."

He shrugged. "Why not let bygones be bygones," he suggested, smirking a little.

She let her eyes travel over his dress robes, trying not to note the way he pleasantly filled out his perfectly tasteful attire.

"Is that an apology?" she asked pointedly.

"Oh, come on, Granger," he retorted. "Read between the lines. You're smart enough."

"I am," she agreed. "But I'd rather hear the words."

She watched his tongue drag lightly over his lips.

"I'll save it for the cameras, then, if you want a show," he said, his entire countenance aloof and disinterested.

He looked good. She hated to admit it, but he really did.

"It's probably best we're running into each other this way," she countered loftily, shoving aside her observation of his physicality. "I've just spoken to Ron and it was a bit of a mess."

"Best to air our issues out now, don't you think?" Malfoy agreed. "Put on a convincing show."

She wrinkled her nose. "So you've been told to act too, then?"

"Of course," Malfoy replied, rolling his eyes. "You can't possibly think this was my first choice of activity."

"I hear they're calling you the 'resident bad boy,'" she said, giggling a little. "You wear it well, Malfoy."

His nose wrinkled distastefully at that, though he chose to overlook it. "You should probably call me Draco," he corrected her. "Better for both of us, I think, if we just agree we're both miserable and put on a convincing show."

"Kind of you," she said wryly, grabbing a carrot and biting down daintily. "Man of my dreams, you are."

"Just you wait," he said, and she thought he saw the corner of his mouth twitch upwards in a smile.

One of the staff assistants poked their head in. "Hermione, ready to come back out?"

"Yes," she sighed, popping a cherry tomato in her mouth and heading out. "See you out there?" she asked, pausing to turn to Draco.

He was looking at her strangely, as though an idea had just occurred to him.

"See you soon," he said, and now he was _definitely_ smirking at her.

It gave her an odd flutter in her chest that she quickly and violently suppressed.

"Indeed," she said formally, turning and strutting out of the room.

* * *

 _[Camera focuses on Hermione, who is talking to Blaise and fighting a yawn. Behind her, Draco enters the room.]_

Draco, to Blaise: "Excuse me." _[Nods politely at Blaise.]_ "Do you mind giving me a moment with the lady?"

Blaise, nodding: "Sure. Nice talking to you, Hermione." _[He leans in to kiss her cheek and she allows it, coolly turning towards him.]_

Hermione, to Blaise: "Of course."

 _[Blaise leaves; Draco offers Hermione his arm.]_

Draco: "Let's talk privately, shall we? I think I have some things I need to tell you."

Hermione, hesitantly: "Sure." _[She takes his arm.]_ "I think the garden is available."

Draco, nodding: "The garden it is."

 _[They walk out together; everyone else has noticed, and all conversation stops as the other contestants gather around a window, watching.]_

Hermione: "So."

Draco, unnaturally calm: "So."

Hermione: "You had some things to tell me?"

Draco: "I did." _[He nods.]_ "But there's something I want to do first."

Hermione, nervously biting her lip: "Yes?"

 _[Draco halts abruptly and yanks her toward him by the waist, kissing her firmly. She gasps slightly against his mouth but slowly relaxes in his grip, putting her hands on his upper arms and letting him support her. The kiss goes on for a surprisingly long time. An unreasonably long time, all things considered.]_

Hermione, breaking away: "What the hell was that?"

Draco, murmuring to her: "Listen, I've done a lot of terrible things in my life, and one of those things was pretending I didn't care for you all these years. I'm not going to let another moment go by without letting you know how I feel." _[He kisses her again and she seems to melt in spite of herself.]_ "I owe you a thousand apologies, and I'm going to start making it up to you now."

Hermione, stunned: "Um - "

 _[She looks at the camera, panic in her eyes. Camera cuts to interview with Hermione.]_

Hermione: "Is he being sincere? I don't know. Of course I don't know." _[She shakes her head.]_ "I can't possibly know what's going on his head after that."

Interviewer, off-screen: "You didn't know he had feelings for you in the past?"

Hermione: "No, no, of course not." _[She raises a hand to her lips, looking dazed.]_

Interviewer: "Did you enjoy it?"

Hermione: _[Is silent.]_

Interviewer: "Hermione?"

Hermione looks up, startled: "Hm? Did you say something?"

 _[Camera cuts back to Hermione and Draco.]_

Hermione, whispering: "What do you want from me?"

Draco: "Nothing." _[Kisses her again, and this time Hermione is visibly receptive, putting her arms around his neck.]_

 _[Camera pans to the window where the other contestants are watching; Hermione seems to notice this and she straightens, pulling away from Draco.]_

Hermione, stuttering: "We - um. We should go back."

Draco, no less confident: "If that's what you want."

 _[Hermione nods silently, starting to walk away. Draco grabs her by the arm and yanks her to him one last time, brushing a chaste kiss against her cheek.]_

Draco: "Have a good night, Hermione."

Hermione: "I - you - "

 _[She fumbles to form words, and camera cuts to Lee.]_

"Ladies and gentlemen, the evening is now coming to a close! Who will get the First Impression Rose? Who will not be returning to the mansion? Find out next on The Bachelorette!"

* * *

"Owls are flying in like crazy," Mafalda said breathlessly. "People are _raving_ about the kiss."

"Is it as we expected?" Kingsley asked, looking up from his desk.

"Audiences were fairly typical from the start," Mafalda admitted. "But as soon as Draco kissed Hermione, people have been writing in like mad!"

"Hm," Kingsley muttered to himself, then quickly started scrawling on a scrap of paper. "Get this to Lee as soon as possible," he said, finishing the note with a flourish and handing it to his assistant.

* * *

"What do you mean, I _have_ to give it to Ron or Draco?" Hermione said, stomping her tired foot. It was well into the middle of the night.

Lee shrugged. "Look, those are just my instructions," he said wearily. "You have to cut two people and you have to give Ron or Draco the rose."

"But - " she stammered in her exhaustion. "But I really enjoyed talking to Theo, you know, and - and Terry Boot is quite interesting - "

"Hermione," Lee said, sighing. "Just _pick one_ and let's go home."

She groaned, aiming a swift kick at a nearby table leg.

"Fine," she snapped. "Let's go."

* * *

 _[Camera pans to where all of the contestants have now gathered and are standing together, waiting for Hermione. There are ten rose boutonnieres on a small table, and Lee steps into view.]_

"Gentlemen, there are ten roses available and twelve of you. Two of you must go home today, while the others will continue to stay in the mansion and battle it out for Hermione's heart."

 _[A pregnant pause. Hermione steps into view, looking nervous and exhausted.]_

Lee: "Hermione. Are you ready?"

Hermione, tentatively: "Yes."

Lee: "The first rose is the First Impression Rose, which will go to the contestant that you had the strongest connection with tonight. That contestant will be safe from elimination tonight and for one additional week. Have you decided who that is?"

Hermione: _[exhales shakily]_ "Yes." _[She picks up the rose and looks up, her eyes scanning the crowd.]_

 _[Intense orchestral music plays. The moment drags on for much too long.]_

Lee: "Hermione?"

Hermione: _[Looks instantly regretful.]_ "Draco."

 _[A gasp escapes the crowd. Draco smirks, stepping forward to stand entirely too close to Hermione's face. The sexual tension is palpable.]_

Hermione, sounding very rehearsed: "Draco. Do you accept this rose?"

Draco: "I do."

 _[He leans towards her and her eyes widen in anticipation, but he gives her a brief embrace and quickly saunters back to the group.]_

Lee: "Okay, Hermione. Are you ready to give out the other nine roses?"

Hermione: _[nods]_ "Yes."

 _[She picks the roses up and distributes them one by one. The final rose sits on the table, with Ernie MacMillan, Justin Finch-Fletchley, and Michael Corner remaining.]_

Hermione: _[takes a deep breath]_ "Michael."

 _[Michael looks relieved; Ernie and Justin are clearly disappointed. Hermione hugs them both but looks rather relieved to have it all done with. She and Draco lock eyes and quickly look away.]_

Lee: "Congratulations, gentlemen, on being Hermione's choice!" _[Turns to camera]_ "And now, a look at some scenes from later this season on the Bachelorette!"

 _[Clips of Hermione laughing with the various candidates.]_

Ron voiceover: "I don't know, I thought we had something, but I'm not sure." _[Camera cuts to him looking bitter.]_ "I hope it's not too late to change things."

Seamus voiceover: "I definitely thought it would be an easy win for Ron, but that might not be the case."

 _[Clip of Hermione holding hands with Theo, smiling.]_

Theo: "Sure, she's having fun." _[He shrugs.]_ "But so am I."

 _[Camera cuts to Draco interview. He is openly frustrated.]_

Draco: "Did I get the first impression rose? Sure. But am I thrilled she kissed Potter? No. No, of course not."

 _[Clip of Hermione laughing as Harry picks her up, honeymoon-style, and carries her inside the mansion.]_

Harry: _[shrugs innocently]_ "Hey, it's about Hermione, isn't it? That's who I'm here for." _[He shakes his head.]_ None of these other jokers."

 _[Camera returns to Lee, who is grinning.]_

"All of that and more this season, on . . . The Bachelorette!"

 _[Editor's cut:_

 _Lee: "Are we done now? Please tell me we're done now."_

 _(Muttered response.)_

 _Lee: [tears microphone off collar, throws it on the ground] "Merlin's tits, what a long fucking day - "_

 _Exits screen view.]_

* * *

 **a/n:** Obviously this is utter nonsense but hopefully you have fun. The updates to this will probably not be consecutive, as the actual show is done in 10 installments and even though I will not do ten of these, I don't know yet how many it will take. I am still doing the Hinny for MahoganyJinx (as soon as Harry and Ginny start speaking to me again) but this one is for my love DrSallySparrow, who might appreciate the absurdity (I hope).


	6. Toothbrush

**Toothbrush**

 _Pairing:_ Hinny (Harry x Ginny)

 _Universe:_ Potterverse, canon-compliant

 _Rating:_ T

 _Summary:_ Honestly, this isn't really about anything. Pairing requested by UnicornMist.

* * *

"Harry," Ginny mumbled, stumbling past him into the bathroom. "I'm _so_ late - I really need you to _move_ \- "

Harry reluctantly obliged, his eyes drawn to the flick of her red hair as she tossed it over her shoulder, his t-shirt barely covering the top of her legs. Her lips were still swollen, her feet still bare, her entire countenance flushed and frantic.

She was beautiful.

"Mum's going to kill me," she muttered, shoving him aside to gain access to the sink. "Not to mention Ron, if he catches me downstairs," she added, splashing water on her face and then reaching out a hand, wordlessly demanding a towel.

"It's not like this would be a surprise to him," Harry reminded her, turning to grab one and then placing it lightly in her waiting palm.

"Still," she said, roughly patting her face dry and flipping her hair, tousling it to undo the kinks from her usual restless, sheet-dominating sleep. "I'm not sure he'd be thrilled to know this is where I go every night, _particularly_ considering he lives here." She scowled. "I wish you'd chosen Hermione as a roommate," she added, flashing Harry an impertinent glare. "She's _much_ more reasonable."

Harry shrugged, his eyes on the curve of her arse that was now visible as she pulled her hair up into a ponytail. "She wanted her own flat," he murmured by way of explanation. "I guess privacy is important to some people," he added, grinning knowingly as she made a face.

It was, after all, her idea to keep things quiet between them now that she had finished at Hogwarts. She was set to join the Harpies for the season and, to her credit, she didn't want her relationship with Harry to be "a distraction."

So instead, it was . . . not a _secret_ , exactly, as there were no secrets when it came to the Chosen One, the Boy Who Lived, the hero who saved the wizarding world from the Dark Lord, etcetera - but she had seen fit to keep things light between them. Ginny Weasley was not in a hurry for marriage or commitment; she was not particularly in a hurry for much, really, except a quaffle in her hands and a World Cup title. Harry understood that.

And yet it was a week out from her N.E.W.T.s, and she had yet to spend a single night at the Burrow. Not that anyone knew that, of course.

Privacy. It was the principle of the thing.

"Don't," she instructed, pursing her lips. She looked around the bathroom, brow furrowed as she strained to remember something.

Her still unworn pants, possibly; not that Harry was in a hurry to remedy the situation.

"I got you something," he said, remembering. He reached into a drawer, pulling out the innocuous item he'd thrown in as an afterthought. "Here," he said, offering her the toothbrush.

She took it from him, scowling with skepticism. "What's this?"

"A horcrux," he said, shrugging.

She smacked him, _hard_ , directly across the shoulder. "Harry!"

"Ouch!" he insisted, pouting. "It's a _toothbrush_ , you - "

She glared at him.

" - you beautiful, lovely, kind-hearted witch," he finished helplessly, raising his hands in defeat.

"Why?" she demanded, putting her hands on her hips.

He gaped at her, unable to fathom the source of her fiercely adverse reaction.

"It's for oral hygiene, see - "

"Harry!" she smacked him again. "Answer the question!"

He sighed, always imprisoned by his own need to satisfy the fiery sprite that he'd chosen. "I just thought you'd want one," he said, somewhat defeatedly. "You know, to leave here," he explained weakly, waving his hand at the generally sparse bathroom counter.

"Why?" she snapped again, hands on her diminutive hips. "I don't need to leave a _toothbrush_ behind, Harry, I'm a witch. Watch - "

She picked up her wand from the counter, raising it and tapping the bar of soap that sat on the lip of the sink. "Toothbrush," she said, gesturing to the now transfigured item.

She waved her wand at the towel that lay draped across the faucet. "Toothbrush," she said pointedly, flashing him a look. One of those truly _Ginny_ looks, the kind that always stopped him in his tracks, his breath caught in his throat just from her unholy mix of utter loveliness and supreme, unfailing stubbornness.

She grabbed his wrist, gesturing to his watch. "Toothbrush - "

"That's enough," he said hastily, yanking his hand out of her grasp. "Honestly, Gin," he sighed resignedly. "I was just trying to be _helpful_ \- "

"But why?" she repeated firmly, her withering gaze questioning.

Harry could not, for the _life_ of him, understand the absurdity of her reaction. But, he reminded himself with a grimace, she would not be Ginny Weasley, Girl Almighty, if she did not spend the majority of his time driving him to a state of complete insanity and impenetrable confusion.

"Well," he said slowly, "I figure if you're going to be around a lot, you know, then . . . I thought I'd just try to give you the things that you need."

Which was true, of course. He was perfectly fine with waiting for her to be ready to be with him; after all, she'd certainly done plenty of waiting for him, hadn't she? The lying to her mother, the sneaking around behind his best friend's back - that was all fine. He could be patient.

The toothbrush was just an offering. Perhaps she would want the toothbrush. Perhaps not. But either way, wasn't it best that she knew it was available?

More than available, really. Wasn't it best that she knew it was _hers_?

She opened her mouth to respond and then stopped abruptly, her eyes narrowing as she considered him.

"Is this a toothbrush, Harry?" she asked, her voice uncharacteristically hesitant. "Or is it a metaphor?"

"It's a toothbrush," he assured her. "I think," he qualified, suddenly confused.

She paused for a moment, her eyes wide as she considered his answer.

And then she suddenly knocked his hands aside, tossing the multitude of toothbrushes he was now holding onto the floor and careening into his arms, filling his nose with the smell of her hair as her lips gently grazed the side of his neck.

"You're an idiot," she told him, turning to kiss him firmly on the cheek.

"Um," he grunted in bewilderment, his eyes following her as she bounded away into his bedroom. "So - do you want it?"

"Sure," she called, her voice muffled as she tore his shirt over her shoulders and slipped quickly into her own clothes. Harry, in turn, watched with regretful disappointment as the freckles that dusted her shoulders, the ones he made a point to memorize each night that she was in his bed, disappeared under the soft material of her shirt. "Leave it in the bathroom for me, will you?"

She appeared in the doorway, her smile radiant. "I'll need it tonight," she said softly.

He smiled.

It seemed, for once, he'd managed to do something right.

* * *

 **a/n:** Dedicated to MahoganyJinx. Sorry for the delay, and the brevity . . . but this thing was honestly going to kill me.

Bachelorette, Pt. II will be available soon! Probably Saturday, as Marked (my longer WIP) will end on Friday.


	7. Bachelorette, Part II of V

**Bachelorette, Part II**

 _Pairing:_ Dramione (Draco x Hermione)

 _Universe:_ Post-Hogwarts, EWE

 _Rating:_ M for language, possible smut later

 _Summary:_ Part II of the drabble series based on the reality show "The Bachelorette," wherein eligible men in the wizarding world compete for Hermione Granger's affections. (Part I is Chapter 5)

* * *

 _[Black screen; Lee voiceover.]_

"Last week on . . . The Bachelorette!"

 _[Screen cuts to various images of Draco and Hermione kissing.]_

Draco voiceover: "I've done a lot of terrible things in my life, and one of those things was pretending I didn't care for you all these years. I'm not going to let another moment go by without letting you know how I feel."

 _[Gratuitous close-up of Draco's hand as it slips conspicuously from Hermione's waist to her lower back.]_

Theo voiceover: "Hey, I mean . . . he's Draco." _[His tone is casual, possibly even smug.]_ "I'm not really surprised."

 _[Cuts to interview with Ron]_

Ron: "It's ridiculous." _[Crosses arms tightly.]_ "She can't possibly think _Draco Malfoy_ is the right person for her."

 _[Camera pans unsteadily as Ron, Dean, and Seamus are talking together in a low voice, alone in the kitchen; they clearly do not know they're being filmed.]_

Seamus: "Who d'you reckon is the biggest competition, mate?"

Dean, drinking a beer and shrugging: "Obvious, in't it?"

Ron: _[Looks startled.]_ "You think Malfoy's got a shot?"

Dean: "No." _[Looks confused.]_ "It's got to be Potter - right?"

 _[Shot of Harry and Hermione laughing, she reaches forward to touch his arm as he tells a story, and it's all very charming and adorable.]_

Harry voiceover: "Hermione's always been so important to me, and I don't know. I guess I've never looked at her this way, but maybe I should have."

 _[Cuts to Hermione at the most recent rose ceremony, looking glum.]_

Hermione: "This is so difficult. I've established such a lovely connection with all of you." _[It is pretty clear that she is lying, though she seems genuinely distressed.]_ "But this last rose is for Blaise."

 _[Blaise looks relieved; Neville looks crestfallen.]_

Hermione voiceover: "It's just so hard. I hate having to disappoint people." _[She sniffs audibly.]_ "I can't even imagine how I'm going to have to keep sending people home."

 _[Camera pans to Lee, who is once again standing in front of the elaborate manor home.]_

Lee: "And tonight - with nine suitors remaining, who will Hermione choose? Will she rekindle her romance with a former flame?"

 _[A shot of Ron and Hermione sharing a private joke.]_

Lee voiceover: "Will she find love in the arms of her former nemesis?"

 _[Draco and Hermione kiss as fireworks go off in the distance.]_

Lee voicover: "Or will she discover something new with an old friend?"

 _[Harry has an eyelash on his cheek; Hermione brushes it away and they both blush like they've gotten away with murder.]_

Lee voiceover: "All that and more, coming up on the Bachelorette!"

* * *

"You're going to need to cut either Terry or Michael this week," Lee said, squinting at the note in his hand. "People don't care for them, and they can't tell them apart."

"Why, because they're both Ravenclaws who are capable of making intelligent conversation?" Hermione grunted, putting her feet up on the coffee table. "Great."

Lee gave her a withering look. "It's not like _you_ particularly care for them, either," he remarked, recalling the vacuous look she usually adopted when speaking to either contestant.

She lifted an eyebrow. "Are you invested in my imaginary romance now, too?" she asked quizzically. "You know this isn't real, right?"

"Well I have to watch, don't I?" he sniped back, though he instantly looked regretful. "Sorry," he muttered, rubbing his eyes. "Tired."

"Of course you're tired," she replied in a low murmur. "It's after midnight and I'm finding it horribly difficult to muster any interest in this whatsoever."

"Oh, that's hardly accurate," Lee scoffed, rolling his eyes. "You're really going to tell me you don't legitimately like _any_ of these blokes?"

"Well that's not the point, is it?" she asked primly, sitting up to glare at him. "And anyway, what exactly are you saying?"

"Oh please," he said, making a face. "Don't pretend like you didn't fully enjoy snogging Draco."

"It's a charade and you know it," she retorted, though he noted that she didn't meet his eye. "And anyway, he took me completely by surprise," she added defensively.

"The _first_ time," Lee said pointedly, fighting a laugh. "But exactly how many times did he pull you aside _this_ time? Three times?"

"Twice," she corrected, then flinched. "Fine," she conceded, sighing. "I see your point."

"Right," he agreed, nodding.

"It's for the cameras," she reminded him firmly. "You're the one who told me I had to give him the First Impression rose, anyway."

"Actually, I said you could give it to him _or_ Ron," Lee said pointedly. "You could easily have given it to, you know . . . the person you _actually_ like."

"Well, Ron wouldn't have been at all convincing!" she argued, crossing her arms. "You were there. You saw." She shook her head. "The lack of chemistry was laughable."

Lee smirked. "I thought you didn't care about the show?"

He guessed she was reaching for a particularly disgruntled look, though she seemed too exhausted to muster it.

"I'm going to have a life after this, you know," she admonished him wearily. "I can at least not try to not ruin my own reputation in the process."

"And _Draco Malfoy_ is good for your reputation?" Lee barked, throwing his head back with a laugh. "Sure."

"He's really not that bad," she murmured, closing her eyes. "Though don't tell him I said that."

* * *

 _[Camera focuses first on Harry, who is chatting happily with Ron, Dean, Seamus, and Theo; then pans out the window to Draco, who is sitting alone outside and reading.]_

Interviewer voiceover: "So how is your relationship with the others in the house?"

 _[Cuts to Draco interview]_

Draco: "It's fine." _[He shrugs.]_ "I'm not actually that concerned what they think of me."

Interviewer, off-screen: "Do you have friends in the house?"

Draco: "Of course. Blaise and Theo are here." _[He makes a careless hand gesture.]_ "But this isn't really about friendship, is it?"

Interviewer, off-screen: "What's it about?"

Draco: "Hermione, obviously." _[He seems momentarily distracted, as though something has just crossed his mind.]_ "Obviously."

Interviewer, off-screen: "It doesn't bother you that the other candidates have been forming alliances among themselves?"

Draco: "No." _[The statement rings with falsehood.]_ "I don't need an alliance. After all, only one of us can win." _[He shrugs.]_

* * *

"Hey," Granger said, taking a seat beside him.

He instantly leapt to his feet, moving to take her in his arms. "Hey," he replied, taking care to growl sensually as he burrowed his face into her neck.

She laughed at him, shoving him away playfully. "There's no cameras."

"Oh." He released her quickly, sitting back down and picking up the book he'd hastily discarded. "Fucking hell, Granger, you've made me lose my page."

"Ah, young love," she remarked. "Budge over, would you?"

"Fine," he agreed courteously, making room for her on the patio furniture. She took a deep breath and sighed, closing her eyes and enjoying the sun on her face.

"This is nice," she said softly.

"It _was_ nice," he pointed out, and she opened one eye to glare at him. "Before you so rudely interrupted my solitude."

"Oh please, Malfoy," she said, waving her hand irritably. "Aren't you sick of being by yourself?"

"What is this, an interview segment?" he countered, carefully avoiding the question. "And what are you doing here, anyway? Aren't you supposed to be . . . I don't know," he guessed. "Elsewhere?"

"I'm bored," she said, her tone abnormally petulant. "I'm not allowed to see anyone else."

"You're not allowed to see _me_ , either," he said pointedly. "Seems like you're not actually that constricted by the rules."

"Oh, _you_ won't tell," she said carelessly, smirking as she closed her eyes again. "You're always by yourself."

"It's that or chance being filmed with the lot of them," he sniffed, gesturing inside the house where he was sure the cameras were catching Seamus make his fourth sandwich of the day, or interviewing Weasley as he mooned over Granger.

"You know, if you're trying to rehabilitate your image, this isn't the best way to do it," she said, her pretty mouth twisting into a little frown as she admonished him. "You should - I don't know." She shrugged, shading her eyes with the flat of her hand. "Make friends?"

"Why do people keep saying that?" he said exasperatedly, tossing the book onto the side table. Obviously reading was now hopeless. "I _have_ friends."

"Yeah, but not the right ones," she reminded him. "Theo and Blaise are great, but they're not exactly influential."

"You're saying to make friends with Potter," he grunted, then made a face. "No."

"Oh come on," she laughed, nudging him. "You've made friends with me."

"Not sure this counts as friendship," he muttered back. "Seeing as I'll have to snog you the instant the cameras show up."

"Speaking of that." She sat up slightly, her expression prim. "You should consider grabbing my arse next time," she suggested. "The kissing is fine, you know, but you have to keep it interesting."

"Fucking _hell_ Granger," he groaned. "Is this for the show, or for you?"

"Oh rats," she said, leaping off the chaise and ducking behind it. "Cover me, would you?"

He looked over, catching the camera lens as it focused on them from inside the house.

"Fine," he grumbled, though he smiled a little as he picked up his book and continued pretending to read.

* * *

 _[Camera pans around living room, where the various candidates are sitting around in casual clothing, looking generally haggard and scruffy. Harry enters.]_

Harry, holding an envelope: "Guys, owl's just arrived." _[He flips the envelope over, looking at it.]_ "It's a date card."

Theo, taking it from him: "Date card?" _[Looks up.]_ "Someone get Draco, would you?"

 _[Blaise nods, stepping outside and then returning.]_

Harry, taking it back from Theo: "Looks like a group date."

 _[Editor's cut:_

 _Hermione: "What is it you need me to write on the card?"_

 _Muttered response._

 _Hermione, scoffing: "A poem? No. I'm not writing a poem."]_

Harry, reading: "Before you catch my heart, let's see you catch a quaffle."

Blaise: "Who's on the date?"

Harry: _[Flips note over.]_ "Dean, Seamus, Ron, Draco, Theo, Michael, Terry, and Blaise." _[He frowns.]_ "What about me?"

Seamus: "I think that means you get the first one-on-one, mate!" _[Claps Harry on the shoulder. The others look at him with deep confusion.]_ "What?" _[Shrugs]_ "Me mum loves this show."

Harry, confused: "One-on-one?"

Ron: "Does that mean it's just you and Mione?" _[Glares sulkily.]_

Seamus: "Yeah." _[Nods eagerly.]_ "You get to be the first one to go on a date alone with Hermione."

Harry, brightly: "Oh!" _[Looks pleased.]_

 _[Camera pans to Draco, whose lips are pressed together tightly as he stares at the ground.]_

* * *

Ron approached Harry in their shared bathroom, casually reaching over him for a towel.

"So," he said evenly. "A date with Hermione."

"Yeah," Harry said, shrugging. "Seems weird to think of it that way."

"But that's what it is," Ron said pointedly.

Harry paused, giving him a scrutinizing look. "We talked about this," he said slowly. "I thought you were okay with it?"

 _I was when I thought she was going to choose me_ , Ron thought vigorously.

"No, of course," he said, shaking his head. "It's fine."

"Good," Harry breathed, relieved. "It's just a date, anyway." He shrugged again. "It's stupid, and you know Hermione's not taking this seriously."

"Right," Ron said faintly, lagging behind as Harry ambled out into the hall.

* * *

 _[Dean, Seamus, Ron, Draco, Theo, Michael, Terry, and Blaise are waiting in the living room, all looking impeccably groomed compared to how they'd been dressed that morning. Lee enters, looking chipper.]_

Lee: "Ready for your group date, gents?"

 _[All nod; camera focuses on Dean and Seamus, whose gazes are flicking nervously to each other.]_

Lee: "You'll be meeting Hermione out on the pitch." _[Gestures.]_ "Come on, then."

 _[Camera cuts to Blaise interview]_

Blaise, looking bored: "We're going to play quidditch with her? Call me crazy, but that _can't_ have been her idea."

 _[Editor's cut:_

 _Hermione: "You want me to play quidditch with them?"_

 _Muttered response._

 _Hermione: "Oh, that's funny. That's hysterical."_

 _Mutters._

 _Hermione: "Oh, I hate you."]_

 _[Cuts to Draco interview]_

Draco: "We all know Granger isn't exactly the most adept at flying." _[Looks at fingernails, shrugging.]_ "Then again, we all know I _am_ , particularly with Potter not coming."

Interviewer, off-screen: "How do you feel about Harry getting the first one-on-one date?"

 _[Editor's cut:_

 _Draco: "She picked Potter? Oh that's excellent. That is absolutely excellent. I can't wait to see the look on Weasley's face."]_

Draco: "I'm devastated, of course." _[There is a mischievous twinkle in his eye that indicates otherwise.]_ "But if there is a rose to be gained on this date, I suspect she'll find it difficult to give to anyone else."

 _[Camera pans to Hermione, who is walking onto the quidditch pitch looking rather surly.]_

Lee: "Hi Hermione!" _[kisses her cheek.]_ "Ready for this group date?"

 _[Editor's cut:_

 _Lee: "Is it possible for you to look slightly less miserable?"_

 _Hermione: "No."_

 _Lee: "Cool, cool, just checking."]_

Hermione: "Can't wait." _[Her lie could not be more obvious; she looks over Lee's shoulder to the contestants.]_ "Hello."

 _[One by one they give her a hug; the camera zooms in as Draco reaches her last.]_

Draco, murmuring in her ear: "Hi, stranger." _[He yanks her in quickly and her eyes widen, but he only grips her momentarily. She appears vaguely disappointed.]_

Hermione: "Hi." _[She is breathless; she turns to the other candidates, who are glaring at Draco.]_ "So. As you may know, I'm not the best at flying."

Theo: _[dashes forward gallantly]_ "Here." _[He holds up the broom for her.]_ "Let me help you."

 _[Camera cuts to Draco interview]_

Draco, smirking: "The fact that Theo would attempt to teach Hermione to fly is honestly quite hilarious."

 _[Cuts to Blaise interview]_

Blaise: "All I could think in that moment was just - Theo is truly _terrible_ on a broom. I was honestly thinking 'I have to do something or she might die'."

 _[Camera returns to group date; Blaise has rushed forward to help and Hermione is now glancing awkwardly between him and Theo.]_

Hermione: "Um."

Draco: _[Steps forward smoothly, interrupting.]_ "Perhaps something a little different?" _[He looks smug.]_ "Maybe we should play a little four-a-side, and the winning team can earn some extra time with Hermione?"

Hermione, looking relieved: "Yes." _[She promptly drops the broom.]_ "Maybe Draco, Ron, Terry, and Dean, versus Seamus, Theo, Michael, and Blaise?"

 _[The men glare at each other, though Hermione looks pleased with herself.]_

Ron: "Fine."

 _[They take to their brooms, splitting up. The game is filled with egos; Draco and Ron find it difficult to play together, each becoming more showy with the quaffle, until Theo manages to score the winning point.]_

Theo: "Point us!" _[He lands on the pitch and scoops up Hermione; she giggles in spite of herself.]_ "A kiss for the winner, m'lady?"

Hermione, blushing: "Alright." _[She kisses Theo's cheek and he promptly turns his head, surprising her by kissing her soundly on the lips.]_ "Oh!"

Ron: _[Mimicking her to Seamus]_ "Oh!" _[He sees the camera and turns away, embarrassed.]_

 _[Lee walks onto the pitch]_

Lee: "So, Hermione. Are you ready to give out the group date rose?"

Hermione: "Sure." _[She is still winded from surprise, and Theo regretfully releases her.]_ "I guess . . . " _[She looks around.]_ "I guess it'll have to go to Theo."

Theo: _[Smirks at her]_ "Guess so."

 _[Camera cuts to Theo interview]_

Theo, grinning: "Nailed it." _[Offers to bump fists with interviewer, who grudgingly accepts.]_

* * *

Draco wandered over to where Granger was chatting with Seamus, offering her his hand.

"My turn?" he asked pleasantly.

"Sure," she agreed, standing. "Thanks, Seamus!"

He gave her a cheerful salute and she took Draco's hand, leaning in to whisper in his ear. "Cameras," she said pointedly, gesturing.

As soon as they were out of the room, he shoved her against the wall, bending his head to whisper in her ear. "Are they still filming?" he asked, careful to keep his voice low.

She nodded, stretching out against him. "Yep."

He brought his hand to her waist, grasping it tightly. "How are things with Theo?" he muttered, and she wriggled under his grip, fighting to block the visual of her mouth moving.

"They're good," she murmured back, letting her hips sway towards him. "He's fun."

"He _is_ fun," Draco agreed, giving her another teasing shove backwards and kissing her roughly. "Careful."

"Why?" she gasped, putting her hands on either side of his face.

Draco flipped her around, letting his mouth linger at the nape of her neck. "He likes to have his fun," he said softly. "So does Blaise."

She leaned back to talk into his ear, disguising the movement with a kiss against his neck. "Blaise isn't going to work out," she said. "He likes himself more than me."

"Don't get rid of Blaise," Draco protested, flipping her back to the wall and tucking her hair behind her ear. "I'll be so outnumbered," he whispered, and she let out a purposeful feminine sigh.

"I'm going to keep Theo," she said, and he kissed her again, slipping his tongue into her mouth for emphasis. "I like him."

"I can tell," he chuckled, thinking of how he'd caught her kissing Theo only moments earlier. "Hey," he warned, as she let her hands slip indiscreetly to his belt loops. "Careful."

"Cameras," she reminded him sternly. "It's called a _convincing show_ , Malfoy."

"I can only control my dick so much," he grunted, removing her hands and lacing his fingers in hers to distract her.

"Careful, or you might actually fall in love with me," she laughed.

"Shut up," he retorted, shoving her back against the wall.

* * *

 _[Lee voiceover as the camera shows Harry getting ready]_

Lee: "Are you ready for this?"

Harry voiceover: "I think so."

 _[He looks quite nervous; camera cuts to Harry interview]_

Harry: "I mean, obviously I've spent a lot of time with Hermione, I mean - we were alone together in a tent for months." _[He laughs a little.]_ "At the time I'm not sure I was seeing her properly."

Interviewer, off-screen: "What do you mean by that?"

Harry: "Er." _[Scratches his head, thinking; as a result, his untamed hair becomes even more unkempt.]_ "I was occupied with other things at the time, and she was just there, you know? Just my best friend Hermione."

Interviewer, off-screen: "Has anything changed?"

Harry: _[looks pensive]_ "She's always been beautiful, and kind. And smart, of course." _[Smiles to himself]_ "But I think we needed each other as friends before. Anything more than that would have been too much at the time."

Interviewer, off-screen: "And now?"

Harry: _[Bows his head, thinking about something.]_ "You know, she really is beautiful, isn't she?" _[He looks up at the camera, smiling widely.]_

* * *

There was a flutter in her chest as he approached; they hadn't been alone for several months, and even then, it hadn't been anything like this.

"What made you choose him?" Lee said, leaning over to speak in her ear while the cameras were still on Harry.

"He's my best friend," she returned easily. "No pressure." She shrugged. "If there's nothing between us, it's still a full day hanging out with one of the people I love most."

"And if there is?" Lee asked, grinning.

She felt her lips twist up in a smirk. "None of your business," she said loftily, raising her chin and squaring her shoulders.

* * *

Mafalda burst into Kingsley's office. "Sir!"

He looked up, his spectacles slipping down his nose. "Yes?"

"Harry and Hermione are hitting it off beautifully," she gushed. "Conversation is flowing, they keep having these - these _moments_ where they look at each other, and it's just - " she paused, stammering. "It's just _magical -_ "

"Mafalda," Kingsley cut her off swiftly. "This show is not meant to distract _you_ from your work."

"Right," she acknowledged hastily, realizing her mistake and starting to back out of his office. "Right you are, sir, apologies - "

But Kingsley smiled to himself, rubbing his temple. "Turn it on in here, would you?"

She made a tiny squeak of agreement. "Yes, sir," she managed, fumbling for her wand.

* * *

 _[Camera focuses on Hermione and Harry, who are having dinner alone together.]_

Harry: " - and then she just says 'have a biscuit, Potter,' and it was the most amazing plot twist." _[Looks up to see if Hermione is laughing; she is.]_

Hermione: "I can't believe you never told me that!" _[She is clutching her side with laughter.]_ "Oh, that is too good." _[She takes a sip of wine, still smiling.]_

Harry: _[Looks at her for a moment.]_ "I had a really great time today, Hermione."

Hermione: "Me too." _[She seems surprised, but genuine.]_ "I mean, I knew I would, but - "

Harry: "I know." _[They smile at each other.]_ "It makes me wonder if maybe we've been missing something all this time." _[He sets his glass down near her hand; the opportunity is there for him to take hold of hers, and he does.]_

Hermione: _[Looks down at where Harry is holding her hand, and brushes her thumb lightly across his knuckles.]_ "Can I be honest?"

Harry, looking surprised: "Of course."

Hermione: _[hesitates]_ "I actually used to wonder that a lot, about us. If we were missing something" _[She shifts uncomfortably.]_ "I mean, do you remember that time - "

Harry: "Yes." _[He looks very serious.]_ "I almost kissed you."

Hermione: _[Quickly, as though she is nervous about his reaction.]_ "I mean, I know we were both sad, and stressed - "

Harry: _[Shakes his head.]_ "It was more than that." _[He stares at her.]_ "There was more to it than that."

Hermione: _[Looks relieved.]_ "I'm glad I wasn't wrong." _[She sighs, looking down at the rose by her hand as though she has just remembered it exists.]_ "Okay, so, if I give you this rose - "

Harry: _[Jumps out of his seat, pulling her into his arms and kissing her, cutting her off mid-sentence.]_

 _[Hermione puts her hands on his chest, kissing him back slowly before they both pull away, eyes closed.]_

Hermione: "Um, so." _[She clears her throat and he slides his nose gently along hers, nuzzling her. The gesture is very intimate.]_ "The rose."

Harry, eyes still closed: "Just give me the damn rose, Hermione."

Hermione: _[Laughs, putting her arms around his neck.]_ "Alright. If you insist."

 _[Editor's cut:_

 _Lee: [Is sniffling, holding himself tightly.]_

 _Muttered response._

 _Lee: "Oh please." [Looks irritated] "Don't pretend you don't think this is fucking beautiful."_

 _More mutters._

 _Lee: "They're best friends! And now they're - " [Breaks off, overcome with emotion.] "If you don't think this is beautiful, you're a monster."]_

* * *

"Have you gotten ahold of yourself?" Hermione asked Lee, smirking at him as she adjusted her gown.

"Yes," he replied irritably, wiping his eyes furiously. "You ready?"

"Of course I'm ready," she retorted, gesturing again to her gown and emphasizing her perfect chignon. "What are my instructions today?"

"Keep Harry," he said instantly, and she rolled her eyes.

"Anything else?"

"Viewers still love Draco," he said, checking his latest owl. "They like Theo, too - "

"I'm not cutting Theo," Hermione interrupted, and Lee raised his hands innocently.

"Okay, okay," he said quickly. "Fine, Theo stays." He grinned at her. "Maybe you're finding a little _too much_ love on this show."

"Don't be ridiculous," she snapped, placing her hands on her hips with a prim _tsk_ -ing sound. "It's not _love_. I just like him." She paused, thinking. "And Harry." She sighed. "Fine, _and_ Draco."

"Mm," Lee said, winking. "True love indeed."

* * *

 _[Camera pans to Hermione, who is holding the final rose.]_

Hermione: _[Takes a deep breath]_ "The final rose tonight is for . . . " _[She trails off.]_

 _[Editor's cut:_

 _Hermione: "Do I really need to pause for 30 seconds every time?"_

 _Muttered response._

 _Hermione, stomping her foot in irritation: "Oh, for Godric's sake."]_

 _[Camera pans between Terry and Ron, who are the only two remaining.]_

Hermione: "Ron."

 _[Ron sighs with relief while Terry looks disappointed; she hugs him warmly after pinning the rose on him. Lee steps into camera view.]_

Lee: "Thank you, gentlemen." _[Turns to camera.]_ "And now, scenes from later this season on The Bachelorette!"

 _[Camera cuts to montage of Seamus and Dean; in every shot, both men are shirtless.]_

Hermione, in interview: "Am I crazy, or are Dean and Seamus not really that interested in me?"

 _[Camera cuts to her and Theo; she is sitting in his lap and laughing as he tells a story.]_

Theo voiceover: "Are things moving too quickly with Hermione? I certainly wouldn't say that." _[Cuts to interview; Theo is smirking relentlessly.]_ "Personally, I rather like the pace."

 _[Clips of Hermione with Harry, holding hands as they talk animatedly.]_

Ron voiceover: "No, I'm not jealous." _[His voice is very stiff.]_ "I'm not jealous at all."

 _[Scene of Ron and Hermione sitting at a date, looking awkward.]_

Hermione, in interview: "Chemistry is a bit uneven, I would say. It's definitely . . . more tangible with some than with others."

 _[Clips of Hermione and Draco making eyes at each other from across the room as she gives Blaise a dispassionate hug.]_

Draco: "Who's going to be the first to say I love you? I don't know." _[Shrugs]_ "Won't be me."

 _[Cut to Hermione and Draco dancing; he dips her dramatically, clearly unable to take his eyes off her as she laughs.]_

Draco voiceover: "I love you, Hermione. I'm falling in love with you, and it's terrifying. I'm terrified."

Hermione voiceover: "Draco, I - "

 _[Cuts abruptly to Lee.]_

Lee, grinning: "All that and more coming up on . . . The Bachelorette!"

 _[Editor's cut:_

 _Lee: "Seriously, am I the only one that's Team Harry here? Come on. Team Harry, right?"_

 _Muttered response._

 _Lee: "Oh, we're still rolling? Fuck me."]_

* * *

a/n: I am thinking 4 parts total. This one is for brigittar!

To those of you who have finished _Marked_ \- yes, there will be a drabble in here that will serve as an epilogue of sorts. Likely not for a couple of weeks, but it will eventually exist, I promise.


	8. The Story

**The Story**

 _Pairing:_ Dramione (Draco x Hermione)

 _Universe:_ _This World or Any Other_ Storyverse (Clean/Marked)

 _Rating:_ T

 _Summary:_ This was previously posted as a standalone one-shot about two months ago but I decided I wanted to move it in here. If you have read _Clean_ , this is an expanded one-shot from Day 4 of _Chapter 14: The Seven_ , in which Draco and Hermione are working on their potion together. If not, it can be read separately.

Thanks to Dr. Sally for naming the Clean/Marked/Youth series: _**This World or Any Other.**_

* * *

Hermione Granger, exceptional student though she was, had found it difficult to concentrate for most of that day. Her seat next to Draco Malfoy in Defense Against the Dark Arts was particularly distracting, considering the unexpected pleasantness that had somehow developed between them over the duration of their heavily time-consuming potion assignment. She found that the thought of having only four days left, after a _full moon cycle_ of being left alone with Malfoy, night after night, had left her dizzied with confusion - not to mention without a proper outlet for the troubling thoughts she was so unaccustomed to having.

They were _exceedingly_ troubling thoughts. Thoughts like the oddly fascinating color of Malfoy's eyes - the precise shade of grey, like the eye of an impending storm. Thoughts like the distinct bow of his lips. The sharp curve of his jaw. The way she caught him looking at her every now and then, and the startling leap of her heart right before she pretended not to notice.

Thoughts like the way his eyes changed when he was thinking about something, the stormy greys flashing under his artfully furrowed brow. The way a tingle raced up the back of her neck when she felt his eyes on her, following her fingers as she tucked a curl behind her ear or the hem of her skirt as she crossed her legs under her desk.

Thoughts like the sharp outline of his collarbone when his shirt gapped ever so slightly, the smooth protrusion of his chest evident when he wearily rid himself of his uniform details as he met her after dark. The way he pulled his tie roughly over his head and tossed it aside, increasingly comfortable in her presence. The way he nonchalantly freed his top buttons, unconcerned where her darkened eyes fell. The way he stood over their potion, his trim hips shifting gracefully to angle him towards her, wherever she was in the room. The way he ran his hand through his pale blond hair, enviously blind to the way her chest rose and fell as she recalled their previous breathless indiscretions. All his thoughtless, careless practices that had become her nightly staples, haunting her with those _thoughts_.

Thoughts like the way his lips had captured hers once before - directing them, caressing them. _Possessing_ them.

She shivered, watching him smooth his hair back and lean casually onto his elbows from where he perched on the desk across the room. Did he have any idea, even an _inkling_ , what he was doing to her?

"Tell me a story," she suggested, breaking the silence as they watched the potion simmer. It would be a while, at least an hour, before the remainder of the evening's incantations would be required.

He tossed her an impatient scowl. "No."

"Malfoy!" she exclaimed, crossing her arms. "Come on. Entertain me."

He seemed to be toying with her now, purposely eyeing his fingernails with a brush of mild indifference dancing across his faintly pouted lips. "Why?" he asked coolly, and she rolled her eyes.

"Because we're going to be here for hours," she said matter-of-factly. "And if you don't talk to me, I'll have to find some other way to amuse myself." She hopped off the desk, pretending to keep a wary eye on their simmering potion. "Maybe I'll just read my notes out loud."

He sighed loudly. "You'll have to be more specific," he said crisply, and she smiled. His ongoing attempts at pretense had become increasingly transparent with each day they were forced to work together.

"About what?" she asked innocently. "Which notes to read?"

"No," he said, raising an eyebrow. "Which story to tell."

She bit her lip, concealing her grin of satisfaction. "Fine," she conceded, pausing to think for a moment. "Tell me about your favorite place you've traveled."

"My family has villas all over Europe," he said impatiently, frowning as his eyes wandered listlessly up to the ceiling. "None of them are interesting."

She fought back a skeptical eye roll. "Fine," she said again, her voice clipped. "What about - I don't know. Hobbies? Activities? Things you like to do?"

"Quidditch," he replied curtly. "End of story."

She growled a little. " _Malfoy_ \- "

"Don't take that tone with me, Granger," he said shortly, though she caught a lilt of amusement in his voice. "If you want to hear an interesting story, you'll have to think of an interesting prompt."

She huffed irritably. "You're impossible," she said, making a face. "You know that, right?"

He tilted his chin slightly to look down his nose at her from where he sat. "I disagree, Granger," he sniffed. "As I understand it, I'm really quite a treasure."

She pressed her fingers to her temple. "I don't even know what to say to that," she groaned, and she watched his grey eyes dance as he grinned mercilessly at her, swinging his long legs back and forth and waiting for her next move. She couldn't help but feel that talking to him was a bit like a game; it somehow felt as though there were rules, and she only vaguely understood them.

 _No_ , she realized, correcting herself. _Not like a game._ It was more like an artfully choreographed dance.

Hermione took a deep breath, a thought coming to her. "Tell me . . . tell me about the first time you did magic."

She watched as the corner of his mouth twitched.

"Ah," she said brightly. " _Finally_. I've piqued your interest."

"Don't get carried away, Granger," he said briskly.

She arched her brow carefully. "Well?" she asked, prodding him.

He slid forward forward on the desk before planting both of his feet on the floor, and she had to make a concerted effort not to let her eyes follow the trail of his hips.

"I lit my grandfather on fire," he pronounced flatly, and she blinked twice.

"You did _what?_ " she asked, her eyes wide.

"I lit him on fire," he repeated, shrugging. "Well, his robes, anyway. I was not thrilled with his decision not to give me his wand."

"Malfoy!"

"What?" he said, raising his hands and offering her a beatific smile. "I was a _child_."

"Still," she said, laughing in spite of herself. "You really were painfully spoiled, weren't you?"

"I'm offended," he announced, drawing himself up to his full height. "And I certainly wasn't as bad as I could have been."

She let a delicate snort escape her. "That doesn't make it okay."

"I promise," he said solemnly. "Theo was _much_ worse."

"Impossible," she replied, scoffing in disbelief. "There's _no way_ Theo Nott was worse than you. You were a pompous arse before you even set foot in this castle!"

"Once again, I am injured by your hasty presumptions," he informed her, and she hoped he didn't notice her sharp inhalation as he suddenly moved in her direction.

He took a calculated step into her personal space, making a somewhat more convincing show than she had done of glancing at their potion. "You judge me so harshly, Granger," he said quietly, and she felt a strange jolt in her chest at finding herself intimately aware of the precise location of his mouth - more specifically, that it was within inches of _hers_.

"I - I don't," she sputtered, taking a hasty step back before steeling herself. "You have to admit," she admonished him, reminding herself to breathe as he fixed his grey eyes on hers, "you weren't exactly a walk in the park."

He flashed her an arrogant smirk. "Parks are for people without private gardens, Granger."

To her horror, she found herself starting to giggle shrilly. "Malfoy," she managed after a moment, squinting at him while he watched with amusement, "you sound _ridiculous._ "

She didn't know what she expected his reaction to be, but found herself pleasantly surprised when he broke into a broad smile.

"Don't laugh, Granger," he scolded her, and somehow his tone set her off again. "Granger! I'm telling you. I could have been much worse."

"I don't see how," she said honestly, biting her lip to fight her laughter.

What was happening to her? To _her_ , the logical, brilliant, brightest-witch-of-her-age Hermione Granger, who seemed to be inexplicably dissolving into a fit of girlish tittering? It was rather late; perhaps she was just tired.

"You _did_ just admit to setting your grandfather on fire," she reminded him.

"I've already told you," he said indignantly, though even she could tell that his already fractured formality was beginning to deteriorate. "Theo was much worse. Theo was worse to my own grandfather, even."

Something about the urgency surrounding his ongoing effort to convince her that he was really _not so bad_ was contributing to her overall amusement. "Oh?"

"Yes, _oh_ ," he repeated, and she laughed again as he made a face. "I'll have you know that Theo Nott was a prolific thief as a child."

"No!" she said, bringing a hand to her mouth dramatically.

He bit back a laugh. "Oh _yes,_ " he said, nodding conspiratorially as he leaned towards her. "There was one time in particular. My grandfather was at my house, and so was Theo - it was one of the usual Malfoy dinner parties - "

" _Usual_ dinner parties?" she echoed, smiling. "Tell me, Malfoy, exactly how many sets of dress robes do you own?"

"Don't interrupt, Granger," he chided her quickly, and the absurdly impatient look that flashed over his features launched her into a renewed fit of smothered laughter. "Anyway - Theo was at my house and we were - I don't know, ten years old, maybe - "

"You were ten years old at a dinner party?" she asked, bewildered at the thought.

"Well yes - it was my birthday party," he said, a brief moment of confusion etched into his face as though he expected this would be obvious.

They looked at each other for a few seconds before she suddenly burst out laughing.

"Your _birthday_ party?" she asked. "Your tenth birthday party? You're joking. You're _joking_."

"What else would I have done?" he protested, watching her with utter bemusement.

"I don't know," she asked helplessly. "Had a party with your friends?"

"Theo was there," he insisted defensively. "Are you even _listening -_ "

"But maybe you could have done something that - I don't know, that children like to do?" she suggested, and the blank look on his face seemed somehow even more entertaining than before. "Nevermind. Carry on."

"Fine," he said suspiciously, though he seemed keen to continue. "Anyway - my grandfather fell asleep in our sitting room after his digestif - "

" - did you actually know the term 'digestif' when you were ten years old?"

"Granger, what did I tell you about interrupting?" he scolded, and she placed her hand innocently over her lips, smiling. "Theo and I didn't have wands yet, but obviously we already knew we were wizards - "

" - _obviously_ \- "

" - so Theo decided we should have a contest, to see which of us could get my grandfather's eyeglasses off of his face." He frowned slightly, his hand motions suddenly becoming very frantic. "You have to understand - my grandfather is one of those old, distinguished types, and his glasses" - here Malfoy stopped, bringing his hands to his face in large circles as to indicate the size of the lenses - "were _so large_ \- "

He looked so unspeakably ridiculous holding his makeshift glasses to his face that she couldn't help but laugh at his earnestness, bringing her hand to her chest. "That's - " she said, struggling, "That's such a good look for you, Malfoy - "

He started to laugh too, seeming to realize how he must have looked to her. "I just want you to understand," he pressed, dropping one hand to reach out and grip her wrist, "it is _imperative_ to the story that you understand the true nature of these spectacles - "

" - I get it, Malfoy - "

" - _do_ you, though, are you _sure -_ "

" - put your hands down, Malfoy, I can't take you seriously - "

"Anyway," he erupted loudly, struggling through his attempt to regain a vaguely dignified solemnity, "Theo tried to levitate the glasses off my grandfather's face, but at first they sort of - they slipped - "

"They _slipped_?" she asked, her hand coming anxiously to her mouth. "Did he wake up?"

"No!" he exclaimed, and at that point, even Malfoy couldn't prevent a smile from slipping across his face. "He was still just sitting there snoring, _totally_ oblivious - "

"Where were your parents?" she exclaimed, pressing her hands to her face. Her cheeks felt rather tingly and warm, presumably a combination of her ongoing fit of laughter and her unnerving proximity to Malfoy as he spoke. The normally standoffish Slytherin was suddenly engaging with her in a way he never had before, and she found it was making her a bit lightheaded.

"I don't know - busy," he said, making a careless shooing motion with his hand as though to redirect her attention. He seemed to grow increasingly at ease as the story continued, his voice and hand motions becoming more and more animated as he continued to talk. "So Theo manages to levitate them ever so slightly, and he runs over and snatches them out of the air, and we - we just take off, running for our lives - "

"So that's it? He just _stole_ your grandfather's glasses off his face?"

Malfoy's eyes got wide, as though he was suddenly remembering something. "No," he realized, bringing his hand to his forehead. "No - I'd forgotten - Theo actually started to wear them around."

"What?!" Theo Nott had always been oddly tall and slender; she recalled suddenly her initial impression of him in their first year, and his distinct resemblance to a series of paper clips. "He _wore_ them?"

"Yes," he said, and finally the last traces of inhibition started to crack as laughter reached his flashing grey eyes. "Yes, and my grandfather was so stubborn - he just _refused_ to get another pair, he wouldn't admit to losing them - so for weeks, Theo would show up at my house wearing the glasses while my grandfather just stumbled around, blaming house elves for rearranging the furniture whenever he tripped over something - "

"He blamed the _house elves_?"

"I don't think you understand, Granger," he told her, and she caught for the first time a mischievous glint in his eye that would have rivaled Ron's or Harry's. "I'm a Malfoy. We are _eternally_ without fault."

She gave him such a stark look of naked skepticism that they were silent for less than a moment before simultaneously erupting in laughter. It was utter ludicrous, and he knew it.

"Did he ever find them?" she asked, rubbing her eyes where moisture had started to pool in the corners.

"Well," he rasped, his eyes bright with the memory. "My mother held another dinner, not too long after, and of course, Theo was supposed to come - "

"No," she gasped. "Don't tell me he - "

"Shush Granger, you're impossible," he snapped indignantly, his tone of haughty self-importance setting her off yet again. " _Stop laughing_ \- "

Tears of laughter were streaming down her face, and he was gasping for air, too out of breath to finish the story. The strange flirtation, the building tension had been unexpected enough - but was it now possible that she was actually having _fun_ with Draco Malfoy?

" _You_ stop laughing!"

"Shush," he repeated, though his face reddened with the significant effort it took to continue the story. "So then, Theo shows up" – he paused as she let out another preemptive peal of laughter – "and he's wearing my grandfather Abraxas's spectacles" – another pause, this time accommodating his own braying interruption – "and he's – "

She cut him off. "Does Theo" – laughter – "even _wear_ glasses?"

"No!" – laughter – "and he comes into my grandfather's study, ten years old wearing a ninety year old man's oversized bifocals" – extended laughter, lasting at least two minutes – "and my grandfather says, 'Son, are those my glasses?'"

"He didn't!" she howled. "Ouch, my stomach – "

"He _did_ , and Theo says" – pause while he choked out a wheezing cough – "Hold on, I can't breathe – "

"My face actually _hurts_ – "

"Theo says 'Sir, these are obviously my glasses – are you _blind_?'"

It took at least ten minutes for them to be able to sit up straight without clutching their sides from laughter; she was wiping tears from her cheeks while he kept pulling at his mouth, trying to relax his overtired smile.

"I can't believe he did that," she said, still grinning.

"Theo and I were constantly up to no good," he said, running his hands through his hair, smiling at the memory. "We both got away with so much, too. For a while, anyway."

"It's hard to think of Theodore Nott as good-humored," she commented, smirking.

"Theo is actually quite charming," he assured her. "But – the circumstances were never right for you to know that."

"Why did you always spend all your time with Crabbe and Goyle, then?" she asked, wrinkling her nose.

He shrugged. "Foolish youth," he said simply. "They made me feel important, I suppose. Theo wouldn't have put up with it."

"I'm surprised anybody could," she said, giggling. "You were such a prat."

"Well, I appreciate the past tense, Granger," he said, tipping an imaginary hat to her.

She sighed. "Could you have been like this, always?"

"Like what?"

"Like you are now, with me," she said, gifting him with a charming smile. "Maybe we all could have been friends – "

"Who, you and me?"

"Well, yes," she said. "Yes, of course, but I meant all of us – Harry, Ron, Theo – "

"Well, if you recall," he said quickly, correcting her. " _Potter_ is the reason we're not friends, not me."

"You were so rude to Ron!"

"So? Weasley was rude to you, at first!" he retorted quickly. "He was _awful_ to you, and you decided it was best to just go ahead and fall in love with him."

"Oh, stop, that was different," she insisted. "You were such a snob already – "

"Yeah, well I was also eleven years old," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "With no siblings or cousins or anything. I just assumed he'd want to be my friend. And then – he didn't. And I didn't understand."

Despite his admission, she smiled at him. "Little Malfoy not used to being rejected, hmm?" she teased. "Poor little rich boy."

He shoved her playfully. "The point is, I don't think we were meant to be friends, Granger."

"Just as well," she said, shrugging. "I'm not sure you and Ron were meant to get along under any circumstances."

"I take that as a compliment," he sniffed.

He turned back to their potion and she bit her lip, hiding a smile. Was it really so easy, letting her guard down around Draco Malfoy? She found she hardly recognized him. She barely recognized herself, she realized, pressing her hands to her cheeks. She was flushed and breathless. When had she last laughed like this?

She let her eyes follow his movements as he raised his wand, smiling absentmindedly to himself as he gave their potion a testing stir. She couldn't help but experience a moment of blissful satisfaction, colored only by a faint curiosity; she wondered whether he, too, experienced the same troubling flood of foreign thoughts - about her. About _her_ eyes. _Her_ hands. _Her_ mouth.

She couldn't have known, of course, though perhaps she'd have found some solace - some _comfort_ \- in knowing that unlike her, Draco Malfoy's normally feverish mind had actually calmed. In fact, it pulsed with a only a single, consuming, and inexplicably motivating thought.

The thought that for once - for a single, gratifying moment - he felt freer; the thought that the restricting chains that bound his heart had loosened, somehow, by having been the one to make Hermione Granger laugh, and the strangely liberating realization that suddenly, he couldn't stand to go another day without it. Without _her_.

"Counterclockwise?" she prompted, gesturing to the potion.

"Counterclockwise," he confirmed, nodding, and she smiled.

That was the beginning.

* * *

 **a/n:** If you've already read this, no need to reflect; just doing some housekeeping. This was originally written for LittleChmura and remains hers!


	9. Bachelorette, Part III of V

**Bachelorette, Part III**

 _Pairing:_ Dramione (Draco x Hermione)

 _Universe:_ Post-Hogwarts, EWE

 _Rating:_ M for language, definite smut later

 _Summary:_ Part III of the drabble series based on the reality show "The Bachelorette," wherein eligible men in the wizarding world compete for Hermione Granger's affections.

 _Additional note:_ Bachelorette/Bachelor seasons follow a pattern once they get down to the final four. The final four episode is called Hometowns, wherein the Bachelorette visits the homes of each contestant and meets their parents. The final three is called Fantasy Suites and _is a real thing_ where the Bachelorette gets to have a night in a hotel suite with each of them with _no cameras allowed_. (Yeah. And you think _this_ is ridiculous?)

This portion of the drabble encompasses the previous weeks as well as Hometowns. Fantasy Suites and the final decision will be Part IV.

* * *

 _[Black screen; Lee voiceover.]_

"Here's what you missed on . . . The Bachelorette!"

 _[Dean and Seamus are sitting together in an interview, holding hands.]_

Dean: "It's stupid, frankly."

Seamus: _[nods]_ "It really is. I can't believe we didn't see it coming."

Dean: "I think it caught everyone by surprise, honestly."

 _[Cuts to Ron interview.]_

Ron: _[Staring at the camera.]_ "Are you serious?" _[Shakes head.]_ "I have never been less surprised in probably my entire life."

 _[Cuts to Harry interview.]_

Harry: "I mean, I lived with them." _[Shrugs]_ "I've seen stuff."

 _[Cut to scene of them informing Hermione at one of the cocktail parties.]_

Dean: "It's nothing to do with you, of course."

Seamus: "Well, your lack of dick, potentially."

Hermione, faintly: "Right."

 _[Cuts to Hermione interview.]_

Hermione: "I'm happy for them, really!" _[She seems sincere after having recovered from her initial confusion.]_ "It absolutely thrills me that I'm not the only one finding love on this show!"

 _[Lee voiceover as shots of Hermione and the other contestants fill the screen.]_

Lee: "Hermione and Theo heat up on their first one-on-one date."

 _[Cuts to scenes of their date; they explore a folksy farmer's market, and Theo lays out an elaborate picnic for her; he picks her up, throws her over his shoulder, and when she playfully screams to be put down he lays her carefully on the ground, stretching out against her and giving her a slow, intense kiss.]_

Hermione voiceover: "Theo is . . . he's . . . "

 _[Shots of Theo and Hermione as they attempt to throw grapes into each other's mouths; Theo cheers as Hermione finally makes one.]_

Hermione voiceover: "I don't know. He's fun. I'm very relaxed."

 _[Clip of them wandering the streets, holding hands.]_

Hermione voiceover: "It's just very easy to be comfortable with Theo."

 _[Cut to Theo interview.]_

Theo, enthusiastically: "I like her." _[Grins widely.]_ "I like her quite a bit."

 _[Cuts to scenes from group date; she and Ron have a moment as he offers her a piece of cake, getting frosting on her lip and using it as an excuse to kiss her. She kisses him back, though her eyes stray warily to Harry, who is watching.]_

Hermione voiceover: "Things with Harry are definitely more passionate than I expected."

 _[Cut to Harry and Hermione kissing as they sit with their feet in a swimming pool; she leans against him, and he rests his chin fondly on top of her head.]_

Harry voiceover: "There is definitely something between us."

 _[Harry interview.]_

Interviewer, off-screen: "Are you finding yourself at odds with any of the other candidates?"

Harry: "Er." _[Shifts uneasily.]_ "Ron and I aren't doing so well."

 _[Clips of Harry and Ron occasionally bumping shoulders as they pass, glaring at each other as Hermione casually chats with other people.]_

Harry: "Ron, could you pass the - "

Ron: _[Throws salt shaker at him.]_

Harry, teeth gritted: "Thanks."

 _[Cuts back to Harry interview.]_

Harry: "What's been really unexpected is that with things being shaky with Ron, I've actually been hanging out with Malfoy a bit more."

 _[Harry and Draco are alone in the manor house's library, reading in silence together; Draco glances over at Harry.]_

Draco: "Drink?"

Harry: _[Looks up, surprised.]_ "Sure."

 _[Back to Harry interview.]_

Harry: "I mean, it's not much, but it's . . . something, I guess." _[He suddenly becomes very animated.]_ "And it's weird, really, because if there's anyone Hermione's getting close to that might be skeptical of me, shouldn't it be Draco?"

 _[Cuts to Blaise reading a date card.]_

Blaise, reading Hermione's note: "Blaise and Draco." _[He pauses.]_ "What? Two of us?"

 _[Cuts to Lee explaining.]_

Lee: "Gentlemen, a two-on-one is simple. You both go on a date with Hermione, _but_." _[Pauses, grinning mercilessly.]_ "One of you will be sent home immediately, while the other will receive the rose that keeps them safe from elimination."

 _[Scenes from the date follow on the screen; Hermione can't stop looking at Draco, and when he pulls her aside for a moment alone, she sighs with relief. Scene then cuts to the end of the date; Hermione is sitting at a table with Draco and Blaise.]_

Hermione: "I hate having to do this, as I've gotten so close to both of you . . . " _[Pauses, letting her eyes flick to Draco.]_ "But this rose is for Draco."

Blaise voiceover: "It was pretty obvious. I'm not too terribly upset, though she is a lovely girl."

 _[Cuts to scene of Hermione and Draco talking alone in a dimly lit corner during the date; they do not appear to know they are being filmed from afar.]_

Hermione: _[Indistinct whispering.]_

Draco: "I know." _[Lifts her chin to kiss her softly.]_ "It's okay."

Hermione: _[Whispers something; at his nod of reassurance, she wraps her arms around his neck.]_

 _[Cuts to Draco interview.]_

Draco: "We . . . get each other." _[Shrugs.]_ "I don't know how else to explain it."

 _[Cuts to Lee, who is again standing in front of the manor house.]_

Lee: "And on tonight's episode - Hometowns!"

 _[A montage of the various candidates' family homes cut across the screen.]_

Lee: "How will Hermione fare after spending a day in each remaining contestant's hometown? Will she feel right at home at the Burrow?"

 _[Cuts to scene of her walking in the front door, being accosted by a starstruck Molly Weasley.]_

Lee: "Will she be traumatized by her visit to Malfoy Manor?"

 _[Narcissa Malfoy embraces Hermione coolly as the younger witch's eyes dart around in desperation.]_

Lee: "What surprises await at Nott Manor?"

 _[Theo is covering Hermione's eyes as he nudges her in the door; camera shows her face as she gasps in delight.]_

Lee: "All that and more when we return on . . . The Bachelorette!"

* * *

"Ladies - _ladies_ , what is happening?" Minerva exclaimed, rushing over to the corner of the Great Hall where the two fourth years were arguing, their fists clenched tightly around their wands.

"She's being _crazy -_ "

"I am not crazy, you're _blind_!"

Minerva looked up, gesturing across the room to the girls' Heads of House. "Professor Sprout, Professor Flitwick," she said frantically. " _Please_ get your house members under control - "

"What's the problem?" Filius squeaked, rushing over to stand beside the young Ravenclaw as Pomona hurried in his wake.

"My mum's just owled me the results of last week's Bachelorette," the Hufflepuff explained, huffing. "Which, by the way, we only missed because _she_ insisted the rest of us had to wait for her - "

"I had quidditch!" the Ravenclaw replied angrily, glaring. "And _she_ thinks it's going to be _Harry_ that Hermione chooses, which is absolute _rubbish_ \- "

"Like you would know!" the Hufflepuff squawked gracelessly, needing to be restrained by a very flustered Pomona. " _You're_ Team Theo, which doesn't even _make sense -_ "

"This is about that ridiculous Bachelorette competition?" Minerva exclaimed, aghast. "Ladies, this is a _school_ \- you should be focusing on your studies - "

They each shuffled under her disappointment, loath to meet her eyes. "Yes, Headmistress," they groaned in unison, shooting each other angry glares.

"Ten points each from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff," Minerva declared, crossing her arms. "Now run off and forget all this nonsense."

They both nodded quickly, pausing to offer apologetic nods to their respective Heads of House before scurrying away, appearing to mutter quietly to each other as the argument continued.

Minerva sighed. "This Bachelorette nonsense has to stop," she proclaimed wearily. "This is the fourth time this week I've had to listen to them go on about that insipid farce."

"Oh, I don't know, Minerva," Filius said kindly. "I mean, Miss Davenport _did_ have a point - Miss Granger _does_ seem quite likely to choose Potter - "

"What?" Pomona exclaimed, affronted. "Filius, have you gone mad?"

Filius crossed his arms, a quiet challenge. "Don't tell me you really think _Nott_ will be Miss Granger's choice?" he scoffed. "After teaching them both?"

"No," Pomona retorted quickly, defensive in her disagreement. "I am quite sure it will be Weasley; there's history there, you know, and they were so obvious while they were in school." She turned to Minerva, who rubbed her temples in exhaustion. "Surely you agree, Minerva!"

"I do not," Minerva snapped. "I think this is a waste of energy to consider," she said, raising her chin haughtily, "and don't think I haven't heard about the faculty pool you're all part of!"

They looked away guiltily, but Minerva pressed on. "Frankly, you could both do with a reminder that you have a much higher purpose than expending any effort guessing who Miss Granger may or may not choose to marry _within the confines of a superficial competition!_ "

Both Filius and Pomona looked sheepish, giving her the same look the young fourth years had only just tossed her way.

"Besides," Minerva added, squaring her shoulders and starting to walk away. "Seeing as _I_ was Miss Granger's Head of House, I am quite confident that you're both incorrect."

She paused just before exiting the hall.

"Put me down for five galleons on Mr. Malfoy," she instructed briskly, brushing some nonexistent dust off her robes before she swept out of the room.

* * *

"Granger."

His voice was a low growl as he followed her down the hall and she turned to face him, startled.

"Draco," she said, bringing her hand to her chest to slow her thudding pulse. "You scared me."

"How dare you?" he said bluntly, standing too close to her and looking down from his rather intimidating height. "How fucking _dare_ you?"

"Malfoy!" she hissed warningly, looking around. There were no cameras, but they could arrive at any given moment; she yanked him into the bathroom behind her.

"What is this about?" she snapped, adjusting the straps of her gold evening gown as the door shut behind them. "What on earth has gotten into you?"

"A two-on-one?" he demanded, his grey eyes flashing. "You picked me for a _two-on-one_?"

"You knew I wasn't going to eliminate you!" she exclaimed, still not clear on the source of his apparent frustration. "I was _always_ going to choose you - "

"I don't care, Granger!" he half-shouted, his arms motioning widely. "You'll be alone with Potter and Theo, but not with me?"

She gaped at him. "Are you - _jealous_?" she sputtered, completely bewildered by his sudden fiery response. "Draco, I - you - " she paused, stumbling. "You _can't_ be serious."

"I'm not jealous," he spat unconvincingly, beginning to pace the master bath. "It's not _jealousy_ \- but I don't understand it," he admitted, his lips pursed tightly. "Why not me?"

His voice had softened and now he was looking at her with a sincerity stripped so bare she felt an incomprehensible shiver thunder up her spine.

"Why not me?" he asked again, his chest rising and falling as he struggled against his more impervious nature.

"Draco." She took a step towards him, taking hold of his suit lapel and shaking him playfully. "Draco, I didn't need to waste a one-on-one to know for sure I want to keep you here." She shook her head, finding herself surprised at the candidness of her own response. "I didn't know about Harry, or Theo, so I had to spend time alone with them - but _you_ \- I know exactly where I stand with you, you _can't_ really think there was a question - "

He was shaking his head, looking down in a humbling mix of humiliation and relief.

"And for Hometowns I get a whole day with you," she reminded him softly, nudging his chin up with her hand to meet his grey eyes. "A whole day."

"Right," he croaked, nodding. "Right." He sighed, taking a step away from her. "I'd forgotten."

They were quiet for a moment, until the absurdity of the situation finally hit her.

"Did you really say ' _how dare you_ '?" she asked, smirking at him. "So dramatic, Malfoy."

He opened his mouth to respond and she lifted her chin defiantly as she waited, anticipating a " _Shut up, Granger_ ," or even " _You give yourself too much credit_ " - but instead, he picked her up roughly and sat her against the lip of the sink, kissing her fiercely, his breath ragged in her mouth.

"Fine," he said finally, pulling away. "Wear the black dress to meet my mother," he added briskly, stepping out of her reach and slipping quickly out of the room.

He left her staring at the door, her hand held numbly against her lips for almost five full minutes after he walked away.

* * *

 _[Camera pans to Lee, who is standing outside of the Burrow.]_

Lee: "Welcome to the Burrow, the family home of Ron Weasley! In an unprecedented move, Harry and Ron will both be using the Burrow for this very unique episode of Hometowns."

 _[Cuts to interview with Harry.]_

Harry: "Well, I grew up with muggles, but I certainly wouldn't subject Hermione to any time with them." _[Shrugs.]_ "And really, the Burrow feels more like home anyway."

 _[Ron interview; Ron has his arms crossed tightly and looks more than a little upset.]_

Ron: "This is bloody ridiculous."

 _[Cuts back to Lee, who is standing at the front door with Hermione.]_

Lee: "Ready to meet your potential future in-laws?"

 _[Editor's cut:_

 _Hermione: "You know that I know them, like, really well. Right?"_

 _Muttered response._

 _Hermione: "I feel like you haven't really thought this through, if I'm being honest."_

 _Mutters._

 _Hermione: "Okay great, so we're on the same page."]_

Hermione: _[Sighs deeply]_ "Yes, let's do it."

 _[Lee knocks and the door opens, revealing a very enthusiastic Molly Weasley.]_

Molly: "Hermione!" _[Embraces the young witch warmly, her eyes straying to the camera.]_

 _[Cuts to Hermione interview.]_

Hermione: "Am I surprised by her reaction? A bit." _[She bites her lip nervously.]_ "She didn't react well _at all_ to the rumors about me being with Harry during the Triwizard Tournament, so I didn't think she'd be happy to see me."

Interviewer, off-screen: "Were you worried about her reaction?"

Hermione: "Definitely. To be honest, I'm not even sure whether she would prefer I choose Harry or Ron."

 _[Cuts to Molly interview.]_

Molly: _[Preening a bit for the camera.]_ "Honestly, I'm torn. Obviously Ron _is_ my son, but . . . " _[She hesitates.]_ "She does look quite good with Harry, doesn't she?"

 _[Cuts back to Hermione hugging Molly.]_

Hermione: "Hi, Mrs. Weasley." _[Looks up to see Arthur.]_ "Hi Mr. Weasley!"

Arthur: "Hello, Hermione." _[Hugs her warmly.]_ "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

Molly, aghast: "Arthur!" _[She glances nervously to the camera.]_ "It's for the show, remember? For Harry and Ron?"

Arthur, bemused: "Ah." _[Shrugs, walking back into the house and calling over his shoulder.]_ "Carry on, then. I'll be in the garage if you need me!"

* * *

Hermione stood uncomfortably in the kitchen of the Burrow; she could only guess at the number of household cleaning charms Mrs. Weasley had had to use, considering she'd never seen the place so clean - not even for Bill and Fleur's wedding. Hermione supposed having all her children out of the nest might have been part of it, but still, Molly Weasley had always been a bit of a hoarder of sorts. At least half of the house's possessions were likely stored elsewhere; the garage, Hermione could only guess. Arthur made exceptions for undetectable extension charms when it came to the happiness of his wife.

 _Not a bad thing to have learned from a father_ , she reminded herself, eyeing Ron where he was gazing rather sulkily into space. Beside him, Harry also stood rigid with discomfort, and Hermione wondered yet again what had possessed them to decide to share ownership of this particular family and dwelling. It seemed The Bachelorette had driven them all to inarguable madness.

"So," she ventured uncomfortably, fidgeting in front of the camera. "Any plans?"

Ron and Harry opened their mouths at the same time to answer, and then only glared at each other.

"Ah," Hermione said, fighting the impulse to rub her temple wearily.

That was only the beginning, of course. Molly had prepared a vast spread - far more than she would normally have done, even with her generally ample cooking - but it was difficult to appreciate her enormous effort. The food was difficult to taste over the stiff tension between her two best friends.

"How's it going?" Lee whispered in a low voice, pulling her aside.

"Not well at all," she replied, which was obvious. Lee grimaced.

"I just got instructions for this week's elimination," he said regretfully, and Hermione sighed, knowing what was coming. She lifted her chin, gesturing to a quieter spot in the house.

"I have to cut either Ron or Harry, don't I?" she whispered, her face falling once they were safely out of earshot.

"Yes," he said, anxiously picking at his fingernails. "I'm so sorry, Hermione."

"It's really better for all of us," she remarked, trying to be logical about it. "We're supposed to be best friends, and I know they'll get over this eventually, they always do, but - " she sighed. "It can't go on like this."

"Well, you know my thoughts on the matter," Lee said wryly. "I have my favorites."

"I saw you tear up last week," she reminded him. "I'm perfectly aware."

"I'm very invested," he insisted, shrugging.

"What if I just walked away now and didn't pick anyone?" Hermione said hopefully. "Dean and Seamus had the right idea." She paused, then looked up at Lee with a start. "There's no chance _you_ want to marry me, is there?"

He glared at her.

"Fair enough," she sighed, turning to rejoin her hosts.

* * *

 _[Camera pans across the stately facade of Malfoy Manor; Lee steps into view.]_

Lee: "Welcome to Malfoy Manor, the elegant home of the Malfoy family." _[He gestures to Hermione, who joins him. She is wearing a tasteful and elegant black dress.]_ "Hermione, as we all know, there are some bad memories here."

 _[Editor's cut:_

 _Hermione: "'Bad memories'? That's what you're going with?"_

 _Muttered response._

 _Hermione: "It doesn't strike you as, I don't know - the understatement of the century?"]_

Hermione: "Yes." _[Her voice is strained and she has never looked more nervous.]_ "A long time ago, of course. Practically a different world."

Lee: "Certainly." _[Forges ahead awkwardly.]_ "Do you have any reservations about this day?"

 _[Editor's cut:_

 _Hermione, in interview: "Do I have reservations? DO I HAVE RESERVATIONS?"]_

Hermione: "I'm sure everything will be fine." _[Her knees buckle slightly and she has the distinct look of someone who may take off running at any given moment.]_ "It's Draco. It'll be fine."

 _[The door opens, revealing an elegantly garbed Narcissa Malfoy and an unusually relaxed Draco, whose attire is uncharacteristically casual; he is wearing a soft sweater, dark trousers, and his hair is swept back as though he has recently been flying.]_

Narcissa: "Miss Granger." _[She opens her arms and Hermione enters, giving her what is perhaps the world's most awkward embrace.]_ "Such a pleasure to meet you."

Hermione, coolly despite her frantic expression: "Likewise." _[She turns to Draco, looking relieved to see him.]_ "Draco."

Draco: "Hermione." _[He pulls her in and kisses her softly; Hermione is surprised, her glance drifting immediately to Narcissa, but Narcissa has a surprising look of contentment on her face.]_

Hermione, breathlessly: "Hi." _[Draco tucks a stray hair behind her ear and Hermione finally seems to relax a bit at the contact.]_ "Shall we go inside?" _[She is still somewhat hesitant.]_

Narcissa: "Actually, I thought the garden would be better."

 _[Cuts to Narcissa interview.]_

Narcissa: "I may never forgive myself for what happened to that poor girl in my house. She hardly needs a tour." _[She shivers.]_ "And why keep up the gardenias if nobody sees them?"

* * *

Tea with Narcissa seemed to put Granger vaguely at ease, Draco noted, keeping an eye on her and watching the weight slowly lift from her shoulders as time went on. He reached for her hand on occasion, lightly massaging her knuckles with his thumb as he considered his mother's advice.

"I understand what you have to do," Narcissa had reminded him. "You have to woo her, Draco." She squared her shoulders as they waited for Lee's knock, ever the aristocrat. "Be sure to kiss her, darling. Women want affection."

"In front of you?" he'd asked, startled. "Doesn't that seem . . . disrespectful?"

"You think I am that easily disrespected?" she countered, giving him a look. "Please do me the kindness of not underestimating me, Draco. It offends."

"But - "

"Woo her," Narcissa commanded again, sweeping over to the entry table to rearrange some freshly cut lilies. "I trust you've not forgotten the purpose to all this."

"No," he'd permitted glumly, watching her fuss over a nonexistent mess. "She's really not so bad, though," he admitted, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop himself. "I don't think you need to worry so much."

At that, Narcissa had promptly straightened, turning sharply to glance at him over her shoulder.

"Draco," she'd said slowly. "Is there something I should know?"

"Hide the house elves," Draco grunted. "Seriously. It's a thing with her."

"No," Narcissa chided him, waving her hand as though to shoo away his unsatisfactory response. "Is there something I should know about _you_?"

He'd been silent, not wanting to give her the answer she was looking for. Feeding Narcissa information was always a gamble; she was a master manipulator, after all, a consummate Slytherin. She was not unkind, but she certainly had no shortage of agenda.

But despite his best efforts, she was still his mother, and it was difficult not to confess.

"She's not that bad," he grumbled, looking at the floor.

"Do not mumble to yourself, Draco," she scolded, and he fought his childish protestations. "If you like the girl, just say so." She softened, coming over to rest her hands warmly on his shoulders. "Women do enjoy being liked, you know," she assured him. "This one is surely no exception."

"It's Granger," he argued, eyeing her with unconcealed skepticism. "Are you really telling me you've no qualms about that?"

"Darling, I am not so one-dimensional that I cannot evolve with the times," she returned stiffly. "What's important to me is you, Draco, and only you." She paused. "And shoes. I care a great deal about shoes."

"You're not bothered by her birth?" he echoed, vaguely amused.

"Don't get carried away, darling," she sniffed, fussing with a speck of dust on her bodice. "Her birth may not be an issue, but there are a great many other things I could be bothered by." She looked up, thinking. "Her manners, perhaps; or the noise level of her chewing - "

"I think all of that will be fine, Mother," Draco interrupted, unable to prevent a covert eye roll. "She's not a barbarian."

"Then I expect we'll get along swimmingly," she declared, and in typical Narcissa fashion, that was that.

Draco turned to Granger now, his own lips twisting into a smile as she laughed at a story from Draco's youth. He would normally have been embarrassed by his mother's choice of story, but there was something slightly wonderful about the way Granger leaned forward, hanging on every word as though she wished to lay claim to the memory itself.

"Darling," Narcissa said after a while, her eyes traveling knowingly to Draco's. "Perhaps you might show her the ballroom?"

 _A woman likes to be courted, Draco._

Of course she wanted him to dance.

Granger was a surprisingly decent dancer, he determined, though perhaps he shouldn't have been surprised. He was a particularly well trained lead - all Narcissa's doing, of course - and Granger was almost shockingly coordinated. The music in the ballroom, which was charmed to change with the dancers' steps, prompted a particularly beautiful melody, and he felt a renewed surge of confidence as he watched Granger's eyes glimmer appreciatively.

"Cameras," she whispered to him, and he dipped her carefully, his eyes helplessly following the line of her neck as she slowly allowed herself to be brought back to his level.

"And my mother's not watching," he muttered back in her ear, pulling her into his chest.

A knowing smile spread across her lips and he lifted her up, his hands tangled in her hair as she wrapped her legs tightly around his waist.

"Convincing show," she murmured, and he pulled her lips to his.

* * *

 _[Camera pans the front of Nott Manor, which is very similar to Malfoy Manor in extravagance and age. Lee once again steps into view, Hermione on his arm.]_

Lee: "Welcome to the final Hometown destination - Nott Manor." _[He turns to Hermione.]_ "How are you feeling?"

 _[Editor's Cut:_

 _Hermione: "Seriously, stop asking how I'm feeling."_

 _Lee: "But - "_

 _Hermione: "It's not good, Lee. It's never good."_

 _Lee: "But - "_

 _Hermione: "If you ask me too many times I'll have to start being honest, and I swear, if I tell the truth, you'll be out of a job."_

 _Lee, resignedly: "Fair enough."]_

Hermione: "I'm great." _[Looks at Lee as though she may very well strangle him.]_

Lee, appearing to sense danger: "Okay, let's just go in then, shall we - "

 _[Theo opens the front door a crack and darts out, rushing towards them.]_

Theo: "Hi, hi, apologies." _[He is breathless.]_ "Have a bit of a surprise for you."

Hermione: "Oh?" _[She looks startled.]_ "What - "

Theo: "Come on." _[He gestures for her to come towards him; Lee tosses the camera a helpless 'what can you do' look, and Hermione hesitantly joins Theo.]_ "It'll be fun, I promise."

 _[Cuts to Hermione interview.]_

Hermione: "Not sure how I feel about surprises at an estate that once belonged to a notorious Death Eater." _[She looks queasy.]_ "I don't even like surprises much to begin with, but this seems particularly questionable. 'Fun' would not be my terminology of choice."

 _[Cuts back to Theo, who is holding his hands over her eyes.]_

Theo, gleefully: "Ready?"

Hermione, the opposite of gleefully: "Sure."

 _[Theo nudges the door open and pushes her inside; the camera pans first to Hermione's look of complete surprise, and then to the interior of the house. The entry hall is filled with brightly colored balloons and a large banner that is blurred for explicit content but very clearly reads 'Fuck parents.']_

Theo: "My parents are dead!" _[He is practically shouting with unbridled enthusiasm, and Hermione can barely contain her entertainment.]_ "It's just you and me!"

 _[Cuts to Hermione in an interview segment, who is practically crying with relief.]_

Hermione: "I had a wonderful time at Malfoy Manor and at the Burrow, but frankly, this is just what I needed."

 _[Camera cuts back to Theo and Hermione; Theo has grabbed Hermione and is kissing her, his arms wrapped around her waist.]_

Lee: "Uh, so." [ _He looks uncomfortably at the camera.]_ "This - um."

 _[Editor's cut:_

 _Lee: "Honestly, am I just supposed to watch them snog all over this house?"_

 _Muttered response._

 _Lee: "Okay, but have you seen how big this house is?"]_

* * *

Kingsley stared at the scroll before him, determined to finish the paperwork that littered his desk despite his unrelenting headache.

"Mafalda," he called, but to no response. He frowned, rising to his feet. It was possible she had gone home, as it was well after work hours, but she normally stayed behind when he did, and he was surprised she did not scurry in at his beckoning.

He walked out of his office to the location of her desk, discovering that at least four other members of the department were crouched around her workspace, with Mafalda herself at their center. He entered the fray quietly, glancing over their shoulders; The Bachelorette was playing on a tiny, charmed screen, and they all seemed to be enraptured, unconcerned by his presence.

Kingsley squinted at the scene that was playing, nearly leaping back in shock as he caught a close-up of the Nott boy's hands on Hermione's upper thigh.

"That's a bit gratuitous, don't you think?" he rumbled softly, a little scandalized. The other ministry workers jumped about a foot in the air, hastily stepping away and eyeing their feet as they returned to their desks.

"I have to say, Theo's grown on me," Mafalda remarked, unaware of what had happened behind her. "I dare say if things don't work out with Hermione, I can always make myself available - "

"Mafalda," Kingsley exclaimed in alarm, and she turned slowly, her face nearly purple.

"Sir," she managed, her voice inhumanly high.

He bit back a grin. "He does seem to know what he's doing," Kingsley conceded, pivoting quickly to re-enter his office.

* * *

 _[Camera pans across the remaining four contestants and then down to the three roses that have been placed beside Hermione; she is wearing a long navy gown, and her hands are shaking as she picks up the roses.]_

Hermione: "Draco."

 _[Draco steps forward and she seems to cling to him nervously; he holds her a beat longer than he should, but then returns to the others.]_

Hermione: _[Swallows and looks terrified.]_ "Harry."

 _[Harry looks relieved and gives her a comforting squeeze; she nods once and sighs, as though reassured by her choice. Harry rejoins the other candidates and chooses to stand beside Draco, who gives him a curt nod. The interaction is surprisingly amicable.]_

 _[The music becomes dramatic and intense as the camera zooms in on the only remaining rose.]_

Hermione: "This is the hardest rose so far, and I hope you'll forgive me." _[She starts rubbing anxiously at her clavicle as though she is struggling to breathe.]_ "This rose is for . . . "

 _[She trails off and the music is excessively dramatic.]_

Hermione: _[Takes a deep breath.]_ "This rose is for Theo."

 _[Theo grins rather knowingly at her and she sags a little in his arms; he kisses her cheek and joins Harry and Draco, leaving her to face Ron.]_

Hermione: "I'm so sorry." _[She is whispering and a tear slips down her cheek.]_ "I'm so, so sorry."

Ron: _[Looks a bit shell-shocked, but nods.]_ "I just want you to be happy."

Hermione: _[sobs]_ "I want that for you, too."

 _[Cuts to Ron interview.]_

Ron: "Look, I'm upset, but I think I know as well as she does that we weren't going to work out." _[He gazes out the window; slow, soft violin music plays.]_ "We tried it before and it didn't work then, so it's okay if it doesn't work now. She's great, you know." _[He manages a smile with difficulty.]_ "Any of these guys will be lucky to have her."

Interviewer, off-screen: "Do you have any particular preference for who she might choose of the remaining contestants?"

Ron: _[chuckles.]_ "Well, as weird as it is for me to say this, Harry really is the best guy there." _[He shrugs somewhat cheerfully; he seems to be much happier now that he has been eliminated.]_ "I'm always going to be on his team."

 _[Cuts back to a shot of the manor as Lee steps into view.]_

Lee: "And next week on The Bachelorette . . . Fantasy Suites!"

 _[Cuts to scenes of an elaborate tropical hotel.]_

Hermione voiceover: "Fantasy Suites is the first time I get to be alone with these guys and, I don't know. I'm quite nervous."

 _[Cuts to Draco interview.]_

Draco: "Of course I'm not in love with her." _[He does not look like he believes this.]_ "How could I be? It's only been a couple of months!" _[He buries his head in his hands, sighing as though he knows he is losing this battle.]_

 _[Cuts to Harry interview.]_

Harry: "Do I love Hermione? I've always loved Hermione." _[He looks startled.]_ "Dear god, do I love Hermione?" _[He doubles over, mumbling to himself.]_ "Oh no. Oh no. What is happening."

 _[Cuts to Theo interview.]_

Theo: "Sure, I love her." _[He shrugs.]_ "What's not to love?"

 _[Cuts back to a smiling Lee.]_

Lee: "All that and more coming up next time on . . . The Bachelorette! And don't forget to stay tuned for our new series, ' _Newlyweds: Dean and Seamus Take on the Wizarding World.'_ "

 _[Editor's Cut:_

 _Lee: "Oh, I've got an owl from my mum, hold on."_

 _[He opens it and makes a face.]_

 _Lee: "She doesn't even ask how I am. She just wants to know if I have any insider information for her book club pool." [He shakes his head.] "Godric's teeth, do I not exist?"_

 _Muttered response._

 _Lee, yelling: "HAVE I DIED OR SOMETHING?"]_

* * *

 **a/n:** The absurdity never ends. This one is for ShayaLonnie, who for whatever reason is reading this (YES, I KNOW, I HAVE ARRIVED) and has gone as far as to put it on her rec list.

I know. I'm as surprised as you are.


	10. Epilogue

**a/n:** _ **DO NOT READ**_ unless you have first read and completed _Marked_. Coming later this weekend: A Ronsy / PottGrass drabble and _Bachelorette_ : the finale, in that order.

* * *

 **Epilogue**

 _Pairing:_ Dramione (Draco x Hermione)

 _Universe:_ _This World or Any Other_ storyverse ( _Clean_ and _Marked_ )

 _Rating:_ M for language, though mostly just because _Marked_ is M

 _Summary:_ This is the drabble that will serve as an epilogue for _Marked_. I am not generally a believer in epilogues (Joanne Rowling taught me that a terrible epilogue can ruin a story) and as far as I am concerned, that story is complete as it was written. That being said, for those of you who wondered what happened to the other characters, or who want a glimpse of what Draco and Hermione's life is like together, this drabble is my gift to you.

* * *

It wasn't long before they began to piece things back together, fixing each other like they were playing with a puzzle of pieces they couldn't see. He started with her.

"Granger," he said, watching her stare at nothing. "For fuck's sake."

"Mm?" she replied, startled, fixing him with a hasty look of innocence. "What?"

"You haven't moved in several minutes," he informed her, setting down his quill and crossing their office to take a seat at her desk. "What is it?"

"Oh," she said, running the tip of her quill across her lips. "Nothing, really."

It had only been a few months but he knew better than to accept that as an answer. He knew her gaps and rhythms like he knew his own pulse.

"What kind of nothing?" he asked, kicking his feet out in front of him and nudging her under the desk.

She sighed. "It's my parents' anniversary," she said quietly.

He already knew where they were: Australia. Knew what happened to them: she couldn't undo the memory charm. He knew there was almost nothing he could do to fix it for her, but he also knew something about himself: he'd watch the world burn before he gave up trying.

"Get up," he instructed, walking around the desk to take her by the hand and pull her along behind him. "We've been in the office too long anyway."

"Where are we going?" she squawked helplessly, dragging her feet behind him.

"Australia," he replied curtly, tossing her things in her bag and rummaging through his desk for his own necessities.

"But - "

He looked up, catching the startled glimmer in her golden brown eyes.

"I'd like to meet them, Granger," he explained stiffly. "They don't need to know why."

Her lip trembled, but he had not yet progressed to the point of knowing whether that was a good or bad sign.

"But," she said, choking out her reservations. "But they're, they're - " she bit her lip. "They're m- "

 _Muggles_. He was still having to teach her that such things no longer mattered to him; only she did, in the end.

"Don't dawdle, Granger," he instructed, tucking an arm around her waist and leading her out of the office. "We have places to be."

* * *

Wendell and Monica Wilkins had been going on long jogs on Saturday mornings for as long as memory served; though, in all fairness, memory did not serve them particularly well. It was a common joke among their friends, that neither of them seemed to be able to recall things from their distant past; though everything was clear enough from the last three-odd years.

Better diet, Monica supposed. After all, everyone was saying such _things_ about gluten.

"Hurry up," she called over her shoulder to Wendell, who appeared a little dazed. "Is everything quite alright?"

"Um," he said, reaching back to feel the back of his head. "I - "

"What is it?" she asked, circling back to jog alongside him. "Something wrong?"

"I just thought I felt something," he said, frowning, bringing his hand forward as though examining it for damage. "I _think_ I'm fine, though - "

"Excuse me," a young man called, waving to them from a short ways behind. He was accompanied by a rather petite girl with wild brown hair, and Monica, normally quite serious with her exercise, came to a sudden stop at the sight of a nervous glimmer in the girl's warm brown eyes, a sparkle that was somehow both slightly familiar and hauntingly distant.

"Hi," the young man said, a little breathless as he caught up to them. He had an exceedingly posh British accent and startlingly pale hair; quite handsome overall, though perhaps in his mid-twenties. "So sorry to bother you, but my, er - " he looked down at the girl, whose eyes were wide with indecision - "my _wife_ and I are here on holiday, and we're a bit lost - "

"Draco," Monica said suddenly, and then clapped her hand over her mouth, startled by the violent hurtling of a memory she couldn't explain.

She knew him, this boy - he had been younger, she was quite sure, and in her kitchen - but not _her_ kitchen at all, was it? A conversation about pasta - which she didn't even _eat -_

"What?" he asked, rattled, his face paling in shock. Beside him, his partner's mouth had fallen open, and Monica turned to find Wendell was looking at her much the same way.

"I - I'm so sorry," Monica said, her voice shaking as she tried to clear her head. "I don't know what's come over me, but - " she squinted at the young man. "We _have_ met before, haven't we?"

"I - " he hesitated, looking down at his lovely young wife, who seemed familiar to Monica as well, though there was some kind of obstruction in the way; a blockage of sorts, and the more she strained for recognition, the less she could identify the feeling. "I _am_ Draco, yes, but - "

"I'm quite sure we've never met," the girl cut in slowly, her fingers tightening around his arm. "After all," she asserted, straightening. "This is our first time in Australia."

The blow of the girl's particular shade of brown eyes nearly sent Monica reeling. "Not Australia," she said faintly, though she couldn't imagine why. She had never remembered living anywhere else, despite the mockery she received for her distinct London accent -

"Nevermind," Monica declared, shaking her head as Wendell moved to pat her shoulder comfortingly.

"Everything alright?" he murmured to her, though she could see there was something odd in his expression as well.

"So sorry," the young man - Draco - said kindly, extending his hand with the kind of formality normally afforded to Victorian society, or so Monica imagined. "I'm Draco, and this" - he looked at her, offering a reassuring smile - "this is Hermione."

"Hermione," Wendell said, and there was a throaty humming sound to his voice, a vibration that poured into the name like honey. "Daughter of Helen." He smiled. "Beautiful."

The girl looked as though she might cry. "Thank you," she whispered, offering him a shaky hand.

"Wendell," he said quickly, taking her proffered grip and appearing to realize with a start that he'd entirely abandoned proper manners. "And my wife, Monica," he added, placing a hand on her shoulder as the four of them exchanged greetings.

"Lovely to meet you both," Draco said, his tone taking on a caress of warmth that Monica guessed did not come easily to him. He had a certain coolness to him, a glacial impassivity of sorts that she couldn't quite identify, but she attributed something to him; a comfort, perhaps. Something like that.

"You said you're lost?" Monica recalled, looking around. They must have gone pretty far out of their way to end up here.

"We tried to, you know, get off the map a bit," Draco suggested airily, shrugging his arm across his wife's shoulders. "But if you could help us - "

"How about a coffee?" Wendell suggested, gesturing to a place he and Monica usually passed, just up the road. He nudged his wife with a grin. "If _this_ one is willing to forego the rest of the run, of course."

"I suppose," Monica permitted, leaning into his touch. "Yes," she decided, nodding slowly at first, and then resolutely. "Yes. Let's stop and have a chat," she determined firmly. "We're quite good hosts, after all, aren't we?"

Wendell nodded, ever the pleasant extrovert.

"Excellent," Draco said firmly, a smile secured on his face. He looked down at his wife, who looked joyfully relieved even as she tentatively nipped at her lip.

"Thank you," the girl said softly, and they all began to walk.

"You're a lovely couple," Wendell added, turning over his shoulder to address them before nudging Monica, stepping ahead to lead them up the road.

Monica walked quietly beside Wendell, finding it difficult not to repeatedly sneak looks behind her at the girl, Hermione. There was something about her; her eyes, mostly. The familiarity in them was startling. And her hair was quite like Wendell's had been, once - when he was much younger, of course. Monica remembered the way it felt under her fingers, how it had been scratchy against her face the moment she woke in their first apartment; how it had been so helplessly askew and the rest of him not much better, still wearing the clothes they'd fallen asleep in the night before, the whole place badly lit and horribly decorated -

Monica stopped mid-stride. She had never remembered that far back before.

"Everything okay?" Hermione asked gently, and Monica felt herself smile even as her heart continued to pound.

"Fine," she said quickly, taking in the hopeful expression on the young girl's face. "I think everything's going to be fine."

* * *

"I'm surprised you wanted to come to this," Draco said quietly in her ear, brushing a kiss against her cheek as he gestured for her to sit. "I'm happy you did, of course - "

"It's only fair," Hermione assured him, though she felt considerably less confident than she sounded. "You've met my parents, after all, and it _is_ her birthday - "

"She'll love you," Draco cut in smoothly, tucking a stray curl behind her ear.

Hermione sighed. If only she and Narcissa could have had the great fortune of being able to meet as strangers the way her parents and Draco had; if only Hermione didn't still feel so _small_ , so insignificant in this world that she knew without question would never have welcomed her. It was a strange, paradoxical reversal of how she normally felt at work. In the stately gardens of the very vigorously - _vigorously -_ renovated Malfoy Manor, seated among the very people she was so often called on to defend, she only felt trapped in their bubble of propriety, dwarfed by the eminence of their venerable old ways.

Hermione let her gaze flick nervously to the stunning older witch where she stood only a few feet away, wondering what the two of them might ever have in common. Narcissa Malfoy was the picture of elegance, the pinnacle of poise, and by comparison, Hermione felt like a strange, nonsensical afterthought; she was grateful Draco had not left her side.

Had not left her side _yet,_ in any case, though she should have known it was coming.

"Darling," Narcissa said, calling to Draco as she approached. "I wonder if you might say hello to your Aunt Andromeda," she suggested, gesturing to a woman across the gardens that nearly gave Hermione a disturbing start; Andromeda Tonks, while decidedly _not_ Bellatrix Lestrange, certainly carried a strong resemblance, alike in nearly every way aside from the general aura of being entirely unhinged.

Initial shock aside, Hermione was surprised to hear that such a reconciliation between severed sisters had been attempted, though by the look on Draco's face - a nod of placid understanding, in stark contrast to her own startled gaping - it was not entirely out of character for Narcissa. Hermione felt a sudden leap in her chest, a wild hope that clanged around inside her at the thought; perhaps things were not as bad as she had expected.

Perhaps Narcissa was not at _all_ what she had expected.

"I've tried to convince her to join the fray, but she's a bit hesitant," Narcissa added, her tone taking on a steady, somewhat facetious musing, like the idea had just occurred to her and was not, as was much more likely, a broader manipulation. "I thought you might make her feel welcome."

Narcissa was smiling fondly at her son, but Hermione could see with alarming certainty that this was not, by _any_ stretch of the imagination, a request with the option of denial.

"Yes, Mother," Draco said, dutifully rising to his feet and gesturing for Hermione to join him, offering her his arm. She reached up to take it, but Narcissa made a gentle cough of disagreement.

"Perhaps Miss Granger might prefer to remain in the shade with me," Narcissa ventured, though this, too, was no request. "Andromeda and I have only recently reconciled, you know, and it's perhaps best not to overwhelm her."

Likely not entirely true, though not necessarily disingenuous, either, Hermione noted. Narcissa's expression was delicately guarded, artfully dispassionate; there was no territorialism there, no skepticism. In short, nothing Hermione might have expected from the courtly Lady Malfoy, and as much as her first instinct was to question the other witch's intentions, she felt a strange sense of calm.

Some sense of unspoken assurance, some unsubstantial figment in her mind, whispered to her that this would be okay.

"I'm intrigued, Mother," Draco noted, not unkindly, though he was hesitant to leave Hermione's side. "Surely you don't mean to tell me that _you_ initiated the relationship."

"She's my sister," Narcissa insisted firmly, glancing quickly at where Andromeda stood apart from the other guests. Hermione thought she could sense something in Narcissa's tone, a subtle veneration that served to indicate that perhaps the older witch had longed for the reunion for a considerably long time. "And," Narcissa added, lifting her chin as she made her point, "times have changed."

It was a challenge, Hermione realized, watching Narcissa's stance as she straightened. _Times have changed_ , Narcissa had said, but what she meant was _I have changed - and let no one question my choices._

Hermione found herself rather impressed.

"They certainly have," Draco replied, his voice colored with amusement.

He bent to kiss Hermione, stroking his thumb against her jaw with a slow, easy reverence; it was a surprisingly intimate gesture, particularly given the audience, and Hermione couldn't help a glance at Narcissa, giving in to a nervous impulse to see if she was bothered by Draco's show of affection. Hermione stiffened in preparation for a look of haughty disapproval, but found she needn't have bothered. Instead, she was surprised to find a faint smile on the lovely witch's face.

 _Don't be ashamed of the savagery with which you love, or the fierceness of your heart._

She heard the whisper in her mind, familiar and out of reach, and she felt herself relax, the breaths coming a little bit easier.

"I've learned that forgiveness comes easily enough if you only make the effort to ask for it," Narcissa said once Draco took a step towards her, reaching up to touch the pale blond strands of his hair. "I had an excellent role model for that," she added, her eyes straying to Hermione's.

Even that statement, as confessionary as it was, as vulnerable as it might have been, sounded like a fact that was not to be questioned when delivered with Narcissa's inarguable poise, and Hermione met her gaze easily. There was a sincerity to the statement, an essence of truth, and it struck Hermione as trustworthy. A truce, of sorts.

Slowly, Hermione's doubts seemed to ebb, left only with a trace of curiosity as to who she really was, the enigma wrapped in elegance that was Narcissa Malfoy.

Draco nodded once, his glance following his mother's to Hermione - _are you okay?_ he seemed to ask; _I'm fine_ , she assured him - before he turned away, beginning to cross through the gardens.

"He's softer than he seems, you know," Narcissa murmured once he'd gone, taking a seat beside Hermione and letting her eyes follow her son's long strides. "More loving than he reveals to others." She straightened, clearing her throat as though ridding herself of her pesky sentimentality. "He looks and behaves quite like his father, of course, but his inner nature is far more like mine, I'm afraid."

Hermione couldn't help a tentative smile, watching as Draco smoothed his hair back absentmindedly, preparing to tap his unsuspecting aunt on the shoulder. "Is that such a bad thing?"

"Ah, well, he's secretly a romantic," Narcissa assured her. "And it must be my doing." Her lovely face became somehow even lovelier, the affection for her son catching the light and blossoming in her features. "I used to tell him this foolish story - Lucius would always get so angry with me." She shook her head, laughing a little at the memory. "Said it would make him soft."

"What was the story?" Hermione asked, leaning forward with a smile.

Narcissa opened her mouth, but then, to Hermione's disappointment, clamped it shut again, resolute in her stoic aristocracy. "It's foolish," she repeated unconvincingly, and she moved to turn away.

"Please," Hermione said, and before she realized what she was doing, she'd reached out to rest her palm against the older witch's arm, stopping her in her tracks. "I'd love to hear it."

The motion, as unexpected as it was, had a vague sense of familiarity to it that they both seemed to recognize at the same time. For a moment, Narcissa looked as though she might protest, but at Hermione's touch, she softened.

 _Promise me._

Hermione drew her hand away, but the lingering comfort remained.

 _I promise._

"It's not really a story," Narcissa amended. "Just something my mother used to say."

Hermione waited. If Draco was as similar to Narcissa as she claimed, it was best to allow space for her thoughts; she was rewarded for her patience when Narcissa spoke again.

"My mother wasn't particularly warm," Narcissa ventured, and there was something girlish in her voice that Hermione recognized; a yearning of some kind, a lonely kind of craving that Hermione herself had once known quite well.

"Andromeda was mother to us all, mostly, though Mother did have one thing," Narcissa said carefully. "One thing she always said."

Hermione nodded, feeling the caress of a cool breeze, content with waiting. Narcissa, after a moment of pause, let her hand rest beside Hermione's, cutting the space between them.

"My mother used to tell us about an invisible red thread of fate," she explained softly, and Hermione could see it was a story she'd never shared outside of her son; a hidden lining of sorts, concealed by her polished exterior. "I don't know how the thread was both red _and_ invisible, of course - "

"Of course," Hermione agreed, smiling.

" - but she told me that the thread bound two people from birth. Soulmates, you know," Narcissa added wistfully.

"It was a beautiful thought," Narcissa went on, looking at Hermione as though to beg forgiveness for her whimsy. "That the thread could twist and wind and pull but never break, so that regardless of time or place or circumstance, those who were connected by the thread would find each other."

 _This life or any other._

"I think I've heard that story before," Hermione whispered, and Narcissa squeezed her hand tightly.

Across the garden, Andromeda pulled Draco into an embrace, and all the worlds collided.

* * *

Their friends had been different, of course, and both easier and more difficult.

Harry had been first, as it was hard to avoid him; he seemed to prowl Grimmauld Place at all hours of the day and night, and the very first morning that Draco and Hermione had stumbled into the kitchen, sleep-deprived and satiated, he had been there, coffee in hand.

"Oh," Draco said, and Harry lifted an eyebrow.

"You two are not very covert," Harry noted, glancing between them and then letting his eyes travel first from the empty wine glasses on the table to the coats that lay in a crumpled heap on the floor.

"Lack of auror training, I expect," Hermione attempted faintly, and Harry snorted softly in response, removing a mug from the cupboard and handing it to her.

"Give us a minute, would you?" Harry suggested, not taking his eyes off Draco.

Hermione emitted a muted squeak of protest, but Draco's expression never wavered.

"We're fine, Granger," he said tersely, crossing his arms.

She sighed. "No curses," she warned them, but she quietly backed away.

As it was Harry's house, Draco was gallant enough to give him the first blow, jutting his chin in challenge.

"Go ahead," he said simply.

Harry poured a cup of coffee, handing it to him; Draco accepted it, though he couldn't help sniffing it preemptively.

"I'm not _poisoning_ you, Malfoy," Harry said, smirking. "Have some coffee."

"Shall I make myself comfortable, then?" Draco asked drily, taking a conciliatory sip.

"First," Harry said, taking a sip of his own, "tell me why you love her."

Draco sensed that had this been another time, or perhaps some other life, he might have done nothing more than scoff at the question; at the ridiculous notion that such a question _could_ be answered, firstly, and then a secondary scoff at the idea that _Potter_ merited an answer. As it was, however, Draco was a little exhausted at the thought of pretense; he'd hidden enough things in his lifetime to know that Hermione Granger needn't be one, and so the answer came easily.

"How could I not?" he offered weakly, shrugging in defeat.

To his surprise, Harry seemed to accept this explanation, nodding slowly in response.

"I suspect that if the circumstances were any different, I might put up more of a fight," Harry proposed, and Draco fought a smile at the harmonious parallelism of their respective reactions. "But she's different now, you know," Harry noted. "Happier."

Draco sensed something in the sentiment - something that rattled around in the timbre of the bespectacled wizard's voice, unable to stay hidden despite his best efforts. If Draco had been any less skeptical, he might have guessed it was gratitude.

"I'm not going to get in the way of that," Harry concluded after a moment, and then there was no mistaking the white flag.

Still, Draco never liked a quick surrender. He let a fair amount of silence pass between them, taking several sips before he responded.

"Good," he replied simply, and Harry cracked a smile.

" _Now_ you can make yourself comfortable," the dark-haired wizard pronounced, and Draco rolled his eyes.

"Friends now, are we?" he drawled, taking another audible sip.

"Unfortunately," Harry replied, his voice resigned and grim.

From just outside the door, Hermione ducked her head to cover a smile.

* * *

"Hermione and Draco are dating," Harry said casually, and Ron looked up from his dinner.

"Oh," said Ron, managing a swallow with difficulty. "Hm."

He squinted into nothing for a moment.

"Feels sort of normal," he grunted, his brow furrowed. "Sort of like I already knew that."

Harry nodded, and they both returned to their meal.

* * *

"So," Draco said, settling himself down beside Theo. "What do you think?"

"I like her more than you already," Theo replied.

In truth, there had always been something strange about Granger; not necessarily about _her_ , per se, but something that surrounded her. When Draco had first brought it up - casually, and slipping it into conversation as though he were asking Theo to pass the salt - he had felt some kind of settling in his brain, some unidentifiable sense of _ah yes, that's right_ , a sigh of recognition that had soothed him as much as it startled him. Like a piece of him could finally rest.

He wasn't sure he could explain it, and there were even more strange occurrences over time. Like, for example, the time Theo just _happened_ to know that Hermione preferred Earl Grey in the afternoons, and that she liked it taken with lemon; he swore up and down that she must have told him that at one point, but she insisted it had never come up. There was the time, too, that Hermione seemed to know that a room in Nott Manor had once been a library before his father's death, though Theo knew for certain she had never been there. And of course there was no overlooking the very strange time that Draco asked for Theo's help in choosing Hermione's birthday gift; inexplicably, his first thought was to suggest transfiguring Draco's signet ring to a pendant, and the moment the words were out of his mouth, he realized the idea had just been lounging in his brain, waiting to be invited out for conversation. Once she started wearing it, Theo realized he couldn't imagine her without it.

And she called him Lancelot, once. It _seemed_ innocent enough, though he had still looked accusingly to Draco; not even Daphne knew about that. The other man only shrugged, insisting he'd never said anything, and for whatever reason, Theo was inclined to believe him. There were certainly a number of very strange things about Granger.

Though, mostly, it was how quickly she felt like family.

* * *

"Ah," Draco said, entering the kitchen at Grimmauld Place and nodding. "You're up."

"Always," Harry replied, grinning. "Going to be weird when I'm the only one."

"You should consider sleep potion," Draco suggested loftily, taking a seat across from him. "You need your beauty sleep, Potter."

"I do pretty well without it," Harry countered and Draco chuckled. "Besides, it's really only like this when Ginny's with the team." He looked up, giving Draco a knowing glance. "You, on the other hand, are nocturnal all the time."

Not exactly true. In reality, Draco had grown quite comfortable with the late night chats in the kitchen, and it had felt like a habit long before it had actually _been_ habit; he suspected that without the option of Harry's company, he would sleep just fine in their new flat, though he would likely never admit it.

He shrugged.

"What's this?" Draco asked, eyeing the parchment in front of Harry.

"Guest list," Harry said tersely, frowning. "Ginny needs me to decide who I want to invite." He rolled his eyes. "And apparently it needs to be done tonight."

"Hardly fair to blame her," Draco pointed out, thinking of the witch's positively violent opposition to wedding planning. "That's got Molly written all over it."

"True," Harry conceded, making a face. "I hate this."

"Oh, don't act like it's so difficult, Potter," Draco said, feigning irritation. "Besides me, Theo, and the Weasel clan, who do you even _know_?"

"You should really stop calling them that," Harry admonished him, though Draco could see he was fighting a smile. "You're just still upset Molly forced you into a jumper last Christmas."

"As if I can be expected to participate in _matching jumpers_ ," Draco grumbled, still not fully recovered from the horrifying ordeal. "And in Gryffindor colors, honestly?"

"I thought you looked lovely," Harry said, his face reddening with contained laughter.

"I did," Draco sniffed. "But that's hardly the point."

Harry's festering laughter continued. "Honestly, I'm not sure _anything_ beats your mum's reaction to it - "

"She has truly never looked so revolted in her entire life, I'm sure," Draco agreed, picturing the blanched look on Narcissa's face. "I think she might have had Granger obliviate her after seeing me in it."

"You should get her to join in this year instead of splitting the holiday," Harry pointed out. "I'm sure Molly can make one more - "

"Don't you dare threaten my saint of a mother with one of those monstrosities," Draco warned stiffly, and Harry's laughter erupted in peals. "I think she might've burned mine - "

"I just hope Ron gets Pansy in one this year," Harry choked out. "Can you imagine?"

"Fuck, that would be ideal," Draco agreed, picturing the look on her face and mimicking her. " _Weasley, you twat, I'll kill myself and you before I let you put that on me - "_

Harry was practically convulsing with laughter, and Draco smothered a chuckle, pleased with him himself.

"Anyway," Draco said, once Harry regained his ability to breathe. "What's the issue with the guest list?"

"Well," Harry said, removing his glasses to wipe the mirthful tears from his eyes. "I'm not sure whether I should invite my cousin."

"The muggle one?" Draco asked, feeling a faint tug in his mind at the thought. "What was his name?"

"Dudley," said Harry, and a hazy image formed in Draco's mind.

"I think you should," Draco pronounced slowly. "Just a feeling."

"My, my, Draco Malfoy," Harry drawled mockingly. "How very progressive of you."

"Just a feeling," Draco grunted back, but Harry seemed pleased with his answer.

"Dudley it is," he murmured, scribbling the name on the parchment.

"Merlin's bollocks, that's illegible," Draco exclaimed, snatching the list and the quill from him. "You dictate, Potter," he instructed. " _I'll_ write."

* * *

"Godmother?" Hermione echoed. "Really?"

Daphne opened her mouth to answer, but Theo cut her off.

"Fucking _obviously_ , Granger," Theo said, shaking his head.

"I'd have gone for something more like ' _of course_ ,' or, ' _who else would be better_ ,' but that works just as well, I suppose," Daphne murmured, shaking her head in amusement.

"Draco is obviously godfather," Theo pointed out, jutting out his chin to reference him.

"Obviously," Draco drawled, eyeing his fingernails, and Theo turned back to Hermione.

"And _you're_ , you know - " Theo faltered helplessly.

Draco was his best friend, of course, had always been; but Hermione was something to him too, and of her own accord. Theo had quite enjoyed being independently wealthy for a time, but found that ultimately there were too many demons to wrangle and _far_ too much free time. It had been Hermione who'd convinced him to start writing, to comment one day that his thoughts merited recording, and in a bizarre twist of successfully taking someone else's advice, Theo had complied.

It was Hermione who had patiently read his drafts, listened to his thoughts, encouraged his madness. Draco had saved his life but it had been Hermione who helped him learn how to live it, who'd recognized something in him and trusted it, _believed_ in it with a confidence that Theo would never understand. She seemed to know things about him that nobody else had ever comprehended; she was the one to convince him that even his dark thoughts, twisted and abhorrent as they were, were still somehow beautiful.

 _The way it feels to hurt someone_ , he told her, nervous at first. _It's -_

 _Like your soul is ripping,_ she finished for him, a strange glimmer appearing in her eye.

She was the one to teach him that everyone had light and dark, and he had only to choose the brush with which he painted.

Hermione coughed quietly, looking expectantly at him. "I'm what?" she prodded.

"You're my lawyer," Theo declared, finally settling on a term as his wife rolled her eyes.

"You're important to us," Daphne supplied kindly, reaching out to pat her husband's knee.

Hermione smiled, leaning in as Draco kissed her temple. "I can't wait to meet to meet our godchild," she said, radiant at the thought.

Theo and Daphne exchanged glances.

"Actually," Theo corrected. "Make that god _children_."

* * *

Dudley Dursley saw the owl approaching and felt a stirring in his chest; it had been such a long time, he thought, wondering what had happened to his cousin Harry's owl. He thought about the stack of Daily Prophets that he kept in a box in the back of the linen closet and considered digging them out, wondering whether it was worth going back for another read.

Well, not _read_ , exactly, he thought, recalling his fascination with the pictures.

"Stepping outside for a minute," he called to Gabrielle, attempting to intercept the owl before she saw it. He wondered if it might startle her; he hadn't told her about the circumstances of his cousin - hadn't told _anyone_ , of course, for who would even believe him? - and he certainly wasn't about to start now.

"Here," he muttered to the owl, waving it down awkwardly as he stepped onto the balcony of his flat. The owl, a brown one he'd never seen before, landed gracefully on the railing, a letter tied to its leg.

"Thanks," Dudley muttered, giving it an awkward pat. "Can you, er - wait?"

Either the owl nodded at him, or Dudley was going mad; he chose to believe the former.

"Thanks," he said again, tearing open the envelope and scanning it quickly.

 _You are cordially invited to attend the wedding of Mr. Harry James Potter and Miss Ginevra Molly Weasley -_

"Dudley!"

He spun around quickly, hiding the letter behind his back. "Yes?" he asked sheepishly, reticent to meet the dark blue eyes of his stunningly beautiful girlfriend.

"Dudley," she said again, her eyes wide with disbelief. "Is _zat_ \- "

"Nothing, nothing," he mumbled incoherently, shuffling his feet. "Just an, um - " he swallowed, looking to the owl, who was no help at all.

"But you are not - " Gabrielle herself seemed to be at a loss for words. "You are not a _wizard_ , are you?"

Dudley gaped at her. "Not me," he managed weakly, and she stepped forward, holding her hand out in her very commanding way.

"Show me," she instructed. "Show me zis."

He sighed; he was never really able to resist her. He handed her the invitation, watching as her eyes went wide.

"'Arry!" she exclaimed, nearly squealing with excitement. "'Arry Potter? You know 'im?"

"Do _you_?" Dudley asked incredulously, squinting at her.

"Yes, yes!" she seemed ecstatic, her accent thickening. "Oui, I know 'im!" She faltered. "But, you - _you_ are not - "

"No," Dudley cut in sadly. _Just a muggle_ , he reminded himself, sighing. "Harry's my cousin but I'm . . . not." He stepped forward, taking Gabrielle's small hands in his. "But - you?"

"I am a witch," Gabrielle confirmed slowly, giving him a tentative smile.

Before he could stop himself, Dudley burst into a line of manic questioning. "You can do magic?" he said excitedly, and she blessed him with her tinkling laugh. "Can you make things fly? Do you have an owl? Did you go to Hogwarts, too?"

"Yes, yes, yes, and _non_ ," she said, her pretty lips curled in an utterly bewitching smile. "Not 'ogwarts, I attended Beauxbatons - "

"There's another school?" he interrupted happily, grasping her face in his hands and kissing her soundly. "Tell me _everything,"_ he insisted, and she let out another deliciously enticing laugh.

* * *

"They've offered me a seat on the Wizengamot," Hermione said breathlessly, her eyes the size of saucers as she scanned the letter. "I'd be the youngest member in at least a _century -_ "

"Take it," Draco said simply, eyeing her from across the room. "Accept. Right now."

She frowned. "But - "

"Take it," he repeated, giving her one of his silencing glares.

"But why me?" she insisted, standing up to pace their office. " _You_ should be on it - "

"Take it," he said again, his tone bored as he bent to flip the pages of the case law before him.

"But - "

"Take it."

" - I've no experience, and really, I - "

"Take it."

" - can't imagine this is a good idea - "

"Take it."

" - you _know_ how I hate politics - "

"Well you'd better get used to them," Draco interrupted, abandoning his work with an audible sigh and crossing the room to put his hands on her shoulders. "I fully expect to live a comfortable life as the husband of the Minister for Magic someday, you know - "

"You'd better find someone qualified to marry, then," Hermione teased, putting her arms around his neck and nuzzling into his chest.

"Funny you should say that," Draco commented wryly, and she pulled back to look at him. "I mean, considering that I've been carrying a _very_ heavy engagement ring around in my pocket for several weeks now."

Hermione seemed like her first instinct was to laugh, but she cut herself off abruptly as she caught the seriousness of his expression.

"What?" she said blankly, blinking at him. "Really?"

"Yes," he replied, tightening his grip around her waist with one arm as he reached into his pocket with the other. "Haven't found the right time to ask," he explained, holding the small box in front of her.

The look on her face was torturously entertaining, but he managed to fight back a laugh.

"And" - Hermione swallowed, her throat seemingly quite dry - "you decided _this_ was the right time?"

"Well, I'd hoped to use it as an opportunity to steal someone else's thunder out from under them," he replied airily. "The birth of Theo's twins was my first thought - "

"Oh _Draco - "_

"Harry and Ginny's wedding was my next idea - I was thinking mid-ceremony - "

"Draco!"

"Well, I didn't, did I?" he insisted pointedly, grinning devilishly at her. "So, now that I've found a natural segue - "

"And to think your mother considers you a romantic," Hermione grumbled, shaking her head as she mimicked his dispassionate expression. " _Natural segue - "_

"I'm not _not_ romantic," Draco murmured, kissing her cheek. "You know what today is?"

"Thursday?" she guessed, and he flashed her a disapproving glare.

"Today marks two years from the moment I knew I loved you," he informed her, and at her softened expression, he broke out in a triumphant smirk. "Bet _you_ feel like a real dickhead now," he added snottily. "Don't you, Granger?"

"Two years ago was our first day here," she remembered, ignoring his snarky comment as a smile flitted its way across her lips. "Did you really know even then?"

"Didn't you?" he prompted.

Her eyes gave him the answer. He heard her voice in his soul.

 _Yes_.

"So," he managed hoarsely, after a minute or two of silently taking in the way her golden brown eyes caught the light. "What do you think, Granger?"

 _This life or any other_.

"Not to be indelicate," Hermione replied, fighting a smile. "But I think I'm going to marry the fuck out of you."

* * *

 **a/n:** Not to be excessively Joanne, but this is for you - for taking this whole journey with me.

(Also, at the time I am writing this, DrSallySparrow is about to post a Theomione that I can't stop squealing about, so be sure to follow her and keep an eye out for _Nyctophilia_.)


	11. Wedding Dates

**Wedding Dates**

 _Pairing:_ PottGrass (Harry Potter x Daphne Greengrass) and Ronsy (Ron Weasley x Pansy Parkinson)

 _Universe:_ Post-Hogwarts, EWE

 _Rating:_ M for language, sexual references

 _Summary:_ Based VERY loosely on the film " _Mike and Dave Need Wedding Dates_ " (only in premise; the events/plot are not even remotely the same). When Hermione tells Harry and Ron they need to find dates to her upcoming wedding, they decide to hedge their bets and place an ad in the Daily Prophet. They get a little more than they bargained for when Daphne and Pansy answer the call. A little OOC, but, as always, try to have fun with it.

* * *

"So," Hermione said primly, fixing each of them with a stern glare. "Considering how poorly each of the last large social gatherings have been - "

"Don't know what you're talking about," Ron mumbled, and Draco glared at him.

"Sure you do," he replied coolly, removing his arm from around Hermione's shoulders to enumerate the events on his fingers. "I'd say it starts with the time Potter, here, broke up with Ginny via screaming match in the middle of my mother's birthday party - "

" - on a _table_ , no less," Hermione interrupted, her teeth clenched.

" - and then when Weasley got caught having sex in a coat closet during the Ministry gala we hosted at the Manor - "

"I don't remember that," Ron cut in.

"We _know_ ," Hermione sniffed coolly, shooting daggers at him.

"Then, of course," Draco continued, "there was the vacation we all tried to take in Aruba - "

"Well, wait," Harry interjected weakly. "I didn't _know_ that the Wildfire Whiz-bangs were going to go off like that - "

"Yeah," Ron agreed, puffing his chest out defensively. "That was hardly _our_ fault - "

"Ah, yes, of course not," Draco agreed facetiously, frowning. "And yet _I_ was the one who had to obliviate the muggle Minister for Eco-Tourism - "

"Enough," Hermione snapped wearily, and Draco tucked her protectively under his arm. "Listen," she said, her eyes darting between her two best friends. "I can't have our _wedding_ fall apart like all those other times, okay? I just _can't -_ "

She let out a tearful squeak and buried her face in Draco's chest.

"Look what you've already done!" Draco accused, jabbing a finger in the air at both of them. "This is the deal, you prats. You're bringing dates to the wedding," he declared, his darkened grey eyes daring them to argue. " _Nice_ girls, too," he clarified stiffly. "Find someone who'll keep you both in line."

"But that's Mione's job," Ron suggested weakly, and Hermione let out a frustrated wail.

"She'll be quite busy, I think," Draco snapped, clutching her. "Getting _married_ and all that - "

"Fine," Harry interrupted, coming forward to rest his hand gently against Hermione's shoulder as the petite witch sniffed a little, eyes wide. "It's fine, Hermione," he said again, giving Ron a meaningful look. "We'll find dates, won't we, Ron?"

"Yes," Ron agreed, sighing. "If that's what you want, Mione."

"It is," she said, biting her lip and looking up at Draco. "I just really want our wedding to be perfect, you know?"

"They know," Draco assured her, turning to glare at them. "You _do_ know that," he seethed, "right, arseholes?"

"Right," Harry agreed sheepishly, and Ron felt his shoulders droop in resignation.

"Anything for you, Mione," he sighed.

* * *

"So," Ron said, tossing the quaffle in the air and playing a rather sad game of catch with himself. "Who do we know that we can take to the Granger-Malfoy Wedding Extravaganza?"

"No one," Harry muttered, collapsing against the sofa. "We're fucked. Everyone's either married or we've already fucked it up with them - "

"I presume you're talking about Ginny again," Ron said tightly, "and friend to friend, I wish you would _stop_."

"Ginny aside," Harry said loudly, flinching at her name, "there's nobody else. Luna's married, both Patils are married, Lavender's engaged - "

"Ridiculous," Ron declared, rolling his eyes. "And here _we_ are, a couple of dashing, unattached war heroes, bossed around by our tiny friend and her ferret fiance - "

"Who _wouldn't_ want us?" Harry lamented in jest, smirking as he sat up. "It should be so much easier than this."

"Maybe it is," Ron suggested, letting the quaffle fall to the ground with a loud thud. "Why don't we just - I don't know, place an ad in the paper or something?"

"Isn't that kind of desperate?" Harry said hesitantly, his face blanching at the thought. "It feels very sad and pathetic."

"Not if we make it a contest," Ron pointed out. "I mean, the wedding _is_ in France, we could pass it off as, I don't know, some kind of prize - "

"That's not a bad idea," Harry said, frowning in consideration. "Even better if we make it seem somehow charitable - "

"We make a donation to their charity of choice on behalf of Hermione and Malfoy," Ron suggested excitedly. "Then we look like fucking philanthropists!"

Harry snapped his fingers. "Brilliant," he trilled. "Grab a quill, Ron. We're owling Rita for a favor."

* * *

"Daph," Pansy shouted, running through their flat. "Daph, fucking - " she looked around. "Where the fuck are you?"

Daphne popped up from the couch, her auburn hair splayed around her shoulders as she poked her head out from under a massive pile of clothes.

"What?" she murmured sleepily, and Pansy sighed.

"I see you finally did laundry," Pansy said carefully, noting the mess. "And then you decided to take a little nap, did you?"

"No," Daphne said faintly, though she looked away. "I was folding the laundry and then I found the underwear Blaise bought me for our anniversary, and then I - "

She stopped, her large hazel eyes filling with tears. "And - and then I - "

"No!" Pansy roared, crossing the room and yanking Daphne up from the cushions. "Not _this_ again, Daphne, it's been three _months_ \- "

"I can't help it," she sobbed, burying her face in Pansy's shoulder. "I thought he was going to _propose_ , Pans, and then he just - "

"I know, I know," Pansy cooed, running her fingers through her best friend's silky - albeit horribly tangled and unwashed - hair. "Well, listen. This makes what I was going to tell you even better."

"What is it?" Daphne sniffed, rubbing her red-rimmed eyes.

"This," Pansy said triumphantly, holding up the Daily Prophet. "Fucking _Weasley_ and _Potter_ are looking for dates to Draco's wedding in _France -_ "

"So?" Daphne asked.

"So!" Pansy exclaimed, reaching out to shake Daphne. "So, _we_ should be their dates!" At Daphne's instant look of pain, Pansy shook her head. "No, listen, Daph, what you need is a vacation - something to help get" - she coughed, not wanting to bring him up again - "to get _him_ off your mind - "

"A wedding, though?" Daphne asked, hiccuping. "Do you really think it's best for me to be surrounded by - " she stopped, stammering. "By people, and - and _love -_ "

"It's in _France_ , Daphne, you'll hardly notice it's a wedding!" Pansy insisted.

"But why would they even take us?" Daphne protested. "We're Slytherins - they _hate_ us - "

"I'll tell you why," Pansy replied primly, flipping to one of the social pages of the paper. " _This_ is why."

Daphne grabbed the page from her, her eyes scanning the words.

 _Harpies star Ginny Weasley's unexpected romance heats up with local Casanova, Blaise Zabini. The pair were spotted traipsing about Diagon Alley, arm in arm, many sources report -_

"Ginny Weasley," she seethed, and Pansy nodded.

"Fucking Ginny Weasley," she declared triumphantly.

* * *

"I haven't totally worked it out yet," Ron said slowly, his eyes narrowed as he took in the unpleasantness of Pansy's exceedingly forced smile. "But I have the distinct feeling that we're somehow being tricked."

"No trick," Pansy said sweetly, her teeth gritted slightly from effort. "We just want to offer our services, you know, as nice, well-bred ladies - "

"Cut the crap, Parkinson," Harry interrupted loudly, crossing his arms. "What's your angle?"

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Fine," she said, her expression changing drastically as she dropped her act of goodwill, allowing her signature haughty smirk to return to her features.

"I now feel both safer and _much_ more in danger," Ron noted, leaning over to mutter in Harry's ear.

"Look, here's the deal," Pansy said stiffly. "We want to go on vacation, and this is a convenient time." She shrugged. "We'll look and act the part of proper wedding dates and all that, of course," she assured him, though she didn't bother to sound anything less than bored. "So don't worry about that."

"What would _possibly_ possess you to think we would agree to this?" Harry countered, his mouth agape. "This is ridiculous, you once fucking tried to turn me over to _Voldemort_ \- "

"Well, I wouldn't be your date," Pansy said, batting her eyelashes in mock coquettishness. " _You'd_ go with Daphne."

Ron let out a startled squeak.

"Harry," he whispered. "Harry, I'm frightened - "

Harry ignored him. "Why?" he said again, unmoved.

"Because the guy who's fucking your ex just fucked over Daphne," Pansy said bluntly, coolly inspecting her perfectly manicured fingernails. "And if you show up with Daphne, people might finally remember you're the _Boy Who Lived_ and stop talking about how you're the Boy Who Got Brutally Dumped and Publicly Humiliated - "

"That's enough," Harry cut her off, swallowing uncomfortably. "I think I get where you're going with that."

"I just want to point out that this is _my sister_ you're talking about," Ron broached, raising a finger.

"Shut up," Pansy snapped, and Ron nodded weakly.

"Sure, sure," he muttered, glancing nervously at Harry. "Sounds delightful, Harry, can't wait."

"So you'll do it?" Pansy said brightly, smirking again, and Ron glared at her.

" _Fuck_ no - "

"Yes," Harry cut in, grimacing as he nodded. "Yes. Fine. We'll do it."

"What?" Ron squawked, throwing his hands in the air. "Harry, she'll - she'll try to, I don't know, _poison_ me, or - "

"Put you on a spit and serve you at a barbecue," Pansy supplied, grinning.

Ron made an incoherent squeak, gesturing wildly. "That!" he exclaimed, and Harry sighed.

"Listen," he said, pulling Ron aside. "She's right, Daphne really _is_ my best bet for this - " he sighed. "She's really, really hot, Ron, I _need_ Ginny to see me with her - "

Ron buried his face in his hands. "I should never have given you two my blessing," he grumbled. "My sister is _ruining_ my _life -_ "

Harry looked over at Pansy. "Tell Daphne we're in," he announced, and Ron let out a wail.

"Did you say Ginny would be there?" Pansy asked, startled. "So - Blaise would be, too?"

"I thought that was the point," Harry said slowly, his forehead wrinkling as he considered her sudden hesitation. "Is there a problem?"

Pansy grimaced. "No," she replied faintly. "Nothing I can't fix."

* * *

"Okay," Pansy said merrily, dropping her two large bags on the floor of their flat and startling Daphne out of her reverie. "I've got everything we need."

"For what?" Daphne asked, looking inside the bags and enumerating the items. "Ice cream, chocolate frosting, crisps, firewhiskey - " she frowned. "Is this a birthday cake?"

"First we're going to get you cleaned up," Pansy said, removing a piece of lettuce from Daphne's hair, "and then we're going to light things on fire and eat everything in these bags."

"Why?" Daphne asked blankly, giving Pansy her baby deer look of utter confusion.

"Because we're going to have to get you over Zabini a lot faster than I thought," Pansy sighed. She made an effort not to look _too_ distressed, hoping that Daphne would not pick up on her concern.

"So," Pansy pronounced, forcing yet another smile. "Let's get to work."

* * *

"Do I look okay?" Daphne fretted, fussing over her dress.

"Daph, you look amazing," Pansy whispered to her. "That's what happens, you know, when you actually _shower -_ "

"Hey girls," Harry said, reaching them.

"Hey!" Daphne said, her voice several octaves too high. "Hey," she amended, coughing.

"Hi," Ron muttered, his ears red.

"Hey," Pansy said, winking at him. He shuddered in response.

They each shifted in the awkward silence.

"Well," Harry said, running his hands through his messy black hair. "This'll be fun," he said hesitantly, glancing over at Ron, who clearly disagreed.

Daphne looked nervously to Pansy. "Am I smiling?" she whispered, trying not to move her mouth.

"Yes," Pansy replied, brows furrowed in confusion.

"Oh good," Daphne said, anxiously smoothing the pleat of her dress for the hundredth time. "Just checking."

* * *

"Wait," Draco said slowly. "So what you're saying is, we told them to bring _nice girls_ to our wedding, and they took that to mean _Pansy Parkinson_ and _Daphne Greengrass_?"

"Yes," Hermione said tightly, fidgeting with her engagement ring.

"Wonderful," Draco said, throwing his hands in the air. "I'll just owl the French Minister for Magic now, then, shall I?" he suggested. "To warn him in advance of the chance of mass environmental damage - "

"Draco," Hermione said soothingly, patting him on the shoulder. "I'm sure it will be fine."

Draco sighed. "Maybe," he conceded, and then brightened. "Maybe we'll get lucky, and Pansy will murder Weasley!"

Hermione glared at him.

"Or maim or injure, I'm not choosy," Draco amended, and she sighed.

"We should have sex," she decided, throwing herself back on the bed and heaving another dramatic sigh.

"Brightest witch of your age," Draco agreed, dropping their bags and joining her.

* * *

"So," Harry said, settled into the room he was sharing with Daphne. "How is . . . everything?"

"It's lovely," Daphne said, daintily clearing her throat. "Thank you for everything," she added. She tucked a lock of auburn hair behind her ear and Harry watched, stunned, wondering how a face could be so magnificently . . . symmetrical.

"I don't know what Pansy's told you," Daphne began, and Harry cut her off.

"I could say the same," he intoned glumly, moving to sit beside her. "I mean, I know neither of us have, um," he paused, thinking. "The _purest_ of intentions - "

"I really want to fuck you and make sure Blaise knows about it," Daphne said apologetically, her long lashes fluttering as she looked up at him. "Just being honest."

"No, no, that's fine," Harry said quickly, nodding. "I really want to fuck you, too," he added, though he seemed a bit uncomfortable with the sentiment. "In front of Ginny would be ideal, of course, but I'll settle for her just knowing about it."

Daphne leaned her head against his shoulder, sighing.

"They really messed us up, didn't they?" she said sadly, and Harry nodded.

"She broke my heart," he said simply. "And it breaks again every time I have to hear about her."

Daphne nodded, and they sat several more minutes in silence.

"Want to have sex _now_?" she suggested hopefully, turning to look at him.

Harry swallowed. "Um," he said, coughing. "Well, I mean, it might ease the tension?"

Daphne came to her feet, slipping the dress she'd been _so_ careful not to wrinkle before dinner off of her shoulders and letting it fall to the floor in a heap, her pink lace panties - decidedly _not_ the ones Blaise had given her - the only remaining garments on her slender form.

"Consider the tension eased," she said smoothly, and Harry gulped almost comically before yanking her into his arms.

* * *

"Don't touch me," Pansy snapped.

Ron turned around, glaring over his shoulder at her. "I'm _across the room_ from you," he half shouted, gesturing to where he was unpacking his dress robes for the wedding.

"Pre-emptive strike," Pansy said, shrugging, and Ron sighed.

* * *

"Do I look okay?" Daphne asked, using her fingers to tousle her long waves into submission.

"Yes," Harry said fervently, nodding as he tucked his shirt back into his trousers. "Do I?"

"Yes," Daphne said, her gaze flicking appreciatively over him.

"Okay," he sighed, stepping forward to put his hands on her shoulders. "Are you ready for this?"

She thought about lying. She considered telling him that all she wanted was the sweet revenge of seeing Blaise look hungrily at her, to long for her the way he once did, to see the hint of arousal in his eye that used to be reserved just for her. She thought about telling Harry that she wanted Blaise to hurt the way she had hurt, that she wanted him to feel the absence she had felt, to reduce him to a crying, non-showering mess who could barely manage to take care of himself because that's _exactly_ what he'd done to her. She thought about saying yes, _yes_ , of _course_ she was ready, she was more beautiful than she'd ever been and she was better off without him, she was on the arm of a better man (true, probably) with a more impressive cock (false, but he certainly knew how to use it better) and a bigger stockpile of gold (in all likelihood a wash) and thus no longer needed him; but Harry's earnest green eyes made lying quite impossible.

"I might cry," she told him, and his mouth twitched into a half smile.

Was it pity? She squinted at him.

"I won't let you cry," he promised her. "At least not where he can see."

No, she realized, not pity. Just kindness.

"I think I might like you," said Daphne, a little bit in awe.

"Bad news, that," Harry warned, her hand firmly in his. "I'm a mess."

She smiled at him. "Come on," she said, pulling him to the door. "Let's go make Ginny Weasley cry."

* * *

"Dragons, really?" Pansy giggled, squeezing her arms next to her ribcage so as to prop up her jauntily framed cleavage. "How _brave - "_

"Excuse me," Ron said, grabbing her arm and gritting his teeth as he tore her away from his brother Charlie. "Could you potentially _not_?"

"Let go of me," Pansy seethed, stomping her stiletto heel against the marble floor of the rehearsal dinner venue. "What do you think you're doing?"

"What do you think _you're_ doing?" Ron demanded. "That's my fucking _brother_ , Pansy, and you're supposed to be here with _me -_ "

"He's hot," Pansy sniffed defensively. "I don't see why you're carrying on like this."

"Well, spoiler, I don't exactly need your help looking pathetic compared to Charlie," Ron said tightly. "So if you could just keep it in your pants for _two days -_ "

She scoffed, moving to turn away. "Oh, shut _up_ \- "

"No," Ron said firmly, taking hold of her shoulders. "Listen. You're here with me, Pansy, so you have to be here _with me_."

Her eyes flashed angrily. "You don't own me, Weasley!"

"You agreed to this," he reminded her tersely, though he leaned in, lowering his voice. "Look, I get that you did this for Daphne, alright?" he said, his voice quiet. "I respect that you did this for your friend. _But_ ," he continued, flashing her a warning look, "I'm not okay with you disrespecting me. This is hard enough for me as it is," he reminded her, letting his eyes flick intentionally to where Hermione stood with Draco, laughing with her hand on his arm.

"Oh," Pansy said, following his gaze. She shifted uncomfortably. "I'd forgotten."

"Of course you did," Ron said stiffly, crossing his arms. "You're Pansy Parkinson, and after six years of school with you, I might have just assumed that the only thing you cared about was yourself."

She glared at him. "Hey!"

"Well, I was wrong, wasn't I?" Ron noted pointedly. "You care about your friend, too." He shrugged. "So maybe if you can just pretend to be _my_ friend and care about me to the _very base level_ of not trying to fuck my brother at my ex-girlfriend's wedding - "

"Got it," Pansy cut in softly, and Ron thought he saw a flicker of understanding in her dark eyes.

"Thanks," he replied coolly, though he felt considerably more grateful to her than he let on.

She nodded.

"Still not going to touch you, though," she warned, and he rolled his eyes.

"Still not trying to," he reminded her, raising both hands. She gave him a haughty look of approval.

"You know," she ventured, "Draco's my ex, too." The look she gave him was the first he'd seen from her that wasn't masked with bravado. "We're kind of in the same boat."

Ron sighed. "This wedding is all kinds of fucked up," he decided, his eyes traveling to where Ginny and Blaise seemed to be having a competition with Harry and Daphne as to who could look more in love.

"Cheers," Pansy agreed, and they solemnly clinked glasses.

* * *

"Wine tasting," Pansy said the next day, surveying the many swaying people around her. "Because what we needed was more alcohol."

"When in France," Ron said grimly, toasting her.

Pansy looked over at where Harry and Daphne were giggling in a corner. "I don't think they've taken their hands off each other since we arrived," Pansy noted, a little proud of her best friend in spite of herself. "If this is a show, it's very convincing."

"I'm sensing it's not," Ron mused. "He had a rough time after Ginny, but this doesn't look fake to me."

"Not to me either," Pansy said, frowning. "Daphne looks sort of human again."

Across the room, Harry and Daphne sat down together at a table, smiling as they settled themselves beside each other.

"They're cute," Pansy announced, and Ron nodded. They each took casual sips of their wine, observing their two best friends as they relaxed in the sun, enjoying the pre-wedding festivities.

She wasn't so bad, Ron thought, sneaking a look at Pansy. Since he'd confronted her at the rehearsal dinner, she'd been much less . . . _Pansy_ -esque. And she was pretty, too; he'd never really taken the time to notice before.

Her dark eyes flicked to his face and Ron looked away quickly, returning his gaze to where Daphne and Harry were sitting together.

"Oh," Ron said, and they watched as Daphne's hand traveled to Harry's lap, the dark-haired wizard's face going euphorically blank as the pretty witch's hand slipped out of sight. "Uh oh."

"Oh no," Pansy tsked, shaking her head. Harry let his head loll back as Daphne, whose face was radiant with mischief, used her free hand to reach for a dainty sip of her wine. "Oh boy."

"I can't look away," Ron said, knocking his full glass of wine back and making a face as it went down. "Bloody _hell_ ," he swore, catching the tell-tale signs that Daphne was picking up speed. "Make it stop."

"It's like, mesmerizing," Pansy commented, taking a slow, languid sip from her glass and watching Harry's chest rise and fall as he struggled not to pant openly at Daphne's touch. "How fucked up _are_ we?"

Harry doubled over, choking, and Ron sighed.

"Really fucked up," he pronounced grimly, motioning to the server. "More wine, please," he said. "Like, a lot."

Pansy cleared her throat delicately, drawing Ron's attention.

"Or," she suggested, pursing her lips. "Maybe we could get a drink somewhere else?"

"Somewhere _besides_ the vineyard that's being paid for by the Malfoy estate?" Ron asked skeptically, offering her an indignant snort. "Where exactly did you have in mind?"

"I was thinking maybe our hotel room," Pansy suggested, taking another ladylike sip.

Ron blinked at her.

"Yeah, okay," he said quickly, and she barely managed to set down her wine glass before he disapparated them out with a loud crack.

* * *

"I think I might like you," Harry said, when he could finally catch his breath.

Daphne smirked at him, and for the first time in months, she wasn't thinking about Blaise at all.

"I have to shower before the ceremony," she said primly, rising to her feet. "Maybe you'd consider liking me in there?"

"Oh, I think I will," Harry said smoothly. "I might even like you more than once."

* * *

"I can't believe they were just doing that out in the _open_ ," Ginny snarled, pacing their hotel room. "That's - I mean, that's just - "

"You didn't seem to care very much about that when you went down on me in the restaurant bathroom last night," Blaise noted, lazily flipping the pages of an Italian magazine.

"It's not the same!" Ginny exclaimed, glaring at him. "This has _got_ to be Daphne's influence," she added. "Harry's not like this _at all_ \- I mean, he's - "

"Boring," Blaise reminded her. "That _is_ why you left him, isn't it?"

"He's not _boring_ ," Ginny snapped. "And anyway, don't talk about him like that!"

"Why not?" Blaise asked snidely, sitting up on the bed. "You say things like that about him all the time," he admonished her. " _Harry was so uptight, not like you, Blaise, you're so free_ ," he said, mimicking her.

"Well _I_ can talk about him if I want to, can't I?" she said. "And what about you? _Daphne was so dramatic, she was so needy - "_

"Leave her out of it," Blaise growled.

"Why?" Ginny demanded, tears reaching her eyes. "Do you still love her, Blaise? _Do_ you?"

"Are you fucking _jealous_ right now?" Blaise demanded, throwing the magazine he'd been reading on the bed and coming to his feet. "Are you fucking serious?"

" _Don't fucking yell at me!"_

* * *

"Did you hear that?" Ron asked, turning his head to squint breathlessly at Pansy. "Is someone yelling?"

"Honestly, don't even talk to me right now," Pansy said, eyes closed, still relishing the aftershock of what had been the most stunningly electric sex of her life. "I am really busy."

* * *

"Was that yelling?" Daphne asked, pulling the sheet up to cover her breasts as she sat up in bed.

"I think it was Ginny's voice," Harry said, frowning. "Sounds like she and Blaise are fighting."

"Oh," Daphne said, biting her lip as she turned to look at him. "Do - " she paused. "Do you want to go see if she's okay?"

Harry's green eyes scanned Daphne's face, and she hoped he couldn't sense her fear.

"No," he said simply, pulling her to him and rolling over her. "I want to make _you_ yell."

* * *

"So let me get this straight," Hermione said slowly. "Our parents had too much wine and are sleeping it off, the Weasleys are busy comforting Ginny, _your_ friends had to take Blaise to the hospital after Ginny hexed him, and then Harry, Ron, Daphne, and Pansy are - "

"Missing," Draco said grimly. "Presumably fucking."

"Oh," Hermione said, dazed. "Interesting."

She looked beautiful; it was a shame Draco was the only one there to see it.

Though, now that he thought about it . . .

"You know," Draco said slowly, and Hermione looked up at him, eyes wide. "I really don't like anyone but you."

She tilted her head, considering him. "Same, I think," she said, sighing.

He offered her his arm. "Shall we get married?" he suggested, and she let her eyes sweep over the empty chapel.

"Let's," she decided, slipping her hand in the crook of his arm.

It really was the perfect wedding.

* * *

 **a/n:** So I honestly don't know why my brain did this but hopefully you thought it was entertaining. Also, I am clearly such a Dramione wasteland I can't help writing them in. In any case, this one's for my love bentnotbroken1! Hope you had fun.


	12. Bachelorette, Part IV of V

**Bachelorette, Part IV**

 _Pairing:_ Dramione (Draco x Hermione)

 _Universe:_ Post-Hogwarts, EWE

 _Rating:_ M for language, sex (yes, actual sex)

 _Summary:_ Part IV of the drabble series based on the reality show "The Bachelorette," wherein eligible men in the wizarding world compete for Hermione Granger's affections.

* * *

 _[Black screen; Lee voiceover.]_

"Here's what you missed on . . . The Bachelorette!"

 _[Camera shows Hermione saying goodbye to Ron; Theo and Draco exchange glances. Cuts to Theo interview.]_

Theo: "It is interesting that Draco and I would both be in the final three."

Interviewer, off screen: "Do you see Draco as a threat?"

Theo: "I think anyone who has been paying attention should see Draco as a threat, but at the same time, I almost worry more about Potter being the standout."

 _[Cuts to Draco interview.]_

Draco: "Yes, well, Theo and I do share many characteristics." _[Waves this fact away like it is bothersome fly.]_ "But maybe that's just more indicative of what she's looking for."

Interviewer, off screen: "What do you mean by that?"

Draco: "Nothing, really." _[Flashes the camera a distinctly Malfoy-esque smirk.]_ "Just that maybe she's tired of heroes."

 _[Clips of Harry and Hermione laughing together; cuts to Harry interview.]_

Harry: "We have something together that nobody else has."

Interviewer, off screen: "You're not worried about anyone else?"

 _[Cuts to clip of Harry watching as Draco tucks a curl behind Hermione's ear.]_

Harry, lying: "Nope."

 _[Lee steps into view, smiling at the audience.]_

Lee: "And coming up tonight - Fantasy Suites!"

 _[Cuts to Hermione and Theo; Theo pulls her into the bedroom, kissing her, and shuts the door behind him.]_

Lee: "Things get sultry between Hermione and Theo!"

 _[Scenes of Harry and Hermione holding hands on their date; a considerably less explicit scene, but she leans her head against his arm, looking adoringly at him.]_

Lee: "Harry and Hermione find love in an old friendship!"

 _[Cuts to Draco and Hermione at dinner, holding hands.]_

Draco: "The truth is that I love you, Hermione. I'm falling in love with you, and it's terrifying. I'm terrified."

Hermione: "Draco, I - "

 _[Cuts mid-sentence to Hermione interview; she looks panicked.]_

Hermione: "How am I supposed to be able to make this decision?" _[She starts fanning herself, slightly hysterical.]_ "Is this real? Am I really supposed to choose?"

 _[Clip of Hermione racing away from the manor, dressed in a stunning emerald green gown; she is barefoot and her polished updo is coming undone as she looks over her shoulder, running away.]_

Lee: "All that and more coming up next on . . . the Bachelorette!"

* * *

" _Fantasy Suites?_ " Minerva repeated, unable to believe her ears. "And this is for something that is not only permitted, but _vetted_ by the Ministry?"

"Yes," Pomona confirmed, wincing.

Minerva sat still for a moment, considering her options.

"Someone had better make sure we double check the wards on the students' dorm rooms," she suggested wearily, leaning back in her chair. "Best that nobody get any ideas."

* * *

"So," Lee said, eyeing Hermione to make sure she was paying attention. "Here's the deal - "

"I get it," she said, closing her eyes and sliding down in her chair. "Don't cut Harry or you'll cry for a thousand years - "

"No, not that," Lee said quickly, reaching down to swat at her feet with his cue cards. "This is the 'I love you' episode."

She looked up, frowning at him. "What?"

"This is the episode that the contestants usually decide to say 'I love you,'" Lee repeated, grimacing slightly. "I mean, it'll be very touching, I'm sure - "

"But also strategic," Hermione deduced. "I get it."

"Okay, here's the thing," Lee said quickly. "You absolutely _cannot_ say it back, no matter who says it to you."

"I won't," Hermione replied tiredly, curling up in the chair to rest her chin on her folded arms. "It's only been a few weeks, anyway. I obviously don't _love_ anyone."

"You sure?" Lee posed, grinning. "I mean, sure, you don't right _now_ , but think of the possibilities - " he knelt next to her chair, trying to paint the scene. "Candles, music, the _Fantasy Suite -_ "

"What's the deal with Fantasy Suites, anyway?" she insisted, turning to frown at him. "Are people really supposed to assume I've slept with _three_ different men?"

"Yes," Lee said firmly. "And don't you dare give them any reason to believe otherwise," he added, glaring at her as though she'd already had the inexcusable nerve to do so.

She rolled her eyes at Lee's particular brand of melodrama.

"Isn't that distinctly, I don't know - gross?" Hermione asked, frowning. "I'm supposed to have sex with three different people and then choose one of them to _marry_ next week?"

"Funny how you only take the marriage bit of this show seriously when it's convenient for you," Lee noted, giving her an obnoxious smirk.

"Well, it's not like I invented this!" Hermione exclaimed defensively, giving Lee a little shove.

"Just give the people what they want, would you?" Lee begged. "Just . . . leave some clothes lying on the floor, or something." He shrugged. "Leave some wine glasses out."

Hermione made a distinct gagging sound. "You want me to _fake_ my own seduction?" she asked, making a face. "For the actual sake of fuck, Lee."

"I mean, you don't have to," he assured her. "You can always just call me a few minutes earlier and I'd be happy to do it for you." He looked at her, tilting his head as though he were brainstorming. "I could do something to make sure you had, you know, the appropriate post-coital look to you - "

"For the love of god, please stop," Hermione groaned, reaching out to shove his face away. "Literally never speak to me again."

"Okay, so, to recap," Lee said weakly, coming to his feet. "No 'I love yous' - "

"Yes, yes," she muttered impatiently. "You can leave now, Lee," she added, fixing him with her most severe glare. "Seriously."

"Okay," he agreed, tiptoeing toward the door. "Oh, and Hermione?"

"What?" she asked, pursing her lips primly.

"Team Harry," he said, grinning, before he hurriedly slipped out the door, just missing the impact of the fruit basket Hermione had flung in his direction.

* * *

 _[Camera pans the fancy manor house to show Theo stepping out, ready to meet Hermione for their date.]_

Lee voiceover: "First up for the Fantasy Suites date is Theo."

 _[Cuts to Theo interview.]_

Interviewer, off screen: "So, Theo. Could you explain for the audience what Fantasy Suites is?"

 _[Editor's cut:_

 _Theo: "Just out of curiosity, what am I not allowed to say on this show?"_

 _Muttered response._

 _Theo: "So you probably wouldn't be cool with me saying it's my chance to Slytherin to Granger, then?"_

 _Mutters._

 _Theo: "And as far as explicit language - "_

 _More mutters._

 _Theo: "You should really consider asking someone else to answer this question." [Shrugs.] "I'm just saying."]_

Theo: "It's . . . " _[Pauses, thinking.]_ "It's our first chance to be alone without cameras."

 _[Editor's cut:_

 _Theo: "I should get some kind of award for that level of restraint. You're all fucking lucky I'm so goddamn refined."]_

Interviewer, off screen: "Are you looking forward to it?"

 _[Editor's cut:_

 _Theo: "I'd like to be excluded from this line of questioning. It strikes me as somewhat . . . idiotic."]_

Theo: "Sure. For . . . appropriate reasons, of course." _[Interviewer coughs loudly and Theo grins.]_

 _[A montage of date clips flash across the screen; Hermione and Theo spend their day at dinner, watching fireworks, and conclude by holding hands and walking through a garden at sunset, the conclusion of their evening.]_

Theo: "So." _[He pauses, considering what he should say.]_ "I wanted to talk to you about something."

Hermione: "Sure." _[She looks a little hesitant, like she might know what's coming.]_ "What's up?"

Theo: _[Stops walking as they are almost to her hotel suite, taking both her hands in his.]_ "Listen. I know this has all been a little fast - "

Hermione, laughing: "Definitely."

Theo: [ _Grins at her, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.]_ "But I want you to know that I've definitely gotten swept up in it."

Hermione: _[is a little breathless]_ "Oh." _[Pauses]_ "And?"

Theo: "And." _[He smiles at her.]_ "I just wanted you to know that I'm falling for you, Hermione." _[He pulls her in close, kissing her cheek.]_ "I'm falling in love with you."

 _[Cuts to Theo interview.]_

Theo: "How do I know I'm in love with Hermione?" _[He shrugs.]_ "What's not to love?"

 _[Cuts back to Hermione and Theo; she looks like she wants to say something, but stops herself just in time.]_

Hermione: "Thank you for telling me." _[She pauses as though she's remembered something, glancing towards the door of the hotel suite as they arrive.]_ "Theo - "

Theo: _[Bends to kiss her so fiercely she stumbles backwards, clinging to him.]_

Hermione: "Do - do you" _[tries to speak between kisses, reaching for the doorknob]_ "do you - want to - "

Theo: "Yes." _[Kisses her again.]_ "Yes. I do."

 _[Cuts to them stumbling into the suite, the door falling shut just as Theo sweeps Hermione in his arms, pressing her against a wall.]_

 _[Editor's cut:_

 _Lee: "So . . . am I supposed to just wait here, or . . . what?"_

 _Muttered response._

 _Lee: "Yeah, cool. Cool. See you guys in the morning, then."]_

* * *

Theo was kissing her so fervently that she could barely draw breath; she felt a flutter in her stomach, wondering if she should just give in.

It was _Fantasy Suites,_ after all, Hermione reminded herself. If everyone already assumed she was having sex, didn't that mean she could give in just _once_?

Would it be just once? Probably. She could hardly see it happening with Harry like this; she was certainly open to the relationship - more than open, really - but it seemed somehow out of place in their dynamic for them to sleep together for the first time this way. Harry was a bit more sentimental than that, for one thing, and he _clearly_ liked to take his time, considering. And as for Draco - well. It was never easy to predict what was going through Draco's mind, but she felt comfortably assured that he would contentedly make an elaborate show of seducing her only to abandon the facade behind closed doors. He seemed likely to be put off by the spectacle.

But now Theo was tugging the straps of her gown and this felt _real_ and she felt _wanted_ \- he was _falling for her_ , after all - she could see the darkened glimmer of hunger in his green eyes and she was close to pulsing with need. His hands slipped to her breasts and she let out an inadvertent whimper, realizing her body, now pressed tightly against his, may have made the decision for her.

"Fuck," Theo hissed through his teeth, letting his head loll back as she began unbuttoning his shirt, letting her fingers scrape lightly against his chest. "Hermione - "

"Yes?" she mused, sucking lightly on his throat as she let her lips move from his jaw to his neck to his chest.

"Hold on," he grunted, pushing her away and turning her, unzipping her gown and letting it fall to the floor. He stepped away, letting his gaze linger over her, his green eyes taking her in as he nodded appreciatively.

"Sorry," he said, grinning. "Been wondering about this for a few weeks now."

"About what?" she ventured, startled at the timidity in her voice. Despite the reassuring look of longing on his face, she had never been this exposed in front of anyone but Ron, and she felt ludicrously insecure standing before him in her silly, impractical lingerie, feeling awkward in the flimsy black pieces that she'd barely had the courage to purchase for herself.

 _Careful_ , she heard Draco say in her mind, feeling an unexpected leap at the calming timbre of his voice. _Theo likes to have his fun._

"About _you_ ," Theo replied simply, his voice seeming throatier the longer he looked at her. He seemed to catch her hesitation, though, and his eyes flicked to hers. "Are you okay?" he asked, stepping forward to put his hands on her waist.

"Yeah," she said quickly, reaching up to wrap her arms around her neck. "Yeah, of course." He kissed her once, roughly, pressing her against the wall; then again, slower. Sweeter.

"Yeah," she said again, eyes closed. "I'm fine."

She felt him smile against her cheek and he moved his head to her neck, beginning to trace his way down, his lips brushing against the tingling skin of her chest as his fingers pressed into her hips.

"This is normal, right?" she whispered faintly. "Not a big deal."

"No," he replied, making his way down her abdomen to lower himself to his knees, his breath hot against her thighs.

"It's fine," she said again, her breath starting to catch as she grew more conscious of his mouth on her skin. "I mean, people do this, right? People who are dating?"

"Right," he assured her smoothly, tucking his hands under the thin fabric of her underwear, letting his mouth linger near her clit.

"I mean, we could be engaged next week," she said, attempting to allow a casual laugh; at the sobering thought, however, she suddenly opened her eyes. "I mean, that's what this is for, right?"

Her heart was pounding as she processed the truth of that statement. "Right?" she repeated weakly, reaching down to run her fingers against his scalp.

Theo paused his movements, looking up at her. "Engaged for the _show_ , you mean?"

"Well, yes, that," she replied tentatively, and she could feel the beginnings of what was surely going to be a babbling stream of word vomit and nerves.

"I mean, if I have sex with you, that means I should probably choose you," she began frantically, "and if I were to choose you, I mean, that means I could really see myself _marrying_ you - "

She choked a little, and the absurd thought crossed her mind that she quite wished she could ask Draco what he thought; he had an enviably cooler head, and she, by contrast, felt more than a little bit panicked. "I mean that's the point of this, isn't it?"

The mood was rather dampened and Theo chose to rise slowly to his feet, taking her hand to lead her to the bed and sitting her down gently, pressing his hands into her shoulders as he took a seat beside her on the bed.

"Hermione," he said, coughing as he attempted to manage the placement of his now inconvenient erection. "I thought you had always been pretty adamant that this show wasn't - " he paused, trying to be diplomatic. " _Real_."

"It's not," Hermione said quickly. "I mean, the being here for marriage and all that," she assured him, and Theo looked relieved. "But," she added tentatively, "the fallout is real, you know?"

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"If I choose you," she began slowly, "I basically cut off any chance I have with anyone else," she explained, realizing that this thought, as obvious as it felt in that moment, was occurring to her for the first time. "Which would be fine, of course," she assured him, "assuming that this would . . . go somewhere."

Theo's face seemed to take on a strange, glassy appearance.

"I hadn't thought about that," he admitted, frowning. He looked intently at her, searching her expression for the proper way to respond. "Would sex tonight have to mean marriage next week?"

"Well, no," she said hastily, though that did seem to be the argument she was making, she realized. "I just - "

"Is marriage something you actually want?" Theo asked, tilting her chin up to look her in the eye. "I guess I'd just assumed it wasn't, you know," he said pointedly, "since you seem to really hate this show." He paused. "Like, _a lot_."

"I do," she insisted, grabbing a pillow and covering herself with it as she suddenly realized she was half-naked and somewhat chilly. "I _do_ hate the show, but - "

She hesitated. "I mean, I do kind of like the idea of settling down," she confessed, biting her lip as she realized the veracity of that statement. "I think I might actually want all that" - she waved her hand around - "marriage and commitment stuff," she joked.

It was a joke, but it wasn't. She just hadn't realized it until this moment; and what an inconvenient moment it was.

"Well," Theo said carefully, leaning back on his elbows. "I do have feelings for you."

She eyed him closely. "Do you?"

"Yes," he replied, though she wasn't sure that he really looked convinced. "I mean, you're smart, you're funny, you're" - he paused, his eyes traveling over her again - " _incredibly_ sexy - "

"But," she interrupted, feeling her cheeks flush. "There's a ' _but_ ' somewhere in there, isn't there?"

"But _marriage_ ," Theo determined grimly, reaching up to rake his fingers through his hair. "I don't know."

"I didn't think I did, either," she said slowly, and he reached for her, pulling her into the circle of his arms as they both lay on the bed. "And I really, _really_ want to do this."

" _But_ ," he cut in, grinning.

"But," she agreed. " _But_ ," she decided, sighing with finality, "I think I kind of want a future."

He nodded slowly, and she had the distinct impression that he was processing her thoughts for her; it was helpful, somehow, and she felt encouraged that he was taking her seriously.

"You can see one with Harry," Theo noted. "A future?"

She nodded.

"Yes," she sighed. "I can."

Theo was quiet for a moment, his lips pressed against her hair.

"And with Draco?"

She didn't know what possessed her to say it. "Yes," she replied, thinking of the undeniable sense of relief she felt whenever she met his grey eyes, and the pull she felt at the thought of him.

"There's a good chance they both want what you want," Theo commented, and she felt him nod a little to himself, resting his chin on the top of her head. "You should pick one of them," he decided. "They're probably better for you."

She sighed in a mix of disappointment and relief, turning to look up at him. "I wish I would be able to have sex with you without thinking about the consequences," she proposed, and he gave her a smug little Theo smirk.

"Not everyone can be so singularly gifted," he sniffed, pulling her in tighter.

* * *

 _[Show cuts to Harry in interview.]_

Harry: "So, today is my date with Hermione before Fantasy Suites."

Interviewer, off screen: "And how are you feeling about it?"

Harry: "I'm - um - "

 _[Editor's cut:_

 _Harry: "Am I supposed to - "_

 _Muttered response._

 _Harry: "Really? You want me to talk about sex?"_

 _Mutters._

 _Harry: [indignantly] "What do you mean I'm the least sexy?"]_

Harry: "Obviously Hermione and I have the strongest connection of anyone left on the show." _[He appears a little nervous, and is speaking slower than normal, like he's taking care to think about his answer.]_ "But - we also have the least physical relationship, comparatively."

 _[Camera cuts to shots of Hermione and Theo snogging with his hand on her arse, then to Hermione with her legs around Draco's waist.]_

Interviewer, off screen: "Would you say that will be important to establish tonight?"

Harry: "Yeah, I think so." _[He swallows, looking nervous.]_

Interviewer, off screen: "Is there anything else?"

 _[Editor's cut:_

 _Harry: "What is it you're wanting me to say?"_

 _Muttered response._

 _Harry: "Love? No. Love? Really?"_

 _Mutters._

 _Harry: "Love? Wait. No. Love. No! Wait - "]_

Harry: "I mean, I love Hermione."

Interviewer, off screen: "Do you?"

Harry: "Do I love Hermione?" _[He sounds a little robotic at this point, as though he is unable to work his feelings out in words.]_ "I've always loved Hermione." _[He looks startled.]_ "Dear god, do I love Hermione?" _[He doubles over, mumbling to himself.]_ "Oh no."

 _[Editor's cut:_

 _Interviewer: "Are you okay?"_

 _Harry: [is still muttering to himself]_

 _Interviewer, looking around: "Is he okay?"_

 _Lee, yelling from off screen: "He's fine, you prat - keep going!"]_

* * *

"Oh, poor Harry," Molly cooed, turning to her son. "Look, he's so nervous!"

"He's fine, Mum," Ron muttered, getting up and wandering into the kitchen. Had _he_ looked like this much of a twat on the show? He sincerely hoped not. He was, if possible, _twice_ as relieved now that he was no longer in the running for Hermione's heart. Particularly since the fan mail had started pouring in -

 _I'll make it better, Ron!_

 _Ron, I'm still available!_

 _Let me be your bachelorette!_

All in all, it had been a worthwhile experience, he thought, grinning to himself.

"Ron!" Molly yelled, and he stumbled into the living room, startled.

"What?" he demanded.

"He told her he loves her!" Molly said, sighing, as she clutched one of her decorative pillows. "They're in _love_ , Ron!"

"Bloody hell," Ron grunted, rolling his eyes as he trudged up the stairs and away from the madness.

* * *

It would have to be Harry.

Wouldn't it?

Hermione watched him as he wandered throughout the room, lighting candles, playing music - making things special, the way only Harry thought to do. He knew what she was looking for. He knew with _absolute_ clarity what she was looking for; though perhaps he really should. He'd certainly known her long enough.

"Want to dance?" he suggested, holding his hand out to her.

She smiled.

"Sure," she agreed, stepping into the circle of his arms and resting her chin on his shoulder.

The friendship part would always be comfortable. That piece would always be there, and she'd walk to the ends of the earth for him. She always had. Love would be easy, then. Wouldn't it?

He spun her around the room slowly. "Remember when we did this?" he asked quietly. "That night when we were - "

"I remember," she murmured back, thinking how their minds had been so occupied, all those months of hunting Voldemort in solitude, alone together. "Of course."

Had it been a waste of a perfect opportunity?

"There's something so comforting about you," Harry told her, and she nodded her agreement, taking in the familiar smell of him. _Her_ Harry.

He leaned away to look at her, and her lips met his without hesitation.

It was different, of course, kissing Harry. Not like Theo, who made her feel she couldn't breathe for the crushing need to explore him, to be laid bare in his grasp. Not like Draco, whose kiss stayed with her even after he was gone.

Comfortable. Reassuring. Isn't that what she'd told Theo she wanted? Someone to spend her tomorrows with. To have a future with. If there was one person she knew without a doubt that she could love for the rest of her life, it was Harry Potter.

She felt him smile against her cheek.

"What is it?" she asked, pulling away to smile at him. "What are you thinking about?"

"I was just thinking," he ventured, laughing a little, "do you remember our first flying lesson?"

"Oh, how could I forget!" Hermione exclaimed, launching her head into his shoulder with a frustrated groan. " _Still_ the only thing you can lord over me - "

"That and my superiority in Potions," he countered, grinning, and at that she moved to pull away in mock indignation.

"You were cheating and you know it," she admonished him, and he pushed her a little, knocking her back against the bed.

"Was not," he insisted, and then they curled around each other, having the same argument they'd been having since they were sixteen years old.

"You're so full of it, Harry James Potter," she snapped playfully, and he grinned at her.

She thought about kissing him again; she considered the possibility of slipping her hand against the zipper of his trousers, testing the waters.

But she was so comfortable, she decided, burrowing herself in his arms. And by then he had already brought up another story, and they were already laughing.

They talked until the sun came up, and by the time Lee knocked on the door in the morning, she was still in her dress from last night.

* * *

Kingsley walked out of his office, eyes on the paperwork in his hands as he opened his mouth to call for Mafalda.

" - oh Hermione and Harry are just _so cute_ together - "

" - I know! They are my _favorite -_ "

Upon hearing the conversation, Kingsley quickly doubled back, deciding with a solemn grimace he would be better off sealed in his office.

* * *

"So," Theo said, sipping coffee in the manor. "You're next."

"I am," Draco said warily, not wanting to disclose too much.

They sat in a slightly uncomfortable silence until Draco noticed that Theo's green eyes were laughing at him, and he realized he was being toyed with.

"What?" Draco snapped, and Theo finally broke into an open smirk.

"She's going to choose you," Theo said. "What she's looking for . . . " he shook his head. "I can't give it to her."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "That's gallant of you," he remarked, careful not to reveal the extent of his relief.

"So," Theo said, taking another sip of his coffee. "Are you going to tell her how you feel?"

"It's just a show, Theo," Draco said, rolling his eyes.

"You know, you two are so similar," Theo commented, giving Draco a haughty, superior sniff. "You both pretend you're not taking this seriously until all of a sudden, you are."

"Oh, shove off, Nott," Draco replied, scowling.

Theo sighed, setting down his mug and putting his hands on his best friend's shoulders. "Tell her how you feel," he advised, giving Draco a last pointed look before turning to exit the kitchen.

"Oh," he added, stepping back to face Draco one more time. "And sorry about all the times I've snogged her, mate."

Draco made a face. "But you didn't - "

"Nah," Theo said, his eyes dancing. "Though certainly not for lack of trying."

* * *

 _[Scene opens to where Hermione and Draco are on their date, eating dinner together. He seems a little stiffer than usual.]_

Hermione: "Draco, can I be honest?" _[She looks imploringly at him.]_

Draco: _[glances up]_ "Of course." _[his tone is particularly silky, like it might be an affectation from nerves.]_

Hermione: _[puts her fork down, resting her chin on the heel of her hand.]_ "I feel like you seem a little bit distant." _[She searches his face nervously for a reaction, which he does not give.]_ "Is everything okay?"

Draco: _[hesitates.]_ "Yes."

Hermione: _[looks saddened.]_ "Oh." _[She picks up her fork, returning to her meal.]_ "Just my imagination, I suppose."

 _[Hermione is now picking listlessly at her food; Draco, by contrast, looks distressed.]_

Draco: "Alright!" _[His voice is several decibles too loud and Hermione is startled, letting her fork drop against her plate with a clatter.]_ "Fine. FINE."

Hermione, shocked: "Draco!"

Draco: "I love you, Hermione. I'm falling in love with you, and it's terrifying." _[His face is paler than usual, and the words ring true.]_ "I'm terrified."

 _[Cuts to Hermione in interview.]_

Hermione: "Over the last week, three different men have told me they loved me." _[Shakes her head.]_ "But this . . . hearing it from Draco . . . "

Interviewer, off screen: "Is this different?"

Hermione: _[pauses, biting her lip.]_ "Yes." _[She takes a deep breath.]_ "Something about this feels different."

 _[Cuts back to Hermione and Draco at dinner.]_

Hermione: "Draco, I - "

Draco: _[cuts her off.]_ "Don't." _[He shrugs.]_ "it's okay. You don't have to say anything. I just wanted you to know."

 _[She is looking at him intently, like she is seeing something for the first time.]_

Hermione: _[reaches for his hand across the table.]_ "Draco." _[Pauses to smile at him.]_ "Would you like to spend the night with me?"

Draco: _[Leans over the table to kiss her; fireworks erupt in the background.]_

 _[Editor's cut:_

 _Lee: "Did he say yes?"_

 _Muttered response._

 _Lee: "I was just asking! Fuck, you Team Draco people are the worst."]_

* * *

Once the doors had shut behind them, Draco released Hermione, taking a stroll around the suite.

"This is nice, Granger," he commented, eyeing the chilled bottle of champagne and the expansive bathroom. "Look at you."

"Feel free to enjoy," she told him, wandering in behind him. "That was a pretty good show back there," she added, giving his shoulder a mischievous nudge. "I almost believed you."

He fought a grimace. "You always have such low expectations for me," he told her, throwing himself back onto the bed and resting his head against his hands. "You should just know to be impressed."

"Still," she said daintily, slipping her feet out of her shoes and stretching the exhaustion from her arches. "You never cease to amaze."

He shrugged. "Born performer, I guess."

"Something like that," she agreed. She wandered into the bathroom as though checking for something, then returned to his line of sight.

"I'm thinking a shower," she announced, leaning over to rub her feet again. "I could use one."

"Go for it," Draco replied nonchalantly. "I'll open the champagne, if you're interested in having some."

"Sure," Hermione said, nodding a little. "We deserve some, don't you think?"

There was a faint pop as Draco worked the bottle open.

"We certainly do," he agreed, and she walked toward him for a glass.

* * *

Hermione woke the next morning with a start, squinting in the brightness. Her head was pounding but she felt unnaturally relaxed; the two came hand in hand, she supposed, looking down.

There was no real way to tell what she noticed first. She might have first discovered she was naked, though the realization that the arm around her belonged to an equally naked Draco Malfoy was surely a close second and third, respectively.

 _Slow down_ , she told herself, squeezing her eyes shut. _What happened?_

Things started flooding her memory piece by piece, like someone was playing with a dial in her mind and forcibly bringing things in and out of clarity.

 _I meant it, you idiot, I'm in love with you -_

She heard herself giggle; had she even made it to the shower after the champagne?

 _Oh god_ , she realized, clapping her hand over her mouth. _Yes, and not alone._

They must have gotten drunk, that had to have been the only explanation; she had been so _set_ on a quiet night in his company, perhaps chatting a little, but mostly enjoying the solitude and the rare gift of being away from the cameras.

Who had made the first move? Not that it even mattered, really, she reminded herself. The kisses and touches had begun to feel second-nature after spending so many weeks doing it for purposes of show. What had initially been a purposeful demonstration had become instinct and -

 _Maybe it had been her_ , she realized with a start, remembering that she had been watching the way the drink touched his lips, captivated by the way his fingers looked as he held the thin stem of the glass.

 _Yes_ , she recalled, her stomach flipping a little. She had definitely been watching.

 _He_ had carried her to the shower, though; he'd certainly been involved. More than involved, she assured herself, remembering the flash of their reflection she'd caught in the mirror, his hands on her breasts the moment he'd undressed her, his lips on the back of her neck and traveling slowly down her spine.

She whimpered a little at the memory, but beside her, he didn't budge; he was beautiful when he slept, she realized, forcing herself to look away.

What next? Ah, yes, _in_ the shower - he'd licked the falling droplets from her skin, revered her with his tongue, his lips, his hands - she came _so hard_ the first time, his fingers inside her and his mouth on her clit and she could only press herself back against the tiles, one leg tossed over his shoulder as brought her right up to the edge and then sent her careening over it. She'd said his name, hadn't she?

 _Draco -_

And more.

 _I love you, I love you too -_

She inhaled sharply at the thought. Had she - ?

But then it was coming back to her, more, _more, deeper, harder - yes, yes, there -_

Her chest pressed first against the tiles, his hand on her clit, and then he'd turned her and she'd bit down on his bicep as he lowered her onto his cock, her legs wrapped around his hips as he thrust into her, one arm against the shower wall and the other sinfully around her waist, holding her securely -

 _Don't lie to me._

His voice was gruff in her ear.

 _Don't lie to me._

 _It's not a lie_ -

 _Then say it again._

 _I love you -_

 _Again -_

 _I - oh, Draco -_

 _Say it -_

 _I love you - oh, yes, there - Draco - yes -_

 _I love you -_

 _I love you - I love you -_

 _Mine._

The shiver she'd felt, it was unending.

Even now, it was relentless, and every hair stood on end.

How many more times? At least one - her hair was still damp, and she remembered her hands against his chest, her fingernails digging into his back as he brought her there again, _again_ -

"Granger."

She looked at him, eyes wide.

He swallowed carefully, squinting a little in the morning light.

"Are you upset?" he asked quietly, and she felt an overwhelming rush of something - affection, maybe, at the knowledge that Draco Malfoy had never looked so concerned.

"No," she murmured back, touching his face. "I just . . . "

The muscle in his jaw seemed to tense. "Yes?" he prompted.

"I want to do it again," she whispered, and the ravenous look in his eyes nearly stopped her heart.

* * *

 _[Camera pans the room where Hermione is wearing a long red gown, standing next to the two remaining roses.]_

Lee: "Are you ready, Hermione?"

Hermione: _[takes a deep breath]_ "Yes."

 _[She looks up; there is something different about the chemistry in the room.]_

Hermione: "Harry."

 _[Harry comes forward, smiling, and she looks comforted to see him; she holds him tightly after pinning the rose on his lapel, and he seems encouraged.]_

Hermione: "And this rose is for . . . "

 _[Music becomes dramatic and full of intrigue as the camera pans rapidly between Draco and Theo.]_

Hermione: "Draco."

 _[Draco steps close to her and there is definitely something different about their interaction; each touch seems somehow twice as deliberate. He holds her for a moment and she almost imperceptibly leans into him as he pulls away, instantly becoming sheepish as she has to face Theo.]_

Hermione: "Theo, I'm so sorry."

 _[Cut to Theo interview]_

Theo: "Oh, it's alright." _[He is somewhat cheery.]_ "We didn't want the same things, but I'll be fine, and she's in good hands."

 _[Cuts back to Theo, who is giving Draco a hug; Draco appears to say 'thank you' in his ear. Lee steps into view.]_

Lee: "And next week on the final episode of . . . the Bachelorette!"

 _[Scenes of Hermione with both Harry and Draco enjoying each other's company]_

Hermione, voiceover: "I don't know." _[She is sobbing.]_ "I don't know who to choose, I don't know what to do - "

 _[Cuts to Harry interview]_

Harry: "I know what I want, and it's her. What we have can't be replicated. The bond we have is too strong."

 _[Cuts to Draco interview]_

Draco: _[is staring straight forward]_ "I can't do this right now." _[He takes the microphone off his sweater, coming to his feet and exiting camera view.]_

 _[Black screen; Hermione is heard whispering, as though she doesn't know she's being filmed.]_

Hermione voiceover: "I love you, but is that enough?"

 _[Cuts to the shot from the opening previews, in which she is running away from the manor.]_

Lee voiceover: "Don't forget to stay tuned for all that and more on the _finale_ of . . . the Bachelorette!"

 _[Editor's cut:_

 _Lee: "I can't believe this shit is still going on."_

 _Muttered response._

 _Lee: "I KNOW MY MIC IS ON, FUCK OFF!"]_

* * *

 **a/n:** HAPPY BIRTHDAY DR. SALLY! I tried to end this but it is already way too long so there will have to be a part V for the finale. I'm sorry! But all my love to the keeper of my heart and the BFF horcrux, DrSallySparrow. A kiss, a very palpable kiss! x


	13. Bachelorette, Part V of V

**Bachelorette, Part V: The Finale**

 _Pairing:_ Dramione (Draco x Hermione)

 _Universe:_ Post-Hogwarts, EWE

 _Rating:_ M for language, references to sex

 _Summary:_ The final installation of the drabble series based on the reality show "The Bachelorette," wherein eligible men in the wizarding world compete for Hermione Granger's affections.

* * *

 _[Camera pans the now familiar Manor house as Lee steps into view.]_

Lee: "Tonight on the finale of . . . The Bachelorette!"

 _[Montage of Harry and Draco getting ready for their respective final dates; Harry looks openly nervous and fidgety, while Draco's face looks placid and calm, but upon closer inspection, his fingers are shaking as he buttons his shirt.]_

Lee voiceover: "Tension is at an all time high as Hermione prepares to make her final choice."

 _[Cuts to Hermione interview.]_

Hermione: "I could be _marrying_ one of these men." _[She is relentlessly chewing her lip and she looks vaguely tired and unsettled, as though she hasn't slept well.]_ "The concept of forever just feels so . . . foreboding."

Interviewer, off screen: "Foreboding?"

Hermione: "Well, maybe that's not the right word." _[She softens, thinking.]_ "I think forever with either of them might actually be kind of - " _[she pauses.]_ "Wonderful."

 _[Clips of her softer moments with both contestants is paired immediately with dramatic music and scenes of her alone and pacing.]_

Hermione voiceover: "I don't know . . . I just don't know . . . "

 _[Cuts to Draco interview.]_

Draco: "I've told her I love her, and that's all I can do."

 _[Cuts to Harry interview.]_

Harry: "It's really up to her now, isn't it?"

 _[Black screen; Hermione voiceover.]_

Hermione: "I love you, but is that enough?"

 _[Once again, the scene of Hermione running away from the mansion appears on the screen.]_

Lee: "Who will Hermione choose? Will she find love in the arms of her closest friend, or with her former nemesis? Find out tonight on . . . The Bachelorette!"

* * *

"Lee, get out of the way."

He had barricaded the door with the entirety of his limbs and was refusing to budge. Hermione sighed heavily, trying to rub the exhaustion from her eyes that she knew even makeup might not successfully cover.

"Lee, I'm serious," she said, reaching out to push past him and then glaring as he swatted her away. "I need to talk to them, okay?" At his refusal, she grimaced. "At least one of them?" she attempted. "I _need_ to - "

"You can't!" he barked, giving her the most petulant version she'd ever seen of his normally jubilant face. "That's against the rules, Hermione, you'll have to decide on your _own_ \- "

"This is ridiculous!" she snapped, stomping her foot on the ground and pivoting angrily away, pacing the room. "You can't expect me to get engaged in a couple of days without being able to even _talk_ to the person I'm planning to marry!"

"Oh, really?" Lee asked, crossing his arms. "Because it seems like if you can decide which one you want to talk to, you probably know which one you want to marry."

Hermione paused mid-stride, glaring at him over her shoulder. "Fine," she conceded tightly. "You're right." She lifted her chin appealingly, giving him a prim look of satisfaction. "I know which one I'm going to choose."

"You do?" he asked eagerly, stepping forward. "Which one?"

At his abandonment of his post, she catapulted herself forward, attempting to muscle her way through the door; she'd timed it poorly, though, and he caught her around the waist, holding tight as she clawed at his arms.

"Lee," she hissed, struggling. For a relatively slender man, he possessed a surprisingly impenetrable grip. "Let - me - _go -_ "

"No," he grunted back, "and you should know that I'm _not fucking thrilled_ about this escape plan - "

"This is crazy!" Hermione shrieked, spinning around to smack the upper part of his arm with the flat of her hand. "You don't have to _tell_ anyone, Lee," she added, switching techniques and attempting to make her gaze soft and imploring. "It can just be between _us_ \- "

"Are you bargaining with me now?" he countered, giving her a look of disgust. "You are _losing_ it, Hermione."

"I'm - I'm not - " She sagged a little in his arms, realizing he was right. "I just can't - "

"Look," Lee said, gently nudging her to a chair and pressing her down into it. "Maybe we can just chat about this?" He looked at her hopefully. "Make a pros and cons list, or something?"

"Haven't you watched any sitcoms?" Hermione groaned, tipping her head back and sighing. "Those only lead to trouble."

Lee wrinkled his nose in confusion. "Any what?"

"Nevermind," she grumbled, kicking off her shoes and slouching further against the chair. "The point is, those don't _work_ for decisions this big - "

"Oh, you're just blowing this out of proportion," Lee muttered. "Marriage is like" - he paused, waving his hand around carelessly - " _nothing,_ now! Everyone's doing it," he added, looking at her with an absurd expression of optimism. "It's just a piece of paper, you know?" He shrugged. "No big deal."

"Oh yeah?" Hermione asked, opening one eye to regard him with skepticism. "And why aren't _you_ married then, Lee?"

"Oh, I haven't found the right person," he said instantly, "I mean, I can't just - "

At her ' _I told you so'_ glare he cut himself off, looking sheepishly at his shoes. "Nevermind," he finished, trailing off.

"Nevermind is right," Hermione said irritably.

" _You're_ the one who said this was just a game!" Lee insisted, sitting down opposite her.

She grimaced. "I know I _said_ that, but - "

"You were never planning to really go through with this, were you?" he interrupted, eyeing her carefully.

"Well, no," she admitted, "but - "

"Then why make a big deal of it now?"

"Because - because I slept with Draco!" Hermione blurted out, clapping her hand over her mouth.

Lee let out a dramatic gasp of horror, clutching at his chest.

"You did _what_?" he exclaimed, his voice shrill with panic.

"I know!" Hermione cried, launching herself to her feet and starting to pace the room. "And I told him I loved him - "

"You didn't," Lee said, starting to fan himself. "Hermione, I _specifically_ told you - "

"I didn't say it on camera!" she insisted, turning pleadingly to him. "I - I only said it when - " she hesitated, loath to meet his eyes. "When I was - "

"Merlin's tits, did you say it while you were _fucking him_?" Lee shouted, and Hermione let out a loud wail of frustration.

"Would you _keep your voice down_?" she begged, throwing herself back into the chair and cringing. "Obviously _now_ you see the predicament I'm in - "

Lee nodded soberly, seemingly unable to speak. They sat in silence for several moments as Hermione waited, her heart railing against her chest.

"Well," Lee finally croaked, bringing his hands to his forehead wearily. "I'm sure Harry will forgive you - "

Hermione let out an entirely incoherent sound that was part shrill squeak, part agitated groan. " _That_ is not really the issue here, Lee!" she growled, swatting lazily at him from her chair. "But - I mean," she paused, straining for an appropriate metaphor, "it's like comparing apples and oranges now - "

"You mean comparing visual, accessible dick to imaginary, unexplored dick?" Lee mumbled. "I can see the dilemma."

Hermione's eyes widened in dismay. " _Lee!"_

"Look," Lee said, leaning forward to rest his chin on his hands. "It's not that hard, okay?" He looked at her beseechingly. "I mean, is there a _reason_ you slept with Draco and not Harry?"

"Well - " Hermione cut herself off.

She wanted to say alcohol, but that didn't seem sufficient. She wanted to say maybe the timing had been better, but that didn't sound right either.

"I don't know," she said, after several moments had passed.

Lee sighed. "Lucky contesticles," he muttered, sinking down into the chair.

* * *

 _[Camera cuts to Harry interview.]_

Interviewer, off screen: "So, how are you feeling now that it's down to the final two?"

Harry: "Fine, I guess." _[He does seem fine.]_ "I mean, I'm anxious to find out Hermione's decision, but I feel confident it'll be the right one." _[At that, he can't help a slightly smug smile.]_

Interviewer, off screen: "And how have things been between you and Draco?"

Harry: "They're quite good, actually."

 _[Camera shows scenes of Harry and Draco throughout the season; Draco genially tosses Harry his broom as they go outside for a game, Harry pours an extra drink and offers it to Draco, Draco offers a rare grin as Harry tells a story.]_

 _[Cuts back to interview.]_

Harry: "Anything I want for me and Hermione has nothing to do with Draco losing." _[He shrugs.]_ "He's not who he used to be, and I have no issues with him."

 _[Editor's cut:_

 _Harry: "What do you mean you want something more interesting than that?"_

 _Muttered response._

 _Harry: [is shocked and appalled] "I am not going to call him that! My - " [he pauses, correcting himself] "Ron's mum watches this show!"_

 _Mutters._

 _Harry: "Well I don't care what_ your _mum wants!"]_

* * *

His hands were all over her, his fingers twisting into her wreck of curls and pulling her head back, his lips on her neck, his teeth against her skin.

 _Draco - I love you -_

 _Don't lie to me._

 _It's not a lie -_

 _Then say it again._

He'd had plenty of sex but none like this. There was sex, and then there was this. There was sex, there was _fucking_ , and then there was Hermione Granger, who was in a league of her own. Every touch had an aftershock. Every ounce of pressure seemed like it could leave a mark.

Even her hand on his Dark Mark _-_ her fingers brushed across it, and it was like he was somehow healed.

He jolted forward in bed, abandoning the thought of attempting more sleep. At this point, he was practically begging his brain to give him some release from that night. He was relentlessly vacillating between a pulsing numbness and a thudding panic, and he could get no relief.

The letter from his mother had done little to help, of course.

 _Remember, Draco, you've done what you went there to do. Even if she doesn't choose you, you've repaired your relationship with the rest of the world; even Harry Potter has been clear that he no longer harbors ill will towards you. Take a breath, darling. It's not for nothing._

Easy for her to say. _She_ hadn't fallen in love with a muggleborn.

 _Not that that even mattered to him anymore_ , he reminded himself, shaking his head vigorously. She clearly didn't think of him as a Death Eater. The least he could do was see her for what she was, and he'd finally learned to do that.

He hoped she'd noticed.

He padded softly into the kitchen, not bothering to throw on shoes or a shirt. Now that it was just down to him and Potter, he'd gotten quite comfortable in the stuffy, largely tacky manor house. He was, after all, quite familiar with stuffy manor houses.

"Hey," Harry said, nodding at him. He was seated at the table, also shirtless, reading a newspaper.

"Hey," Draco returned, grabbing a cup of coffee and pulling a chair out across from the dark-haired wizard. "Anything interesting?" he asked, gesturing to the Daily Prophet in Harry's hands.

"Depends what you find interesting," Harry replied with a grin, lifting the front page to reveal images of the two of them below the caption _WHO WILL HERMIONE CHOOSE?_

"Not bad," Draco said, nodding stiffly at the pictures. "Your hair looks shit, though," he commented, smirking into his coffee.

Harry rolled his eyes but said nothing; they sat in semi-comfortable silence for a few minutes, each relishing the solitude. The calm before the storm, as it were, Draco thought whimsically.

"So," Harry said, shifting in his chair. "Should we have the man-to-man talk?"

Draco looked up from his mug, flashing Harry his signature look of aristocratic skepticism. "Which one is that?"

"You know," Harry said amiably, shrugging. "Where I say 'if she picks you, be good to her or else,' and then you say - "

"Potter, I will do precisely what I please," Draco supplied, but Harry only scowled.

"Fine," he replied, rising to his feet and beginning to amble out of the room.

Draco sighed, staring at the other man's back. "Hold on," he called, and Harry slowly turned around.

"I know that if she chooses you, you'll be good to her," Draco said, somewhat sternly. "I don't need to tell you that."

Harry's mouth twitched into a smile.

"And," Draco continued loftily, "I care about her," he said, not wanting to reveal too much, but recognizing the moment was significant. "So you shouldn't worry about me," he concluded, looking for understanding in the other wizard's green eyes.

He found it as Harry nodded.

"I know," Harry agreed. "But thanks for saying that anyway."

Draco nodded.

All was well.

* * *

 _[Camera pans the manor house and rests on Lee, who is standing outside with Hermione.]_

Lee, to Hermione: "This is your last date with Draco! How are you - "

Hermione: _[glares at him]_

Lee: _[hastily clears throat]_ "Nevermind. Oh look, there he is."

 _[Draco steps out of the manor house and smiles at her; she brightens considerably.]_

Draco: "Hi." _[Kisses her.]_ "Missed you." _[He says this with a certain rare sincerity and Hermione softens.]_

Hermione: _[in a whisper]_ "Me too."

 _[She glances at the camera; Draco notices this and takes her chin in his hand, kissing her cheek.]_

Draco: "It's okay." _[He turns to murmur in her ear.]_ "It's just me."

 _[Hermione seems to relax in his arms.]_

Lee: _[Clears his throat; Hermione and Draco jump, as though they have forgotten he is there.]_ "Okay, so, um . . . date time."

 _[Editor's cut:_

 _Lee: [gesturing to Hermione and Draco kissing] "For fuck's sake, why am I always just left standing here?"_

 _Murmured response._

 _Lee: "Wh- seriously? Well I think_ you're _a useless prat!"]_

* * *

Draco's head was nearly spinning by the time he sat down for his last interview segment. The date had gone well, of course - they always did - and since the camera had been relentless, they hadn't had the chance to talk about anything of substance. He supposed it was in her hands at this point.

He settled himself in the chair, adjusting his collar and waiting for the interviewer to finish with a quick makeup touch-up. It seemed a little _mad_ , really, how many he'd done of these, and that this was to be his last. Questions about Hermione, about how he felt, about whether or not Harry was an abominable menace or a threat; he'd heard it all and he knew it was going to be edited, spliced and re-cut to make the show more interesting.

How _exhausting_. It had been one thing when the show was a contrived farce that he'd had no investment in. He'd come here to repair his reputation, and by all accounts, he'd done it. His job here was finished. Or would have been, of course, had he not actually fallen in love with Hermione Granger.

Though - his job was _still_ finished, wasn't it? He wouldn't see her again until the final rose ceremony (wherein he would either be sent home or be proposing) and at that point, he wouldn't very well have the time to convince her. By the time he saw her next, her mind would be made up. It all seemed so _utterly_ pointless, then.

"Ready, Draco?"

He looked up at the interviewer.

* * *

 _[Camera cuts to Draco interview.]_

Interviewer, off screen: "So, Draco - "

Draco: "Sorry, but - " _[Sighs.]_ "Can I just say something?"

Interviewer, off screen: "Of course."

 _[Editor's cut:_

 _Lee: [whispering loudly off screen] "What's happening?"_

 _Muttered response._

 _Lee: [roaring back] "YOU shut up, you garbage-faced twat canoe!"_

 _Mutters._

 _Lee: [sighs resignedly] "You're right. I took that to a weird place. I apologize."]_

Draco: "The thing is, I love Hermione, and I don't want to say anything here that will reflect badly on her, whatever choice she makes. I want her to be happy." _[He swallows uncomfortably, as though this is hitting home.]_ "I just don't think there's anything else to say other than that, and I - " _[Stares ahead blankly.]_ "I can't do this right now." _[He takes the microphone off his sweater, coming to his feet and exiting camera view.]_

 _[Editor's cut:_

 _Interviewer: "Uh, so - "_

 _Lee: [Storms into camera view] "Are you kidding me? He goes gallant right as things actually get interesting?"_

 _Muttered response._

 _Lee: [Realizes he is on camera] "Oh, for the love of fuck."]_

* * *

Ron turned to the others in the room.

"Wow," he commented blankly.

"You can say that again," Dean said, and Seamus nodded his vehement agreement.

"That seemed . . . out of character for Malfoy," Ron noted, frowning a little. "Is it just me, or did that make it seem like he genuinely loves her?"

"Oh, don't be so surprised," Theo retorted, rolling his eyes. "He's loved her forever. He just didn't know it."

Ron's brow furrowed. "But _you_ did?"

Blaise and Theo exchanged glances.

"Trust me," Blaise assured them, his tone silky and bored. "You do _not_ want to know the extent of what we went through for seven years."

Theo let out a barking laugh. " _Granger did this, Granger did that,_ " he mimicked. " _Did you see Granger today_ \- "

" _\- do you think Granger noticed my hair_?" Blaise supplied, and they both snickered joyfully at their best friend's expense.

"You mean he was telling the truth?" Ron demanded, waiting for them to stop their conspiratorial chortling. "That first night, when he told her he'd always had feelings for her - was that true?"

"Oh _no_ , as far as he knew, that was a lie," Blaise corrected, shaking his head. "A pretty fucking blatant one, really," he added, though he looked slightly pleased.

"We're just smarter than he is," Theo added with a smirk, and Ron rolled his eyes.

"Whatever," Ron sighed, turning back to the screen. "Back to the viewing party, I guess."

Theo lifted a glass. "Cheers to that," he suggested heartily.

They all raised their glasses in salute.

* * *

 _[Camera shows Harry and Hermione, who are already well into their date.]_

Hermione: _[leans in, whispering something.]_

Harry: _[Looks confused, then nods.]_

 _[Editor's cut:_

 _Lee: "What the fuck is going on?"_

 _Muttered response._

 _Lee: [pointing feverishly] "Oh for fuck's sake, she's doing it again - "]_

Hermione: _[grabs Harry's hand and takes off.]_

 _[The footage is extremely bumpy as the camera follows them; they slip into an empty room and slam the door shut, but their audio is still heard.]_

Harry: "What's going on?"

Hermione: "I need to talk to you. Alone."

Harry: "I see that, but - "

Hermione: "I have to know if you see this going somewhere, Harry." _[She can be heard to take a deep breath.]_ "I have to know if you see this as being, I don't know - "

Harry: "I love you, Hermione. I'm sure of that."

Hermione: "And I love you, but is that enough?" _[She lowers her voice to a whisper.]_ "Do you feel a little too . . . comfortable?"

Harry: "What do you mean?"

Hermione: "I mean, don't you wonder if we're meant to have something more passionate? Something more - "

Harry: "Like that you have with Draco?"

Hermione: _[Says nothing.]_

 _[There is a shuffling behind the door, like Harry has stepped towards her.]_

Harry: _[quietly]_ "Is he the one, Hermione?"

Hermione: "I don't know." _[She sniffs.]_ "I love you, I do, and I know we could be happy together, but - "

Harry: "But?"

Hermione: "But I sometimes think I want more than contentedness, you know? I almost _like_ that he pushes me. I almost enjoy arguing with him."

Harry: _[chuckles a little]_ "Which is good, considering that's a good portion of what you'll do."

Hermione: "But I just don't know if it's worth diving into, you know? Not when I could have a chance of something _real_ with you - "

Harry: _[interrupts]_ "Hermione, I think you're smart enough to realize that if you've wanted him around this long, you have a chance of something real with him, too." _[Pauses.]_ "You just have to decide if it's the 'something real' that you want."

Hermione: "How can I know?"

Harry: "Well, did you - "

Hermione: _[Cuts him off.]_ "Yes."

Harry: "Oh." _[Pause]_ "Well, that's definitely something. And did you - "

Hermione: "Yes. A lot."

Harry: "Hmm." _[Another pause]_ "Well, why do you think we - "

Hermione: "I just don't know if the chemistry between us is the same." _[Adds hastily]_ "Don't get me wrong, it's definitely there, but - " _[She trails off uncertainly.]_

 _[A moment passes.]_

Harry: "Is it possible we have our types of love confused?"

Hermione: _[Sighs deeply]_ "Maybe." _[Pause]_ "I've never been very smart at this sort of thing."

 _[Another moment.]_

Harry: "Do you love him?"

Hermione: _[Pause]_ "Yes. I do."

Harry: _[Long pause.]_ "Then I think you should choose him."

 _[Editor's cut:_

 _Lee: "NOOOOOOOOO!"]_

* * *

"Really?" Hermione asked breathlessly, wiping a tear from her eye. "But what if - "

"No buts," Harry said fervently, shaking his head. "Maybe you're right, Hermione. Maybe what we have isn't the same kind of love."

"But - "

"And to be honest with you," he added, cupping her cheek affectionately. "Maybe _I_ want that kind of passion, too."

She managed a weak smile. "It's pretty great," she admitted, still getting a flutter of excitement of the thought of Draco's skin against hers, of his spectacular wit and his unerring surliness, which he seemed to suspend only for her.

"I know." Harry seemed a little saddened, but not overtly downtrodden. "I had a love like that before," he told her, and Hermione knew he meant Ginny. "And I think maybe I was so hurt by how that ended that I - " he broke off, looking sheepish. "Maybe I was just looking for something . . . easy."

The moment he said it, she knew he was right.

"We deserve better than easy," Hermione told him, looking up through tear-sprinkled lashes. "Right?"

Harry pulled her into his embrace, tucking her into his arms and resting his chin on top of her head. "I think so," he whispered, swaying her a little.

For a moment it was like they were dancing again, alone in their tent; he'd been right that whatever they had couldn't be replicated.

But then again, neither could Draco.

"Thank you," she murmured, leaning up to kiss his cheek. "I would have been happy, you know," she added. She pressed her fingers into his arm, wanting him to understand.

"Me too," Harry assured her, and she was comforted by the thought. "You'll always have me, Hermione." He paused, a smile forming on his face. "And he's really not so bad, either."

She grinned at him. "I kind of love him," she confessed. "Kind of . . . a lot more than I expected."

Harry pulled her in again, tighter this time.

"Just do me a favor?" he muttered in her ear.

She nodded.

"Spare me the rose ceremony, okay?" Harry said. "Just fucking marry the prick, would you?"

Hermione laughed. "Will do."

* * *

 _[Camera pans the front of the mansion; Lee and Hermione are standing outside, waiting for Draco.]_

Lee: "Well, Hermione, obviously things have taken a turn for the criminally insane."

Hermione: _[Flashes him a look of indignation.]_

Lee: _[Hurriedly]_ "By that I mean to say that _this_ is not at all protocol." _[He gestures to where she is standing, wearing the stunning green evening gown.]_ "Usually these rose ceremonies are not a _total surprise_ to the participants - "

 _[Editor's cut:_

 _Off screen mutters._

 _Lee: "Listen, I don't care if my narration has gone to shit, let's just get this done, shall we?"]_

Hermione: _[Interrupts]_ "Is he here yet?" _[She looks around nervously.]_ "Where is he?"

Lee: _[Sighs]_ "I think he's - "

 _[At this point Hermione has spotted him where he is arriving from a leisurely broom ride; Draco coasts slowly to the ground and lands several feet away.]_

Hermione: "Okay - " _[She takes off at a clumsy sprint; the now tiresome scene in which she runs away from the manor finally plays on the screen.]_

Lee: _[Calls after her]_ "Herm- ah, whatever, I don't even care." _[Throws his cue cards over his shoulder and walks away, then stops, sighs, and turns back around.]_ "Just kidding. I want to watch this." _[He picks up the cards and runs after her; the camera follows.]_

 _[Hermione runs to Draco and he opens his arms to her, his face alit with surprise.]_

Draco: "Granger, what are you - " _[he gets abruptly interrupted as she throws herself into his arms.]_ "Is everything - "

Hermione: "I need you to do something for me."

Draco: _[Looks no less confused.]_ "Okay - "

Hermione: _[breathlessly]_ "Marry me." _[She is flushed and almost panting.]_ "Please. I mean, only if you want to - " _[she trails off nervously, suddenly seeming to remember her vulnerable state and appearing to shrink a little in his grasp.]_

 _[Draco is silent for a moment, as though he is having difficulty processing; then he picks her up by the waist, spinning her about and setting her back on her feet, only to kiss her so fervently she stumbles backwards.]_

Draco: "Oh, I want to." _[Kisses her again.]_ "Believe me, I plan to."

Lee: _[Awkwardly steps into view]_ "So, um, there's one thing left to do - "

Hermione: _[snatches the final rose out of his hand]_ "Draco, will you accept this rose?"

Draco: " _Fuck_. Yes." _[He takes it from her and kisses her again.]_

 _[Editor's cut:_

 _Lee: "YES YES I KNOW, I HEARD IT TOO!"]_

 _[Draco gets down on one knee and proposes; Hermione cries. There are tears shed by all, particularly by Lee, who steps sniffling into view.]_

Lee: "Well, there you have it folks." _[Wipes at his eyes.]_

 _[Editor's cut:_

 _Lee: "Just . . . I don't know. Play some of that horrible Dean and Seamus show or something. I'm so done with this. I'm done. I'm dying. I'm dead."_

 _Muttered response._

 _Lee: [lays down in the grass, clutching his heart.] "I'M DEAD."]_

* * *

He got her out of the gown so quickly she might have thought it was magic if she didn't hear the seam rip.

"Slow down!" she giggled, tumbling into the bed with him. _Her_ bed, finally.

No cameras. No contestants. Just them.

Just _him._

"We have a lot of time for this," she reminded him, and he withdrew his face from her neck to look serenely at her.

"All our lives, one might say," he managed gruffly, and she smiled.

They stared at each other for a long time, the cool grey taking in the warm golden-brown. There was so much to say, so much to talk about; so much to plan.

She frowned.

All of that could wait, of course. Priorities.

"Faster than _this_ ," she told him, gesturing to where he now lay still on top of her.

He gave a fascinatingly urgent growl and she laughed again, tangling her fingers in his hair as he roughly kissed his way down her torso.

* * *

Minerva looked up at the sound in the doorway; Filius stood there sheepishly.

"Minerva," he began, "I - "

She pointed wordlessly to the pile of galleons on the right-hand corner of her desk.

"No need to make a show of it, Filius," she pronounced primly, returning to her work.

He didn't catch the little smile that traipsed across her lips.

* * *

"Minister!" He could hear Mafalda's footsteps echoing through the hall to his office. "Minister!"

"Yes?" he asked, his lips curling into a smile. "What is it?"

"The latest owls are in," she said breathlessly. "Everyone's saying it's a sign of the times, sir, a pureblood and a muggleborn - " she broke off, positively radiant with elation. "People are saying _wonderfully_ positive things about the Ministry, and there've been _significantly_ fewer complaints about unfair treatment of former or suspected Death Eaters - though who would, really," she added, her eyes lighting up with mischief. "I mean _honestly_ , that Theo Nott - "

"That's enough, Mafalda," Kingsley cut in, trying to hide his amusement as she reddened significantly.

"Yes, yes, right you are, sir - "

She turned to back slowly out of his office.

"Though, one more thing," he called after her, and she turned.

"Yes?"

"Rome wasn't built in a day, you know," he rumbled thoughtfully.

She frowned. "Sir?"

Kingsley smiled. "Send Harry Potter in here, would you?"

* * *

 _ **SIX MONTHS LATER**_

* * *

 _[Camera pans the large, stately manor house to where Lee Jordan is holding a microphone, adjusting his suit.]_

"Hello witches and wizards, and welcome to the new season of . . . the Bachelor!"

 _[Studio applause; Lee starts walking.]_

"Last season, we all celebrated along with Hermione as she found love in the arms of Draco Malfoy."

 _[Flashes of their dates and proposal cut across the screen, followed by images of their wedding.]_

"Hermione and Draco are living in newly wedded bliss, but not everyone was able to find love on last season's Bachelorette."

 _[Camera cuts to scene of Harry leaving the manor, and Harry where he stood as a groomsman at Hermione's wedding.]_

"This season's Bachelor is perhaps the most famous we've ever had, and certainly the most eligible. Widely known as the Boy Who Lived and famous for his defeat of He Who Must Not Be Named, our favorite former Bachelorette contestant has returned to find his own happy ending!"

 _[Cuts to Harry interview.]_

Harry: "I have to say, I'm very excited." _[He does seem quite chipper and optimistic.]_ "Obviously things didn't go so well for me last season, but I think it was quite clear that Hermione and Draco were meant for each other, and now I'm looking forward to it being my turn."

 _[Camera cuts back to Lee.]_

Lee: "Who will be the lucky lady who wins the Chosen One's heart? Will it be a beautiful Slytherin?"

 _[Camera shows clip of Daphne Greengrass blowing a kiss at the camera.]_

Lee: "An exotic Gryffindor?

 _[Parvati Patil flashes a reserved smile at the camera.]_

Lee: "Or will Harry, too, fall for his _own_ former nemesis?"

 _[Pansy Parkinson's confident smirk appears on the screen.]_

Lee: "All this and more coming up this season on . . . The Bachelor!"

 _[Editor's cut:_

 _Lee: "I'm telling myself I won't get invested this time. I can't take the pain again, I just can't."_

 _Muttered response._

 _Lee: "Team Pansy?! [Stammers] Have you - do you even - are you - "_

 _Mutters._

 _Lee: "I don't care if you won last season, you're still a twat canoe!"]_

* * *

 **a/n:** ah, what did I even create here? I don't know. Thank you so much to everyone for reading! This one is for Bachelorette junkie, susiequeen300 :)

So, I will NOT be writing the Harry Bachelor series (I have a lot more issues with the Bachelor than I do with the Bachelorette, it is just naturally a more unpleasant scenario) but you can let your imaginations run away with how you think that one would turn out. I _will_ however be doing two things soon: a long delayed Theomione, and also a new drabble series called _Marauders Doing Everyday Things_. If you would like a preview of my Marauders interactions, which have been hailed as "ridiculous" and "death-inducing," they can be found in my longer WIP, _Youth_.

Also, I started a new Dramione: _**Nightmares and Nocturnes.**_ _A story per night to save her life. Dramione, dystopian post-war AU._


	14. Locker Room

**Locker Room**

 _Pairing:_ Viktevra? (Ginny Weasley x Viktor Krum)

 _Universe:_ Post-Hogwarts, EWE

 _Rating:_ M for language, sex

 _Summary:_ There was a Hot Viktor Krum-type bro in my TRX class today, and this is what happened. Plot here is minimal.

* * *

"Nice one, Weasley!"

Oliver Wood gave a loud whoop as she deftly knocked the quaffle into the hoop.

"Now, if the _rest_ of you could kindly remove your head from your sphincters - "

Ginny emitted a prim little cough, her version of a subtle reminder for Wood to avoid being entirely unmanageable, and he collected himself soberly.

"Right, right," he muttered, waving them in. "Sorry. Huddle up, folks, please - "

The others gathered around her, many of them altogether too close. The hazards of being the first woman on the All-Star International Series, she supposed. The other chasers, two Irishmen that she regularly confused for each other, seemed uncomfortably starved for attention, and eyed her like she might be their next meal.

She flipped her long ponytail over her shoulder, smirking. _You wish._

"Right - so," Wood started, facing his team. "As you all know, you're essentially rubbish - "

Ginny cleared her throat loudly, but by then, Wood had already picked up steam.

" - _except_ , maybe - _maybe -_ we have one and a half good chasers - "

She and one of the blonds (the better one) exchanged smug glances.

" - and of course, we _do_ have the world's greatest seeker - nothing against you, Krum - "

Ginny looked up, squinting for him. Viktor Krum had yet to speak a word to her, or acknowledge her existence, for all she could tell; he was constantly lingering in the air above them, perched in his proverbial crow's nest. She might have expected it was a seeker's proclivity for heights, except that Harry had always been good about joining the team for little meetings like this, and so she suspected this behavior was unique to Krum. He was perhaps the quietest and least social person she'd ever encountered, and seemed content to engage as little as possible with anyone.

Which wouldn't be a problem, really, as they had no need to speak; except that he had managed to become bloody _smoking_ since the last time she'd seen him, all arms and back and chiseled jaw and other unsettling distractions. Ginny had come to think of all seekers as having Harry's narrow, linear build, or even Draco's lean, muscled height (that being the full extent of what Hermione permitted her to consider), but Krum was herculean, powerfully built; he had grown into his professional athletic career nicely, and reached a level of fame where he was expected to let his dark waves fall broodingly into his eyes and wear custom jerseys that were designed to the specifications of his chest.

Her attraction to him was undeniable, and incredibly distressing. She had come _so far_ to get to this point; to be the only girl on the team, and to be treated fairly for her talent - having Wood as the coach didn't hurt, which made her suspect that Kingsley, the host Minister, might have called in a favor - that she wasn't about to waste it on anything silly. She had promised herself that involvement with _anyone_ was off limits, and couldn't afford the distraction of a silly little crush.

Which she had to remind herself now, watching Krum cross his arms over his appealingly muscular chest. _Stop it, Ginevra,_ she scolded herself. _Be mature about this._

But then she removed her helmet, smoothing her ponytail over her shoulder and pursing her lips in false interest, hoping he was watching.

He wasn't. _Arsehole._

" - anyway," Wood continued. "Hit the showers, we'll be at it again early - "

She was brought back to reality as the other men around her swooped to the ground to make their way to the locker room; she hung back, dragging her feet as they all made their way in. She was always last to shower, of course; apparently the Ministry hadn't felt one woman was worth building a _second_ "world class athletic facility" for - to be fair, the massage area _was_ quite amazing - and so it was easiest just to wait for the sweaty men to go first.

Krum landed from his broom a few steps ahead of her, but didn't look back. Not even when she made a point to remove her jersey with a loud sigh of feigned exhaustion, leaving her in her riding trousers and sports bra.

She looked over surreptitiously; nothing.

 _Fuck._

She quite needed some attention, if she were being honest. She and Harry had broken up before the start of the season (timing wasn't good; he wanted to settle down, and she wanted to continue her professional career) and she felt as though she hadn't been touched in _months_. It was starting to drive her a bit mad, she thought, biting her lip as she wandered into the locker room, her breath catching as Krum removed his jersey.

Godric, he was lickable. It took everything she possessed not to let out a whimper at the thought.

Sighing again, she tossed her jersey into her locker and kicked off her shoes, resting her broom against the wall. The men were normally quick to get in and out; they had tried, at first, to strut around in towels, peacocking for her benefit, but noticed right away that she was not receptive, and opted instead to hit the pubs after practice. Quidditch groupies were not difficult to locate (or shag) and were considerably less effort than Ginny; the rest of the team were all at least smart enough to pick up on that.

She waited, hands on her hips, still watching Krum as he slowly and methodically arranged his things, his tawny chest gleaming under the sweat of Wood's unyielding practice drills. He was so carved and smooth that she sometimes wondered if he were even real, or just a statue come to life.

He hadn't even looked her way. He was infuriating.

After several minutes the rest of the team, including the two blond chasers, finally exited the locker room, nodding at her and Krum and chattering to each other. And then they were the only two remaining; Ginny tapped her foot impatiently, eager to get on with her day.

"Are you going to get in the shower?" she prompted, flashing him what Ron had always called her terrifying glare - ' _even scarier than Mione's, I'm telling you'_ \- and placing her hands on her hips in stern frustration.

 _Sexual_ frustration, probably, but she wasn't intellectual enough to care to make the distinction.

He looked up and let his eyes settle on hers, his heavy brow furrowed in confusion.

"Yeah, I'm kind of waiting here," she reminded him snidely, gesturing to her as-yet unshowered form. "If you could sort of, you know, _get on with it_ , that would be great." At his blank look, she regrettably continued babbling. "I'm _sure_ you aren't aware I'm waiting, of course, since you _obviously_ don't seem to have any concept I exist - "

He grimaced at that.

"Well, you can give me that look all you want, but it's obviously true," Ginny remarked brusquely. "You can't seem to spare a single _moment_ of your time to notice me, so, _fine_ \- do what you want, but I could really use a shower, so if you could just - "

"I haff noticed you," Krum interrupted, his voice prompting an instant leap in her lower belly.

She gaped at him, realizing he had never spoken to her before.

"Oh," she said finally, swallowing. "Well. Fine."

They stared at each other for a moment, and Krum's forehead creased as he continued to consider her.

"Well," Ginny attempted, trying to regain some semblance of dignity, "Like I said, if you could just - um, get _on_ with it - "

He came to his feet, ambling his way towards her; she nearly shrank against her locker before forcibly reminding herself that she was _Ginny fucking Weasley_ , who was never nervous or unsettled, and convinced herself to square her shoulders, not backing down.

"I haff noticed you," Krum said again, stopping just inches away from her.

 _Was he flirting with her?_

Her heart was racing and she wondered if he could tell; even she was conscious of the way her chest seemed to rise and fall with undeterred longing, and the tremor of her breath as she took in the shape of his shoulders, the sharp curves of his stomach.

"What's your deal?" she asked suspiciously, translating her vulnerability into agitation. "You _never_ look at me, you always ignore me - "

But the way his eyes settled on hers was distracting, and she lost track of her thoughts.

"Is it - is it because of Harry?" she ventured. "Because, I mean, we broke up, so - "

Now his darkened glance lingered on her lips, and she started fidgeting with her hands.

"Because, you know, if you're - " she paused, hesitating. "If you're _interested_ , I - I could - "

Fucking _hell_ , her game was entirely disrupted.

"Sorry," she whispered, realizing there was no digging herself out of this hole of humiliation. "I'll - I'll just go ahead and - "

She moved to step around him and he stepped quickly into her path, blocking her. She looked up, startled, realizing with a pang just how much taller he was, and how much she _desperately_ wanted to untie the laces of his trousers - just to _see_ -

And then suddenly his lips were on hers and his arms, the ones she'd been staring at for weeks, were around her, pulling her into his chest. He reached up, pulling the elastic from her ponytail to take hold of her thick red hair, tugging her head back to give him access to her neck.

"Oh," she managed, letting her hands grip onto the muscled expanse of his abs, digging her fingers into his skin. He seemed to chuckle a little - the first indication of amusement she'd ever heard from him - and even that tiny sound trilled through her, thrilled her, until she struggled to bring her arms around his neck, sighing into his mouth as he effortlessly picked her up.

"Shower?" she proposed, and he nodded very seriously, as though she had suggested a new play out on the pitch. _He took instruction well_ , she noted, giggling as he tossed her higher, adjusting her legs over his hips, and made his way to the showers.

He set her down lightly, gently, and then in a stunning juxtaposition of moods he tore her sports bra over her head, lowering his mouth to her chest and seeming to savor the salt of her skin, letting his tongue trace around her nipple and then grazing his teeth over the underside of her breast. She gasped in response, tangling her fingers in his hair and then remembering that she, too, could contribute to the chaos, nudging his head up and fumbling for the top of his trousers. At her insistent tugging he gave her a subtle half-smile and took a step back, peeling them from his legs and kicking them to the side.

She gaped at him for a moment - bloody _perfect_ , he was; she almost wanted to slap him for having the nerve to _look like that_ \- but he seemed as urgent as she was. He reached for her, grabbing her around the waist with one arm and tugging her trousers down with the other, and she, then, twisted in his arms, eager to remove them. By the time they were both undressed she was desperate and burning and she crashed back to him, shoving him into the shower and reaching blindly to start the water.

The pearls of water that began to form on his skin were, if anything, a unique form of torment; part of her wanted to slow down, to savor him, to store all of him for later (just in case) but the other piece of her _could not wait_ and he, slicking his hair back and reaching forcefully for her, licking the droplets from his lips, seemed to agree; he had her pinned against the wall in seconds, his cock hard against the flat of her stomach.

She reached for him and he impatiently nudged her hand away, gripping her hips for a moment before moving his hand to her clit, sliding two fingers against it and smirking at her strangled moan.

It really had been _much_ too long, she thought wearily, letting her head fall back against the tile of the shower stall.

He didn't let her get comfortable; she gasped as he spun her around, pressing her back against his chest and palming her breasts before letting his fingers drift back down, slipping them inside her slit. He entered her easily and she realized with a pang how badly she wanted him; the burning at her core seemed to pulse around his fingers and she pressed herself against him, reaching around behind him to run her hands over the firm smoothness of his arse. _It might be nicer than hers_ , she thought faintly, but then he had picked her up and shut off the water, lifting her like her weight accounted for nothing at all.

He brought her to the massage tables - _really, state of the art facility_ , she thought again, panting - and he pressed her forward onto her hands and knees, kissing down her spine as he continued to rub against her clit. His lips traveled smoothly over her skin until he nudged her knees apart, slipping his tongue inside her from behind.

She let out a loud gasp, feeling his tongue repeatedly alternate between licking against her clit and entering her, and hastily pushed him away, flipping onto her back. She wanted to see him; she wanted to catch the glimmer of want in his eye as he lowered his head back to her slit, sucking lightly on her clit as he drove into her and left her crying out, her legs shaking around his head as she came.

She might have thought she needed a minute to recover but then he had climbed onto the table and joined her and she reached desperately for his cock, wantonly lifting her hips; he slipped inside her and she cried out again, pulling him against her and wrapping her legs around him.

 _His stamina is impressive_ , she thought vaguely, as he lifted her arms over her head and braced himself against them. _Top notch endurance_ _,_ she added as she came a second time, biting down on his lip.

 _World's greatest athlete_ , she decided, as he yanked her from the table and shoved her against a wall, settling her legs around his hips and biting into his shoulder this time as she came again, her clit humming in satisfaction from the friction he created.

By the time he jerked against her, sated and exhausted, they were on the floor, panting and sweating and in entirely worse shape than they'd been when they started.

"Well," she said, turning to face him after several minutes of silence. "Your English has really improved."

He, predictably, only gave her a punishingly arousing half smile, reaching for her hand and brushing his lips against it.

She sighed contentedly. "Shower?" she asked, and he leapt to his feet.

 _World's greatest athlete,_ she thought again, as he picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder.

* * *

 **a/n:** I am laughing at how Dr. Sally writes drabbles for requests whereas I, on the other hand, just write whatever nonsense occurs to me. So here's some pointless Monday smut that I hope you enjoyed. I'm going to dedicate it to oblivionbaby, because she is always demanding smut out of me.

Theomione tomorrow, promise. And check out _Epistles_ on AO3, wherein Dr. Sally and I spent several weeks writing letters to each other as Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy respectively. It is a treasure. A TREASURE.


	15. Not With a Bang

Due to its darker content, this story has been moved to the story collection _**Draught of Living Death**_ and can be found as Chapter 7: _Not With a Bang_.


	16. American Boys

**American Boys**

 _Pairing:_ Theomione (Theo Nott x Hermione Granger)

 _Universe:_ Modern Muggle AU

 _Rating:_ M for language, sex

 _Summary:_ Inspired by a lyric from the song "English Girls" by the Maine. Hermione is a foreign exchange student attending Harvard in the US. Enter American Theo Nott.

* * *

The blonde girl across from Hermione giggled.

"Say it again," she said, her eyes glinting with enthusiasm.

Hermione sighed.

"Water," she said, struggling to keep her tone even.

The three girls across from Hermione collapsed in a fit of tipsy laughter.

"Water!" the blonde girl exclaimed, imitating Hermione's accent. "It's so good. It's so _posh._ Right?" She looked eagerly at Hermione. "You say posh, don't you?"

"At times," Hermione permitted, clearing her throat delicately.

"Another word!" one of the other girls cheered, leaning forward. "What about - "

"What about tequila?" Ginny interrupted, finally arriving at their table with her hands filled with shot glasses. "Far better than _water_ , I'm sure."

"True," the blonde proclaimed regally, taking a glass and knocking it back. She winced as it went down, and the other girls followed suit, Ginny included.

"Come on, Hermione," Ginny pleaded, nudging the glass towards her. "Have a drink."

"Drink it, bitch!" the blonde declared, her words starting to slur after the third round.

"Yes," Ginny agreed. "Indeed. Drink it, bitch."

Ginny grinned wolfishly, but Hermione only managed a grimace.

"Last one," she grumbled, picking up the proffered shot.

"Sure!" Ginny agreed, while the other girls giggled conspiratorially.

Hermione lifted the glass to her lips, dreading the all-too-familiar taste of tequila and terrible decisions; she could be _studying_ , after all. It was only a matter of days until the fall semester finals, and she was anxious to go home. A few weeks without being forcibly dragged to bars and clubs and parties by Ginny and her intolerable sorority sisters would be a welcome change of pace.

Hermione caught a whiff of the alcohol and flinched, her stomach flipping.

"Come on!" Ginny urged again, her brown eyes wide. "Take the shot, Hermione!"

"Take the shot," the blonde chanted, her brunette friend joining in. "Take - the - shot, take - the - shot - "

Hermione rolled her eyes and tossed it back, shivering in disgust as the tequila slithered ungraciously down her throat. She held her hand out for a lime, eyes squeezed shut in revulsion, and _felt_ rather than heard things fall silent around her as the wedge was placed lightly in her palm.

"Here you are," a deep male voice said, and she could hear a smile in his voice.

"Blech," she managed incoherently, shoving the lime wedge in her mouth. "Thanks," she added, the word blocked by the citrus obstruction in her mouth.

"No problem," he returned, and when Hermione finally opened her eyes, she could see the other girls were gaping at him.

"Oh," Hermione said lamely, surveying him. "Hi."

"Hi yourself," he remarked, offering his hand. "Theo."

She took it. "Hermione," she said, licking the lingering acidity from her lips. "We're kind of having a girl's night, though, so if you wouldn't mind - "

"You're a long way from home," Theo commented, interrupting.

Hermione hated to be interrupted.

"I live just on campus," she replied loftily, being intentionally obtuse.

"He meant the accent," the blonde girl interjected.

Hermione glared at her. _I know what he meant._

"Accent?" Theo joked. "I hadn't noticed."

 _Sure you hadn't._

"Like I said," Hermione said smoothly, attempting to brush him off. "It's sort of a girl's night."

"Hen party," Ginny contributed, raising a brow and grinning challengingly. "No cocks allowed."

Theo turned to give her a knowing smirk. "These," he said, stepping aside to gesture to a table nearby, "are my friends. Cocks, if you prefer," he added.

"Oh," Ginny replied, her eyes widening. The other girls seemed to become stiff and silent as well, their gazes falling on the attractive men at the next table.

"One for each, if I'm doing the math right," Theo determined lazily, letting his finger travel over them as though he'd been counting. "And I _am_ ," he clarified, grinning. "Harvard and all that."

Hermione narrowed her eyes, taking him in. He was strangely appealing, though not gratuitously handsome; his narrow build was outfitted nicely in a casual chambray shirt, cuffed to the elbows to feature the lean, muscled construct of his forearms, and he was wearing the _hell_ out of some slim fit gray jeans. He had the distinct look of someone who was always laughing, but in a quiet, somewhat mocking way, as if only he understood the joke.

She irrationally bristled at that. She was Hermione Granger. Surely _she_ would understand the joke. Why was she not also entrusted with it?

"No need to boast," Ginny said pointedly, admonishing him lightly. "We go there too, you know."

"Ah, excellent," Theo declared, his eyes flicking back to Hermione as he took a sip of his beer. "Same sorority?" he asked, gesturing to the letters on the blonde girl's keys.

"We are," the blonde explained, gesturing to herself, the two brunettes, and Ginny.

"Not you?" Theo questioned, raising an eyebrow at Hermione.

She smiled tightly, though it likely debuted as a grimace. "No," she said, reaching over to take a sip of Ginny's beer. She felt she needed to do something with her hands; this Theo person had a somewhat unrelenting stare, and it made her agitated. "Bit of a loner, I suppose."

Theo grinned. "Hey Blaise," he called leisurely, turning over his shoulder. At that, an exceedingly attractive dark-skinned boy stood, making his way toward them. This one - Blaise, or so it seemed - _was_ gratuitously handsome. Hermione felt she should have been charged a fee just for looking.

"Blaise," Theo said again, throwing an arm over his friend's shoulder and gesturing to the girls. "What do you think: sorority, or non-sorority?"

"In terms of general preference?" Blaise asked silkily, a smile curling over his lips. "Sorority, I think."

The other girls cheered, and Theo thumped him on the back. "Why?"

"Devotion to a higher purpose," Blaise declared loftily, and Theo winked at Hermione.

"He means blow jobs," he mouthed, and Hermione stifled a laugh.

At her expression of amusement, Theo smoothly stepped behind him, shifting to stand next to where Hermione was perched atop a high stool. Ginny, who had been momentarily breathless on account of handsome Blaise's proximity to her, caught the motion.

"Careful," Ginny teased, her eyes flashing wickedly as she taunted Theo. "You know English girls just like sex, don't you?"

Hermione blushed and opened her mouth to argue, but Theo was quicker.

"I've got news for you," he cut in smoothly, letting his gaze settle mockingly on Ginny before flicking his eyes back to Hermione. "American boys do too."

Hermione felt her jaw drop slightly, just as Ginny let out a disbelieving laugh.

"Smooth," Ginny commented.

"I've been told," Theo replied, though he didn't take his eyes off Hermione. There was something insistent about his stance now; the pretense was suddenly gone.

 _You have my attention_ , he was telling her.

"She doesn't mean it," Hermione said, clearing her throat. "She's just - well." Hermione shrugged. "If you're looking for a hookup, you'll want to turn that way," she finished, gesturing to the other girls, who had wandered over to the table of Theo's friends.

"I'm here for you," Theo said, shrugging. "Whether you're committed to a higher purpose or not," he added, and she felt it again, the sway of silent laughter in his eyes that made her desperately want to latch on, to see the world the way he saw it.

 _I'm here for you_. He was alarmingly direct.

She shifted uncomfortably on her stool. "I'm really not interested," she attempted, taking a quick, deep breath to steady her nerves.

"Aren't you?" Theo countered, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table, his collar gaping just slightly so that she could see the jut of his collarbone under his shirt.

She coughed.

"I'm really not," she said, more convincingly this time. "It's really not convenient timing," she added. "I should really go home and study."

"Three shots in?" Theo asked, surveying the table and calculating the glasses. "Seems unwise, even for you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Hermione asked indignantly. "I seem unwise?"

"You're still talking to me," Theo reminded her, grinning and taking a sip from his beer. "So yeah. I'd say so."

"I'm _very_ wise," Hermione mumbled back, commandeering Ginny's beer once and for all and letting the tip of her tongue linger at the lip of the glass bottle. "Wisest of my age, one might say."

Was she flirting with him? Christ.

He seemed deliciously unswayed.

"You'll want to finish that," Theo advised her, his eyes falling on her lips.

"Why?" Hermione asked, scoffing. "Are you imposing rules?"

"No," Theo replied. "But we'll be leaving soon."

Her heart seemed to flip in her chest.

"We?" she asked, breathless.

"Yes," Theo said, inclining his head slightly. "You and me."

She huffed loudly, crossing one leg over the other and shifting, trying to ignore the heinously unrelenting appeal of this stranger - _yes_ , she reminded herself, _this complete and total stranger that you have no obligation to entertain_ \- before her.

"What makes you think I'm going anywhere with _you_?" she asked, letting her naturally swotty tone bleed into the statement.

"Naturally clairvoyant," he declared cheerily, shrugging. "That, or your curiously dilated pupils," he deduced, squinting at her. "Or the fact that you can't stop looking at me."

He was smiling knowingly at her. _Dick._

"I can," she informed him, shifting herself away. "And I will."

"Suit yourself," Theo remarked, though she instantly felt the need to look at him, and was thus infuriated with herself.

She waited for him to wander away - as any normal man might have done upon rejection - but he didn't. Figured.

"Going home for the holiday?" he prompted, and she sighed.

"Why are you still here?" she demanded, turning back to face him.

"I like you," he said. The response came quickly to him. Easily.

"You don't know me," she reminded him.

"No," he corrected. " _You_ don't know _me_. But I know you."

"That," she remarked carefully, "is an exceedingly creepy thing to say."

He shrugged. "My specialty. Spec-i-ality, as you might say."

She gave him a look of skepticism.

 _Her_ speciality.

"Seems unlikely," she prodded.

"Eh, you're right," he agreed. "More like there's not too many English girls in my comparative lit class, so yeah, I know you." He eyed her closely. "Though if there are, I've probably been a bit too distracted by you to notice."

She narrowed her eyes; she hadn't yet deduced if he was extremely smooth, or just startlingly honest.

"You're not in that class," she said, though she wasn't sure. It _was_ at eight in the morning, after all, and she made a point not to let her eyes linger from anything other than the distance between the professor's powerpoint, her keyboard, and the lid of her travel mug.

"I am," he said, sighing. "I sit behind you. Regrettably," he added, "as your hair can be quite an obstruction in the early morning."

She smoothed a hand through it, suddenly self-conscious. It was straightened now, in an effort to keep up with Ginny and her friends, but he was right; it was normally an unruly halo of curls in the morning.

"Hey," she said, reddening. "That's - "

"No," he cut in quickly, looking sheepish for the first time in their exchange. "I mean - I like it. It's nice," he explained. "It works for you."

She took another sip of her beer. There was maybe a quarter of the bottle left, she realized, wondering now what she would do when she reached the bottom.

"That's a bit patronizing, don't you think?" she asked. "I haven't told you that your" - she paused, waving a hand over him - " _slenderness_ works for you, or something."

"It does, though, doesn't it?" he chuckled.

It seemed it was nearly impossible to ruffle his feathers, she realized, sighing.

She frowned at him.

"Stop it," she announced.

He smiled beatifically at her. "Stop what?"

"All of it," she said. "This. Game, or whatever."

"Game." He laughed. "You think I have game?"

"Not what I said," she grumbled, but the corners of his eyes were crinkled with silent amusement.

"Listen," he told her, setting his beer down on the table. "I'm not trying to accost you. I'm a feminist," he added, winking at her.

"Ugh, _stop -_ "

"Right, right." He laughed again. "No, seriously. If you're not interested?" He shrugged. "Just say so."

She looked up and met his green eyes, feeling her stomach flip at the earnestness in them.

"If you want me to go," he murmured, letting his eyes flick over her face, "I'll go."

She swallowed, lifting the bottle to her lips to give her a moment of pause.

Fuck.

Empty.

 _Fuck._

He noticed the state of the bottle when she did, and he seemed to be holding his breath. She, on the other hand, noticed the way his shirt clung entrancingly to the broad angles of his shoulders. He was so _striking_ , and his effortlessness so deliciously appealing.

Fuck.

She set the bottle down on the table, and he exhaled.

"If you want me to go - "

"I want to go with you," she decided, her heart pounding. "Let's - let's go."

A terrible decision, probably. But ah, well.

She generally made so few of them.

 _Besides, maybe it's not that bad an idea_ , she thought hazily, tasting the bitter IPA on his tongue and marveling at how easily it gave way to sweetness, lazily pressing her fingers against the jut of his hips as he leaned against his car.

By the time he had her pressed against the door of her apartment, laughing breathlessly in her ear as she fumbled for her keys in her purse, his hand edging up her bare thigh, she was rethinking the whole _terrible decision_ thing altogether.

"This might be the best night I've had all year," she murmured, tripping over the couch as they stumbled inside, his hands deftly unclasping her bra as she sighed against his mouth.

"Hold that thought," he whispered gruffly, spinning her around and kissing the back of her neck. "Roommates?" he prompted, his breath warm as it tickled her ear.

"No," she gasped, fighting a whimper at his hands under her skirt. She felt him smile as he kissed her shoulder and turned her again, lowering himself to his knees and licking his way up her inner thigh, biting down _just_ hard enough that she knew she'd see it in the morning, and she smiled, knowing it would take her back to this moment, when she knew she'd smile again.

By the time she came the first time, biting her lip to keep from screaming his name, she was pretty positive she'd made a reasonably sound investment with her time. By the second time, bracing herself on the headboard as she lifted her hips, moaning this time - a totally reasonable moan, a fluid, controlled _yes, Theo, yes_ \- nothing to be ashamed of - she was thoroughly convinced.

 _Best decision ever._

"Well," Theo said later, catching his breath. "Remind me never to disparage English girls and sex ever again."

She smiled.

"Set an alarm, would you?" Hermione remarked casually, rolling over to face him.

At his telling smirk, she smoothly straddled his hips, leaning over to brush her lips against his ear. "By the way, I've got news for you," she added, and he instinctively gripped her waist at the low murmur of her voice. "American boys are pretty good too."

* * *

 **a/n:** UnicornShenanigans! I've owed you this one for longer than I care to admit. Besos, all the besos.


	17. 100 Days

Due to its darker content, this story has been moved to the story collection _**Draught of Living Death**_ and can be found as Chapter 2: _A Hundred Days_.


	18. Marauders Doing Everyday Things, Ep I

**Marauders Doing Everyday Things, Episode I**

 _Pairing:_ None

 _Universe:_ Hogwarts, Marauders Era

 _Rating:_ M for language

 _Summary:_ Literally just Marauders doing everyday things. In this episode: they choose a band name.

* * *

"I've got it," James announced, letting his books fall on the table with a loud, resounding bang that echoed through the Great Hall. "We should start a band."

"In," Peter said instantly.

"Great," James chirped, clasping Remus's shoulder. "Moony?"

"A band," Remus echoed skeptically. "For the purpose of . . . ?"

"Prongs's amusement," Sirius said, flipping the page of an intriguing muggle magazine that featured bikini-clad women on motorbikes. "Obviously."

"Naturally, Padfoot is in," James determined for him. "If anyone is meant to be in a band, it's Padfoot."

"Right," Remus agreed. "Otherwise, what has he been collecting leather jackets for?"

"Can't," Sirius drawled lazily, pretending to read. "I'm busy."

"With what?" James snapped petulantly, crossing his arms. "Brooding?"

"Yes," Sirius said, looking pointedly at James as he primly licked his forefinger, making a show of flipping the page.

"It really does exhaust him," Remus noted, smiling in his quietly mocking way.

"Fine, Prongs and I will be in a band," Peter determined. "What shall we call it?"

James sighed. "We can't have a band without Padfoot," he grumbled.

"Or me," Remus said. "I never said I didn't want in."

"Oh, so you do?" James asked, his voice pitching higher as he felt the idea gaining steam.

"Well, no," Remus amended. "But I'd like to participate in the name discussion."

"Thinly Veiled Death Threat," Sirius suggested, propping his feet on the table just as Professor McGonagall made to whoosh past them in her purposeful, hurried way.

"Mr. Black, this is not your personal sitting room," she sniffed, pausing. "Feet on the floor where they belong."

"But Professor, he's exhausted," James said, barely bothering to fight a smug grin at his friend's expense.

McGonagall made a distinctly dubious scoffing sound. "Brooding should not exhaust you, Mr. Black, not when it comes so easily," she said briskly, brushing past them.

Remus chuckled. "Pity she didn't also take stock of your reading material."

"I think she likes me," Sirius said, looking impressed with himself. "And anyway, this has some very stimulating articles," he added, gesturing to a page that contained no text.

"Yes, she practically gave you ten points for breathing," James muttered, rolling his eyes. "And the use of tits are incredibly poignant."

"Did you say thinly veiled death threat earlier?" Remus asked. "As in, you're making one?"

"As in a band name," Sirius corrected. "Thinly Veiled Death Threat."

"I like it," Peter declared, unsurprisingly.

James made a faint sound of protestation. "Well, now, wait a minute - "

"Therapeutic Arson," Sirius proposed, flipping another page.

"Ooh," Peter said. "Nice."

"I actually had some thoughts on the matter," James insisted loudly. "And seeing as this was _my_ idea, I should think - "

"Unapologetic Erection," Sirius interrupted.

Remus snapped his fingers. "There it is," he determined. "That's the one."

"What!" James exclaimed, rounding on Sirius. "I thought you didn't want to be in the band!"

"I don't," Sirius said. "I want no part of Unapologetic Erection."

"Damn, it's even better in context," Remus commented, nodding his approval.

"Fuck, it really is," James swore under his breath.

"So, perfect, then," Peter said, leaning forward. "Prongs will sing, Padfoot can be on lead guitar - "

"I'm not in the band," Sirius said again, flipping another page.

" - Moony on bass, and I'll do drums," Peter finished. "Sound good?"

"Can you sing?" Sirius asked James.

"He cannot," Remus announced decisively.

James huffed. "I am astounded that you all feel you can treat me thusly," he pronounced emphatically. "I am _wounded_."

They ignored him.

"Can you play drums, Wormtail?" Remus asked Peter.

"Not yet," Peter replied hopefully. "Bass, Moony?"

"Nope," Remus said, grinning merrily.

"For the holy sake of fuck," Sirius sighed. "Can anyone play _any_ musical instruments?"

They looked at each other.

"New idea," James said, snapping his fingers. "Frisbee team."

"Can't," Sirius said. "Busy."

* * *

 **a/n:** Yeah, so, these "band names" are actually things I have said in other works (in actual serious contexts) that UnicornShenanigans then repurposed hilariously in her review haikus. She is the best.


	19. Below the Surface

**Below the Surface**

 _Pairing:_ Dramione (Draco x Hermione)

 _Universe:_ HBP (Year 6) AU

 _Rating:_ T

 _Summary:_ Inspired by Little Chmura's art on Tumblr, "Goodbye Below the Surface." You must see this artwork - it is stunning. The prompt for her art was "A goodbye below The Black Lake surface before the battle of Hogwarts. No one ever knew about them, no one ever noticed. Or maybe it happened in a different universe." This is my take on that prompt, based on her art, in a beautiful cycle of fangirling.

I should warn you, parts of this turned out quite sad and dark, and I think that's partially due to the haunting quality of Little Chmura's work. BUT! There is definitely a happy ending.

* * *

A goodbye below the Black Lake surface, before the battle of Hogwarts. No one ever knew about them, no one ever noticed. Except me, of course. But then, people really don't care to lend their thoughts to me, do they?

I'm a bit of a romantic, really. I'm sure that will come as a surprise to you - I'm constantly underestimated that way, if I'm being honest - but I am, really, and I'm sure my retelling of their romance will be much more fanciful than it was in reality.

It was probably simple, now that I think about it, that goodbye. That's how they were.

There was probably very little fanfare; she probably fought tears, held her hands behind her back, trying not to reach for him. And he - well. He probably did something similar. He had this way of going cold, you know, when he needed to feel, and I'd be willing to bet he kicked himself for that a thousand times. At _least_ a thousand times.

But with everything that's happened since then, I like to imagine they dove under, you know? Reaching for each other. Begging me to take them then and there rather than separate them - I know; I told you, I'm a romantic, and a narcissistic one, at that - but now that you ask, I don't think that's how it happened.

Hold on. Let me get my bearings.

It's a little difficult to remember, really, after all the things I've seen. It's surprising that I even remember this, honestly, but I took to them, I think. There was something very intriguing about them, about how quietly they fell in love. Like I said - I'm quite certain nobody else ever knew. I appreciate that, you know. Considering all the love stories. Well - _you_ certainly know, don't you? You've heard them all. Written some of them, too. So you know. You understand. A quiet love story has a certain dignity to it, a sense of grace. A beautiful possession between two people, instead of a show laid out on a stage for people to watch and stomp all over. No, I'm quite sure nobody ever knew, and I'm glad of it, difficult as it must have been for them.

Ah, right, I digress. As I was saying - I initially came for Dumbledore. You know him, don't you? Heard of him? Sort of famous, even in these circles. Took a while with him. I thought it'd be fast but that potionmaster of his does some stunning work. You know, normally I would have been quite put out by the interruption - I have a lot of places to be at any given time, obviously, so I didn't appreciate the premature arrival - but I could almost _feel_ that something was happening. Or going to happen.

Yes, I know you'll tell it differently, but let me have a shot, won't you? Just let me tell it, please.

Right. So I came for Dumbledore, it wasn't his time - _yet_ , of course - and then I stuck around for a bit. I like the castle. Not a lot of reasons to visit. Ah, well, I guess I can't say that anymore, can I? Anyway, I like it. Cozy, but also possessing this murky grandeur, don't you think?

I happened to stumble in when she found him. I was gravitating towards him. Sometimes I wonder if he was calling me. Wishing for me, a little bit. Not fully, of course, but there was some sense of hopelessness there, a touch of exhaustion. Some resignation. Okay, a _lot_ of resignation - poor thing. Young still. I see young ones all the time, but they still make me sad. He made me sad, but only for a moment, because then she came in. That's how she found him, bent over a bathroom sink, half calling me, half wishing I didn't exist.

I think she suspected something. She was angry at first. Well, not angry, that's not right - she was accusatory. The little thing was so combative, she was a ball of fight, and then she looked in his eyes and it just -

Time stopped, I swear it.

I know that sounds ridiculous, coming from me, but I choose to cement that in my truths, that time stopped when they looked at each other. She gave him a moment of peace.

He didn't give her anything at all, at first. Not a lot to give, I imagine. People don't usually have much left once I start hanging around; though, again, I was never there for him. It was Dumbledore, but the old bugger really took his time, so I kept tabs on the situation. Not for any particular reason. I think I was rooting for them, a bit. Because like I said, he didn't give her anything at first. Called her by her last name, though I suppose that was a relief from calling her other names. Bad names, though he didn't seem to mean them. I think she noticed when he stopped saying them altogether. She looked at him differently.

She didn't ask for anything from him. She's intriguing. He caught my interest but she's why I stayed. I kept wondering what she saw in him, you know, why she would always look at him across the room, when he _wasn't giving her anything_ \- and then I saw the way he looked at her, and I realized he had been giving her something all along.

Himself.

Only it wasn't much, so I didn't notice at first. But she did. She noticed, and she saw him, and I wonder how quickly she loved him. I think she loved him first. Though, I think that might be because she has the greater capacity to love. And anyway, it was a close call.

A _very_ close call, really. Actually, it did cross my mind that maybe he had always loved her. It was always hard to tell with him, since he had that tendency to go cold when he meant to feel. But maybe. Maybe.

I told you it was quiet, and it really, really was. It was just looks at first, just stolen glances. I almost got bored, if I'm being honest. I sort of flitted in and out for a while, checking on Dumbledore, but I had other places to be, too. A bad sign, that. That I was so busy, I mean. Never a good sign. Happened with Grindelwald, the first time with Riddle, and then again right around then. I chart them. Hazards of the job. But there was never anything I could do about it. I'm tasked, you know, but not particularly gifted. No real power to intervene.

Anyway.

They met in secret, by the lake. She liked the outdoors. He liked to be with her.

The first time it might have been an accident. I don't think they arranged it on purpose. Either that, or he simply knew she liked that spot. She was sort of predictable. Not as a person, of course, but she had certain habits. Earl Grey in the afternoons, that sort of thing. Spot by the lake she liked to go. She liked the outdoors.

They met there in the late afternoon, and it was a little breezy, and she shivered, and he reached out and touched her wrist. It seemed like an experiment, from my vantage point. Like he was testing the boundaries of what was or wasn't okay. I wasn't close because he didn't want me there - he _really, really_ didn't want me there, though he kept thinking about the possibility I'd show up, which was irritating. She touched his wrist then, too, and he drew his hand back - that's how I figured it out about the Mark - but she didn't let him leave, didn't let him go.

Which was fine. He didn't want to. He _clearly_ didn't want to. He kissed her for the first time that day, slowly, with so much uncertainty. He looked enraptured. Sort of like how people look when they find religion, like pieces of things that seemed broken were finally making sense. Like people who look their purpose in the eye and take their first breath of meaning. It struck me as monumental. But, again, I'm a romantic.

She kissed him back and for her it was like how people look when they do something _terrifying_ for the first time, like jumping out of those muggle things - airplanes, I think - but then - no, wait, not that look. No. It was the look _after_ they've done it, when they've survived, when their feet are on the ground and they press their breathless lips to the blessed earth and they yell _that was amazing, that was the most amazing I've ever felt_ \- you know what I mean? Exhilarated, that's the word.

He was enraptured, she was exhilarated. I can't believe nobody knew. I can't believe nobody else felt it.

They met there every day, even when it was cold. She's handy with a warming spell. He's not _not_ handy, but she liked taking care of him, I think, so he let her. I wasn't there every day, but after a while I sort of relished the idea that they were. They talked, mostly, about everything sometimes, though sometimes about nothing. Brilliant minds, both of them. Brilliant at evading their feelings, too - especially him. I wonder if he regretted it.

Maybe not. Maybe he knew she had to go. She made him a lot less selfish over time, so maybe he understood.

He didn't want her to get close but she did. He only half-heartedly fought it, in the end. In fact, I'm not sure if he was really _fighting_ it, or if he just didn't know how. When she told him she loved him I thought he might just faint, just spontaneously disappear into the depths of his worries - because truly, he could not stop thinking about me - but she held his face in her hands and she looked him in the eye until he started breathing properly, and then he said it back.

But I heard what they were really saying. _I love you_ , yes, _I love you too_ , but it was really _goodbye_. She said it first.

I was surprised at what happened with Dumbledore. His time was getting close but it was sort of a mess; the poor boy, too, that poor Chosen One, he really didn't seem to grasp the situation, which was a real pity. I'm soft, I know, but I never liked that he didn't know the whole story. Felt wrong. I thought she might figure it out, honestly, she was certainly smart enough - but I think they had other things to think about.

And she missed him, she so obviously missed him, and he missed her too, quietly. I can't believe nobody else saw the ache, the melancholy. It shocks me still. It was a long time apart for such a short period together and still they ached.

I wanted to check on them but I was _really_ busy by then, which I did not appreciate. For several reasons, obviously; this really isn't a pleasurable experience for me, I hate the looks on everyone else's faces - or worse, the ones I take while they're alone, with nobody to make the sad faces and say the prayers or whatever it is they do - and Riddle got so _bold_ about it, too. My only consolation was his obsession with me.

Obsessions are unhealthy. I knew he'd slip up.

They were apart. I don't know who had the worst of it. I do know that he begged for me, the day she was tortured in his house. Absolutely _begged_ for me, because he thought I might take her, and he wanted to be the one instead. I was sort of furious with him, though now, in retrospect, I can see that he never quite understood me. He thought Riddle's control over me was quite a bit more unyielding than it was. Feared for his family. For everyone. I'm less angry about it now, though I still wish he'd intervened - but I can see why he didn't. Not happily, of course. But if I'm being fair, knowing what I know about them, I can see why.

She never blamed him. She knew. She always understood him. What he took to be his own cowardice she seemed to see as pragmatism, as caution, and she was astoundingly kind to him. She knew he suffered. He cried for her and I could see her mouth his name even in the depths of her torment, still careful not to say it out loud, _so_ careful to make sure nobody knew, even then. It was dangerous for them. I think that day he really understood how dangerous it was, and something died in him.

I know, an interesting choice of words, coming from me, but it did. I thought I saw a little glimmer of hope extinguish. He gave up so easily without her.

He changed after that; he was always pretty far gone without her but he just broke after that. They were torturing kids at the school, you remember? Horrible. Horrifying. He wouldn't do it, and they punished him for it, and he just took it. They stopped after a while - he was lucky, having the name that he did; they couldn't kill him, couldn't hurt him in a way that would show, and so they eventually left him alone - but for a time, I think that was his penance. I think he wanted to hurt, but then it was worse - it was hopeless when he felt nothing.

She tried to move on. She couldn't.

When she came back to the castle he went straight for their spot by the lake, waited there for a few hours, staring at the sky. I don't know if he expected her to come. I was feeling really uneasy by that point. I could tell something was about to happen elsewhere in the castle, but I stayed to watch him for a bit.

She came, of course. I think that's every love story in a nutshell. That's love, isn't it? I wouldn't know personally, I've only watched from afar. But I'm given to understand that love means you always show up. Someone waits and someone else shows up. Right? Maybe not always, but it seems a common theme.

I wondered if he kicked himself for not rushing into her arms, for not digging his fingers into her skin and her soul and refusing to let go - for not just grabbing hold of her and running, honestly. Really, I half expected him to. He wanted to. He was tired of seeing her in pain, of thinking about her pain. But no.

Like I said earlier, I have two separate recollections of this, their little tryst before the battle. In one version they grabbed hands, jumping into the lake, holding each other under the surface, something really devastatingly beautiful - where the beauty is _in_ the devastation, you know, something you just want to sob over, because it's just too heartbreaking, there's too much feeling. The kind of thing where words could never do it justice, and I'm epically wasting both our time.

I'm not sure if I imagined that, or maybe it happened in a different universe, or if it was just what he wished for and so, by extension, I couldn't unsee it. Or maybe it really did happen, but it was too agonizing to be real, and so I convinced myself it was something else entirely.

Though, truly, the whole thing was too beautiful to be real. The two of them. The world kept telling them it was wrong and they believed what they were told, but still they clung to it quietly by themselves, to their abhorrent truths, and didn't realize the whole time that it was stunning in its imperfections; that they were the perfect broken pieces who made each other whole.

Which is why I think what really happened was they said the words again - _I love you_ and _I will always love you_ and _I will love you until the day I die,_ but really it was _goodbye_ , _again_ \- and fought all their instincts, two people trying not to fall apart and failing horribly. I never hated Riddle more.

I know that sounds terrible, because I saw the destruction he brought, and they - these two - they were perhaps the least of it. But it wasn't so much _them_ as what they represented. They should have just been two people. They should have just been a cocky little swine of a boy and a prim little swot of a girl who fell in love because they made each other better, made each other happy.

But no. No, because of Riddle, they were _wrong_ , they were a gruesome mutilation of what was right, and I hated him for it, for bringing pain to this world that should never have existed. I loathed him in a way I never thought possible, and I've seen evil. Oh, I've seen evil, and felt the pain of what it touches, and still, it was _that moment_ when I knew that there was something incurably festering in me. I knew that I was going to hound him mercilessly until he was mine, haunt him until he faced me.

I didn't have long to wait, unsurprisingly.

I really don't know what happened to the two of them while I was watching Riddle. I think by that time I was a little blinded in my fury and couldn't look away. They were - they both narrowly escaped me at one point, I was there for one of his awful friends. The fiendfyre - yes, that one. But again, I was distracted. I was there for Riddle.

I thought they'd run to each other when it was over, when Riddle was finally gone. I was holding my breath. They _didn't_ , if you can believe it. I think they thought their goodbye was really goodbye.

Fools. Because like I said, someone always waits, and someone else always shows up.

They both came back to finish school, which says a lot about them, because they hardly needed to. The first day they both gravitated to that spot, and then, because they are fools, they both seemed surprised to see the other.

I stopped watching after that. I was pretty certain they were going to be fine. They'd survived the worst of it, and I think by then they were either stronger than any of their obstacles, or they were too exhausted by the whole ordeal to fight it any longer. Funny how different those things are, and how both could still easily be true. Maybe it really is both. Individually they were exhausted, but together they were strong.

Oh, look at me! Going soft. Weddings, I tell you. They make me so unbearable. Thanks for coming to this, by the way. You owe me, of course, for the mess you made with that Three Brothers nonsense. You made me look like an idiot, and I don't appreciate it at all, so I hope you do better with this one. Did you get everything?

Oh, hush. Vows.

Ah, that was lovely. I do enjoy that he still calls her by her last name. In his wedding vows _,_ no less.

But look at them. I knew they'd eventually be fine. I'm hardly clairvoyant, but I comfort myself with some certainties. I have some truths. Love is one of them.

Hm? Oh, yes, sorry. No, I wasn't invited. Funny that. No, I'm here for that one, the portly one over there. I'll wait until after the reception, but it's his time. Outlived them all, you know. All his students, even Riddle. I wonder if he thinks about that. He's not the most selfless, you know, that Slughorn fellow, but he means well. He'll go peacefully, I promise.

No, I don't want you to write his story. I only said he means well, not that he's fodder for the imagination. It's them I want you to write. Can't you tell?

Why that story? I don't know, Beedle, I like it.

I like it. I'm sentimental. Leave me be.

* * *

 **a/n:** For you, Little Chmura, inspired entirely by your work. Now everyone go look at her art! Littlechmura dot tumblr dot com, or see it on my tumblr, olivieblake dot tumblr dot com.


	20. Drunk Epilogue Rewrite

**Drunk Epilogue Rewrite**

 _Pairing:_ Canon pairings (lol sort of, I'm trash)

 _Universe:_ Canon

 _Rating:_ M for language, loads of swears

 _Summary:_ UnicornShenanigans once suggested I could have written a better epilogue than Joanne even if I'd been drunk, so that led to this: me, quite drunk (QUITE drunk), rewriting the epilogue to Harry Potter. I did not change the events, only the wording (this is not an AU or anything). It was live on Tumblr last night, and I'm posting it now because DrSallySparrow said so.

I should warn you: it is mad.

* * *

NINETEEN YEARS LATER

(turn the page for drama)

Autumn seemed to arrive suddenly that year.

"Fucking, autumn? What the fuck," said Ginny.

The morning of the first of September was crisp and golden as an apple, which is a weird thing to say considering the Draco apple subtext, but let's not get carried away - and as the little family bobbed across the rumbling road toward the great sooty station instead of fucking BROOMING like Harry suggested in the first place - "better for their lungs, don't you CARE?" "Harry you twat just get in the car" - the fumes of the car exhausts and the breath of pedestrians sparkled like cobwebs in the cold air. Two large cages rattled on top of the laden trolleys the parents were pushing - "OH, SO YOU'RE OLD ENOUGH TO DEMAND BRAND NEW ROBES LIKE I NEVER HAD BUT NOT OLD ENOUGH TO PUSH YOUR OWN TROLLEY" "omg mum please stop shouting" - the owls inside them hooted indignantly, and the redheaded girl - "I'm so sorry," Ginny had cried, "you'll never be able to wear pink properly, or if you do people will mock you mERCILESSLY" "omg mum please stop crying" - trailed tearfully behind her brothers, clutching her father's arm.

"It won't be long, and you'll be going too, and then I'll have loads more sex," Harry told her. "That's the dream, kid."

"Two years," sniffed Lily. "I want to go now!"

"I bet you do, you little shit," Harry said affectionately, patting her head.

The fucking muggle ass commuters stared curiously at the owls as the family wove its way toward the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Albus's voice drifted back to Harry over the surrounding clamor; his sons had resumed the argument they had started in the car - if they had fucking used any other manner of transport, this would not have been an issue.

"I won't! I _won't_ be in Slytherin!"

"James, you merciless little fuck, shut your gaping pie hole," said Ginny.

"I only said he _might_ be, Mother, it's like you never fucking listen," said James, grinning at his younger brother. "I beg your fucking pardon, Mother, seeing as there's nothing wrong with a fucking _hypothetical_ \- "

But James caught his mother's eye and fell silent. The five Potters approached the barrier. With a look over his shoulder at his younger brother belying the cocky little shit he was, James took the trolley from his mother and broke into a run. He slammed against the barrier because little shits like that deserve to get smacked in the face once in a while.

Just kidding, he vanished, because _magic_ , you fools!

"You'll write to me, won't you?" Albus asked his parents immediately, taking advantage of his brother's absence to be a whiny little shit.

"What the fuck? I thought we were done parenting," Ginny said at a shout, rounding on Harry. "When you talked me into this you said I only had eleven years!"

"Well, fuck if I know," Harry said, shrugging. "I'm an orphan."

"Oh, fuck you, don't play the orphan card right now," Ginny admonished him. "I hate the orphan card!"

"Hello?" said Albus. "Remember me? Your son?"

"Only faintly," Ginny replied, but she sighed dramatically, patting his shoulder. "Fine, we'll write."

"Every day?"

"For the actual sake of fuck," Harry groaned. "Fucking? Why?"

"I'm joking," Albus assured him. "Don't write me every day or I'll get the shit kicked out of me, don't even."

"We wrote to James three times a week last year," said Ginny. "He's a cocky little fucker but he's my favorite."

"Ginny!" Harry exclaimed.

"What?" she squawked. "Oh, is that not okay?"

"Not okay," he said sternly.

"Fuck," she sighed.

"Hello?" said Albus.

"You don't want to believe everything he tells you about Hogwarts," Harry put in. "He likes a laugh, your brother."

"That's why he's mum's favorite," Lily piped in.

"Yes!" Ginny exclaimed. "This little fuck gets it," she added, kissing her daughter soundly.

Side by side, they pushed the second trolley forward, gathering speed, looking like fools. As they reached the barrier, Albus winced - "oh stop it, you giant baby," Ginny tsked - but no collision came.

"LOL we are wizards!" Harry yelped.

The family emerged onto platform nine and three-quarters, which was obscured by thick white steam that was pouring from the scarlet Hogwarts Express. Indistinct figures were swarming through the mist, into which James - _that little shit_ , Ginny thought fondly - had already disappeared.

"Where are they?" asked Albus anxiously.

"Who is they?" Ginny asked. "We know fucking shit tons of _they_ , Albus, we're famous as fuck, don't make us sound like losers."

But the vapor was dense, and it was difficult to make out anybody's faces.

"Hey," Harry said loudly. "Is that Percy discoursing loudly on broomstick regulations?"

"Fucking _duh_ ," Ginny replied.

"Let's not say hello," Harry said hurriedly.

"Oh THANK GODRIC I MARRIED YOU," Ginny declared. "To think, I might have ended up with someone who didn't have such BRILLIANT IDEAS - "

"If you sass me one more time I will literally bend you over this bench," Harry informed her curtly.

"Do it, Potter, you haven't got the nerve - "

"MUM!"

"Ah, fuck, there's one more," Ginny sighed, remembering her daughter. "Balls."

She looked up just in time to see a group of four people emerge from the mist, standing alongside the last carriage. Their faces only came into focus when Harry, Ginny, Lily, and Albus had drawn right up to them.

"Hi," said Albus, sounding immensely relieved. "But like - a super platonic hi, because I'm gay as fuck lol."

"I know," Rose said snottily. She was already wearing her brand new Hogwarts robe. "Because I know everything."

"Good girl," Hermione said, offering her a firm handshake.

"Parked all right, then?" Ron asked Harry, forgetting for the fucking _one thousandth time_ that Harry is an excellent driver and part muggle. "I did. Hermione didn't believe I could pass a muggle driving test because she has literally no faith in my abilities."

"That's true," Hermione confirmed, looking around. "I don't."

"She thought I'd have to Confund the examiner!" Ron exclaimed.

"No I didn't," Hermione said loudly, but she leaned in to whisper to Harry's ear. "He fucking 100% confunded the examiner," she murmured. "He's sweet, but he's a dumb little fuck," she added fondly.

"As a matter of fact, I did Confund him," Ron whispered to Harry as Hermione winked, and together they lifted Albus's trunk and owl onto the train. "Because I'm a fucking crafty ass wizard, so fuck examiners."

"Totally," Harry said solemnly, wondering why the fuck his son could not load his own trunk and owl onto the goddamn train.

Back on the platform, they found Lily and Hugo, Rose's younger brother who sometimes didn't exist - entirely dependent on convenience, etc - having an animated discussion about which House they would be sorted into when they finally went to Hogwarts - "And not a moment too soon!" Ginny wailed, completely adrift as to how she'd agreed to three entire children.

"If you're not in Gryffindor, we'll disinherit you," said Ron, "but no pressure."

"Don't listen to him," Hermione said, patting her son's head. "I've got loads of money stowed away." She cast a skeptical glance at her husband. "I mean, who actually thinks this will last?"

"Not me," Hugo ventured.

"True fucking story," Hermione agreed, still looking around vacantly.

Albus and Rose looked solemn.

"Cheer up, you fucks," Ginny said spiritedly, but Ron was no longer paying attention. Catching Harry's eye, he nodded to a point some fifty yards away. The steam, that for some reason the magical train needed - "thanks a lot, you wizarding shits!" shouted the Earth - had thinned for a moment, and three people stood in sharp relief against the shifting mist.

"Look who it is," said Ron.

"I'm fucking looking, Ron," Harry snapped.

Draco fucking Malfoy was standing there with his wife and son, a classy ass dark coat buttoned up to his throat. His hair was FUCKING FANTASTIC which emphasized how STRANGELY ATTRACTIVE he was. The new boy resembled Draco as much as Albus resembled Harry, aka it was the face that launched a thousand fan fictions. Draco caught sight of Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny staring at him, nodded curtly like the courtly ass gentleman he was, and turned away again, though he snuck a look over his shoulder to give Hermione a thorough once over.

"So that's little Scorpius," said Ron under his breath, having spent all day researching Draco Malfoy's son so as to recognize him and judge whether his wife was still staring longingly at the other man's ass, which she definitely was. "Make sure you beat him in every test, Rosie. Thank God you inherited your mother's brains."

"I could not agree more," Rose said adamantly. "Can you imagine? Your hair AND your brain? Fuck me," she sighed.

"Ron, for heaven's sake," Hermione said, stumbling a little as she stared after Draco. "Don't try to turn them against each other before they've even started school!"

She leaned down. "But don't fuck Scorpius," she warned her daughter. "That will make things real weird when I leave your father for Draco."

"Girl, I got you," said Rose, offering her mother a solemn fist bump.

"You're right, sorry," said Ron, "but don't get too friendly with him - "

"Dad, I've fucking got this," Rose snapped. "Look at me. I'm good."

"Hey!"

James reappeared; he had divested himself of his trunk, owl, and trolley - "FUCKING LOOK AT THIS," Harry declared. "One of my sons is capable of independence!" - and was evidently bursting with news.

"Teddy's back there," he said breathlessly, pointing over his shoulder. "He's snogging Victoire!"

"I honestly could not be prouder of that kid," Harry said, nodding. "Victoire. Honestly, top marks. Well done."

James gaped in disbelief. "Our Teddy! _Teddy Lupin_ \- "

"We know who he is," Ginny said briskly. "Calm your fucking tits, James, honestly, you're supposed to be my favorite, and French ass Victoire is hot as shit."

"Fuck," James murmured. "You're right."

"Oh, it would be lovely if they got married!" whispered Lily ecstatically. "Teddy would really be part of the family then!"

Ginny threw her hands up. "I can't," she exclaimed, but at Harry's pained expression, she groaned and knelt to talk to her daughter.

"Lily," she said. "Lils. Listen to me. Teddy's got to fuck, like - " she looked up. "What, like four people?"

"Like five, I think," Harry said, nodding.

"Right," Ginny agreed, turning back to Lily. "Like five people before we discuss marriage. Okay?"

"Wait," Lily said. "Does Victoire have to fuck five people too?"

"Have you seen her? She needs to fuck more," Ginny said, sighing. "But lie about it, because #sexism."

"Got it," Lily said, nodding.

"Teddy already comes round for dinner about four times a week," said Harry, and then instantly felt like a massive shit when he remembered Teddy's a fucking orphan. "Why don't we just invite him to live with us and have it done with?"

"Yeah!" said James enthusiastically, because James, a character of fiction, is so good and pure and wonderful and part fucking Weasley, so sure. "I don't mind sharing with Al - Teddy could have my room!"

"NO!" everyone shouted, being totally clear on what a shitshow that would be.

"You and Al will share a room only when I want the house demolished," Harry said firmly, checking his old ass watch. "it's nearly eleven, you'd better fuck off."

"Don't forget to give Neville our love!" Ginny told James as she hugged him.

"Mum! I can't give a professor love!"

"I gave him a hell of a lot more than that," Ginny said wistfully. "I mean, with Harry gone, I gave him probably thirty thousand blow j-"

"OKAY," Harry roared casually, as James rolled his eyes, venting his feelings by aiming a kick at Albus.

"See you later, Al. Watch out for the thestrals," he said, winning a contest with himself to determine what the weakest, least discouraging threat he could concoct might be.

"I thought they were invisible? _You said they were invisible!_ "

"Is it possible we shouldn't have had children?" Ginny asked her husband. "Because I sense they are incurable morons."

"I mean, anything's possible," Harry shrugged. He nudged Hermione. "Hey, are you with us?"

"Fuck you," Hermione whispered, still making eyes at Draco. He, too, was eyeing her hungrily across the platform.

James, though, merely laughed, permitting Ginny to kiss him, giving his father a fleeting hug, and then leaping onto the train.

Albus, the little fucker, still looked nervous, so Harry made a begrudging attempt to console him.

"Thestrals are nothing to worry about, considering I fucking murdered a genocidal maniac," Harry said soothingly. "They're gentle things, not like the shit that nearly killed me a thousand times, so don't get your panties in a twist. Anyway, you'll be going in the boats, and statistically those are much more dangerous. Seriously. Look it up."

"I have," said Rose. "Twice."

"Fuck you," said Ginny.

Ginny kissed Albus goodbye.

"See you at Christmas," she sighed, remembering he would have to come back and she would have to continue to raise him.

"Bye, Al," said Harry, as his son hugged him. "Don't forget to have tea with Hagrid, it's weird as fuck and everyone will judge the hell out of you, but he might carry your fake dead body somewhere someday, so, you know, don't burn bridges. And don't mess with Peeves, he's a real fucker, and don't duel anyone til you've learned how - I'm a dumb twat, been there, just trust me - and don't let James wind you up. Lucky your biggest nemesis is your fucking brother, by the way, right Hermione?"

He nudged her, but she was mouthing something to Draco across the platform.

 _Tonight_ , he said back, and she bit her lip, smiling.

"Uh," Harry said, but his asshole son interrupted.

"What if I'm in Slytherin?"

The whisper was for his father alone, as Albus knew he'd take shit for years if he said anything to Ginny, resident Cool Girl. Harry, understanding, crouched down so that Albus's face was slightly above his own. Alone of Harry's three children, Albus had inherited his mother's eyes, WHICH WAS A REAL FUCKING SHAME.

"Albus Severus," Harry said quietly, and then laughed again as he remembered what a fucking travesty that name was. "Fuck, I'm sorry - I'm really sorry about your name."

"it's fine," Albus said tersely. "Continue."

"Right," Harry wheezed. "Albus Severus, like a drunk threesome - anyway." He coughed. "You were named for two headmasters of Hogwarts - " he exploded in another peal of laughter. "Hold on," he said, choking on his ill-timed laughter. "It's just - such ludicrous - "

"I'm pretty clear on that," Albus assured him. "Get your shit together."

"Okay so - one of them was a Slytherin -"

Harry doubled over laughing again, and Albus sighed, tapping his foot in impatience.

"Look," Harry managed. "See that shit over there that Aunt Hermione keeps looking at?"

"Yes," Albus said tightly.

"He's a Slytherin," Harry said. "And fucking Gryffindors are shits sometimes, so, really, just fuck it all."

"Really?" Albus remarked skeptically. "That's your advice, father? 'Fuck it all'?"

"This," Harry snapped irritably, "this is why you're not our favorite."

"But - "

"Look," Harry said, letting his head fall back in utter exasperation. "If this shit matters to you, you can choose Gryffindor over Slytherin. It worked for me."

He'd never told any of his children that before, because they were normal human beings who didn't need constant reassurance, but he saw the wonder in Albus's face when he said it. But then the doors were slamming shut on the train, parents were swarming forward for final kisses - "no thanks," huffed Ginny - and last-minute reminders.

Albus jumped into the carriage and Ginny gleefully closed the door behind him.

"Done!" she exclaimed.

"Mum?" Lily asked, looking up at her,

"FUCK," shouted Ginny. "It's like these fuckers are multiplying!"

"Why are they all staring?" demanded Albus, as he and Rose craned around to look at the other students.

"Because," Ginny said sweetly, "they've never seen fuckery quite like a son who won't just go make friends on the god damn train and leave his saintly parents in peace."

"It's me," Ron said, in his best line ever. "I'm extremely famous."

Rose laughed, "Oh Dad," she cooed. "You epic twat."

"I know," Hermione agreed, smiling at her daughter. "Find someone who makes more sense, okay?"

"I will," Rose chirped.

"And not - "

"Not Scorpius," Rose repeated. "I've got it, Mum."

"I mean, be friends," Hermione suggested.

"Mum. I've got this," Rose said coolly, winking at Theodore Nott's son.

"God, I love that bitch," Hermione sighed.

The train began to move, and Harry walked alongside it, watching his son's thin face, already ablaze with excitement. Harry kept smiling and waving, even though it was like a little bereavement, watching his son glide away from him …

"Ah, that little shit," Harry said affectionately. "I bet he's going to fuck shit up real soon."

"Oh, no doubt," Ginny agreed, leaning against his shoulder. "Hey," she added. "Want to fuck in the backseat?"

"Lily," he reminded her, his gaze flicking down to their daughter.

"Ah, fuck me," Ginny sighed.

As Harry looked at her, he lowered his head absentmindedly and touched the lightning scar on his forehead.

The scar had not pained him for nineteen years.

"Ron," Hermione murmured. "I'm fucking Draco."

All was well.

* * *

 **a/n:** I also apparently wrote this for clausumcormeum while still drunk -

 _"Hi," Hermione said, practically at a whisper as she inadvertently edged up to Draco, the two of them colliding on the platform as she made to follow Ron._

 _"Hi yourself," he said curtly, though he seemed a certain level of breathless himself. They were trapped together, forcibly lodged by the madding crowd, and she found herself distracted, forgetting everything about her life except the sound of his voice in her ear._

 _"I know you said tonight," she murmured, wondering what had come over her. "But if you could just - "_

 _She cut off in a gasp, the remainder of the sentence - whatever it was, or would have been - vanishing against his lips as he pulled her behind a pillar, pressing her against it._

 _"I'm free now," he suggested casually, his hand nudging aside her collar, resting on her heart._

 _"You're killing me," she groaned, feeling the stinging truth of the statement._

 _He nudged her legs apart. "Just wait," he murmured, and she wrapped her arms around his neck._

So yeah, I'm Dramione garbage, nothing's new.


	21. Reunion, Part I of IV

**Reunion**

 _Pairing:_ See description

 _Universe:_ Post-Hogwarts, EWE

 _Rating:_ M for language, high probability of future sexual scenes

 _Summary:_ Hogwarts Class of 1998 meets up for their five year reunion, but is all as well as it seems?

Originally requested by clausumcormeum. Pairings and plotlines inspired by songs submitted on Tumblr:

Pottgood (Harry x Luna) _\- "11:11" - Arkells / "Jinx" - DNCE  
_ Blinny (Blaise x Ginny) _\- "Maps" - Maroon 5 / "Goodbye Forever" - Us The Duo  
_ Dramione (Draco x Hermione) _\- "This is What You Came For" - Calvin Harris ft. Rihanna / "Pompeii" - Bastille  
_ Nottgrass (Theo x Daphne) _\- "I Found" - Amber Run / "Sky Full of Stars" - Coldplay  
_ Ronsy (Ron x Pansy) _\- "Is There Somewhere" - Halsey / "Glad You Came" - The Wanted_

* * *

Luna lay her fingers lightly on Neville's arm, letting her eyes stray to the portraits that lined the walls of the recently renovated castle. She could tell he was tense - she had attempted to soothe his nerves about seeing Hannah Abbott again for the first time in five years with a lively discussion of Gaulish objets d'art, but to her bafflement, he seemed disinclined to comment - and she drummed her fingers gently on his forearm, attempting to be soothing.

"This will be fun," she promised him brightly, though he barely spared her a glance.

 _No matter,_ she thought to herself, humming in contentment. It was nice enough to have been invited, considering this wasn't her class. After all, despite her position as a disposable distraction, at least Neville's insecurity meant that she would be able to see -

"Harry," Neville called jubilantly, and Luna felt a slow smile melt across her face as she saw him approaching.

"Hi Neville," Harry said pleasantly, and then his eyes lit up as he spotted her. "Luna!"

"Hi Harry," she said softly, her smile faltering slightly as she noticed Ginny looking around nervously beside him. There was a strange energy between the two of them, Luna noted; despite the way Ginny's hand was clamped firmly around Harry's arm, they seemed to be pulling away from each other.

Luna had heard about this; tangled auras.

Likely nargles.

"Luna," Ginny permitted, though she was stiff and tense as she moved to offer a hug; Luna frowned momentarily as she watched Harry's posture relax a fraction of a degree in response to his girlfriend's absence.

 _Unusual,_ she thought, though she quickly brushed the feeling aside.

"Hello, Ginny," Luna said cheerfully, glancing up over the redheaded witch's shoulder in time to catch the couple who had arrived in their wake.

Ron and Hermione followed closely behind Harry and Ginny, and if the other two were being held hostage by the effects of a nargle infestation, Ron and Hermione had surely been visited by exploding snabberwitches. Unlike the first couple, Ron and Hermione were very determinedly not touching; Hermione's arms were crossed tightly over her chest, her beautifully made up face pulled into a devastatingly flimsy mask of polite buoyancy, and Ron was scowling, his shoulders hunched over in poorly disguised fury.

Luna sighed sadly. Hermione in particular was prone to bouts of malaligned humours - _rather like a kodama who'd been cut down_ , Luna thought whimsically, watching as the lovely Gryffindor reached over to give Neville a somewhat unenthusiastic hug - and Ron, whose agitation attracted swarms of blibbering humdingers, was not always the most complementary spirit for hers.

Everything was so out of place, Luna realized, trying to identify the strange, booming echo of discontentment that seemed to emanate from everyone; for as much as they insisted they were happy - " _so lovely to see you!_ " " _so glad you could come!_ " - they seemed, quite obviously, to be lying.

Suddenly, it dawned on her; she was being quite rude. It seemed that once again, they were all just waiting for her to set them at ease; _like usual, of course_ , she realized, laughing at herself for her own obtuseness.

"Oh," Luna remarked, tilting her head appealingly and offering her friends a warm, reassuring smile. "When did you all break up?"

There was a loud crash behind them and Luna and the others whipped around, catching sight of Blaise Zabini and Draco Malfoy, who were standing nearby; Draco had dropped his glass and was reddening slightly at the chaos he'd prompted, while Blaise, in contrast, had let his lips curl into a wide grin of merciless satisfaction.

"Apologies," Draco mumbled, inclining his head as he quickly dropped his gaze to the floor.

"Well," Luna heard Blaise murmur to Draco. "Let the games begin."

* * *

Ginny grabbed Hermione's arm and forcibly dragged her into the Great Hall, desperate to get away from the situation. She knew Harry was going to look around sheepishly, doing his _Harry Potter - who me? Boy Who Lived? Aw, shucks -_ amiable, oblivious, _totally infuriating_ shifting from foot to foot that would make her want to slap him, and having already been found out that she didn't even belong there, she was going to have to mend the situation immediately with a drink. She paid no attention to the decorations or the beautiful enchantment of the ceiling, which Luna began chattering behind her was intended on this evening to look like the Northern Lights; she was desperate to get away, and nothing - _nothing_ \- was going to stop her.

"Come on," she growled to Hermione, careful not to look at where she knew Blaise was watching her, still smirking wickedly from where he, Draco, and now Theodore Nott had clustered, conveniently permitting them a front row seat for the _Luna Sees Too Bloody Much For Her Own Good_ show.

"I'm coming," Hermione sighed as she stumbled along after her, tripping slightly over her gown as she was dragged in Ginny's wake. "Luna _would_ say something like that out loud," she added, muttering under her breath.

"Is she right?" Ginny asked, grabbing a glass of elf-wine from a tray levitating around the room and taking a huge swallow before passing one to Hermione, who sighed again. "Did you and Ron break up?"

"Two weeks ago," Hermione admitted tightly, her eyes flicking around nervously as she took a sip of her wine. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you," she added, grimacing.

"Don't be," Ginny muttered, knocking back another solid gulp. "I didn't tell you, either."

"So she's right?" Hermione asked faintly. "You and Harry - "

"It's done this time. For real," Ginny said, grimacing. "The first two breakups were just practice," she added, trying to smile jokingly. She could see that she had failed tragically in that endeavor when Hermione made a terrible face of pity, prompting Ginny to reach for another glass, scowling. "You don't have to look at me like that, Hermione."

"I - I'm not," the other woman said hesitantly, but at Ginny's searching glare, she bit her lip, nodding. "Right. Sorry."

"I should have hidden it better," Ginny mumbled weakly, beginning to feel the thud of pain in her chest, the tightening that reminded her _they'd broken up, for real this time, it's over,_ and Hermione touched the inside of her wrist.

"Hey," she said softly. "What happened? Last I heard - "

"We were doing better?" Ginny supplied grimly. "We've been lying about it for a while." She took another sip of wine. "It was over between us about two months ago, if we're being honest."

"Oh," Hermione said sadly. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Ginny snapped, catching sight of Blaise's handsome face as he laughed, the familiar, musical sound carrying through the hall and reaching her ears, a blessed reprieve from the noise of her disjointed life.

If only she didn't thoroughly hate him.

If only she could stop thinking about him.

If only she'd never fucked him to begin with.

"Don't be sorry," Ginny said again, making the effort to soften her edges as she reached out to grip Hermione's hand; surely she would need a friend tonight. "Just be here with me."

* * *

Draco tried desperately not to look at where Granger and the she-Weasley were standing in a corner of the Great Hall, sipping wine and glorifying in their obvious tension; but naturally, he failed quite spectacularly. Granger, who avoided most of the Ministry galas that he'd hoped to see her at, was wearing a long ivory gown with a sheer gold overlay, and it was as dainty and soft as it was regal and stunning, and it was agonizingly difficult to look away.

"Draco," Theo said, snapping his fingers in front of his face. "Are you with us?"

"Yes," Draco said coolly, twitching his shoulders as though he might rid himself of his fascination with Hermione Granger, the witch who happened to need his signature once or twice a week - nothing more, nothing less - if he could only physically shake the thought of her.

"If you stare that hard, she might catch fire," Theo warned, and Draco gave him a sharp, indignant glare, frowning.

"I'm not - "

"Whatever," Theo interjected, waving his hand carelessly to indicate his disinterest. "Far be it from me to comment." Blaise, on his right, gave an irritatingly knowing laugh.

"Excuse me - Theodore?"

The three of them pivoted abruptly at the soft, feminine interruption to find a pretty Ravenclaw whose name Draco didn't remember - and at a glance from the other two, he could see that neither did Theo and Blaise - who was excitedly pulling something out of her purse.

"Call me Theo," the dark haired wizard corrected her, a grin spreading across his face. "Theodore was my brute of a father."

"Right," she said faintly, then blinked, remembering what she was there for. "Could you sign this?" she asked, and Draco suppressed a groan as she produced a copy of Theo's book, _A Sky Full of Stars._

"Not this again," Draco muttered under his breath, and Blaise let out another artful laugh.

"Of course," Theo assured her merrily, pulling a quill from the inner pocket of his dress robes - "of _course_ he has one ready," Blaise murmured to Draco, who snickered - and taking the book from her. "Who is it for?"

"Well, there's one for me," she said, blushing, "and if you have time, I have another, for my sister - "

"Of course I have time," Theo informed her, and she looked as though she might fall headfirst into his arms; Draco made a face, and Blaise took hold of his arm, leading him to a tray of wine glasses.

"Here," Blaise said, handing him one. "To replace the one that broke under the weight of you learning that a certain Gryffindor princess is now available for the taking."

"Don't know what you're talking about," Draco mumbled, smoothing his hair back self-consciously. "I'm only here because you forced me. And Pansy," he added, looking around and wondering where she'd gotten to.

"Relax," Blaise said smoothly. "I'm not here to judge." Draco watched the other man's dark eyes settle hungrily on Weasley where she stood with Granger, his glance subtly flicking over the redheaded witch's form under her long navy gown. "I'm certainly not here to judge," he repeated, and Draco took a silent sip of wine, resolute in his lack of comment.

Theo wandered over to them, still grinning as he reached out to take a glass of wine. "Sorry about that," he offered, shrugging. "Occupational hazard."

"Still can't believe you did so well," Blaise commented, smirking. "Bestseller twenty weeks running, isn't it?"

"It is," Theo confirmed, giving him a curt nod and barely hiding a look of supreme self-satisfaction.

Draco knew this, of course; Theo was his best friend, after all. This wasn't the first time he'd seen Theo get inundated with requests for autographs - or get stopped to listen to someone's _immense emotional connection to his work_ \- and it certainly wouldn't be the last, so it was easy enough to drift away from the conversation.

He tuned the other two out, his eyes traveling hopelessly to Granger - to the cut of the fabric against her waist, the light glinting off her gown; the pinkness of her tongue where it slid momentarily against her lip, the strike of lightning in her stance; the glimmer of gold in her eyes as they traveled across the room to settle on his -

At the inadvertent eye contact he ducked his head quickly, carefully eyeing the floor; but curiosity got the better of him, and he looked up again, his heart pounding in his chest.

He couldn't take his eyes off her, and he was sure it would be a problem all night; worse, he could tell he wasn't the only one. Nearly every set of eyes in the room had fallen on her, or on Weaslette beside her, ever since the moment that Loony Lovegood had made the bizarre announcement that she, Granger - beloved war heroine, entitled know-it-all, famous counterpart to Auror Weasley and one half of the Wizarding World's premiere golden couple - was _finally single._

Draco couldn't take his eyes off her, the witch who came into his office once or twice a week needing his signature. _Nothing more, nothing less_ , he reminded himself, repeating it like a mantra. He was looking at her, yes; so was everyone else, so he could hardly be blamed.

But she -

This was the thing.

 _She_ was looking at _him_.

* * *

"Well, fuck," Ron declared, shrugging as he and Harry parted ways with Neville and strode into the hall. "That went well."

"I guess we shouldn't be surprised," Harry said, grimacing. "Ginny and I fought on the way over."

"So did we," Ron sighed.

He and Hermione always used to fight. It was a constant in their youth, and for a time it was adorable; at first it was playful and it was banter and it was _oh, look at them, young love! -_ until one day it was exhausting. And then it was mean. And then it was sharp and hostile and barbed with real, festering anger, until it progressed and became something somehow worse - because then it was dull, and it was tiresome, and it was making them thoroughly miserable.

The argument on the way over was a perfect example. It was about nothing, and there was no heat to it, no real effort. Just a constant shoving of one strong will against the other, until they both wished the other would just -

\- fucking _leave_.

"Maybe Luna did us a favor," Ron admitted glumly, trying to shake the thought from his tired mind.

Harry shrugged. "I guess," he said.

Ron surveyed the remainder of the population in the hall as he reached for a glass of wine, handing one to Harry and then taking one for himself. There had been a violent explosion of whispers at Luna's announcement of their respective relationship states, and now he could see that people were staring, which for a moment made him want to throw drinks in all their faces and take off at a run.

It was only upon second glance, though, that he realized they were not looking at him with scorn or derision; in fact, of the many eyes that met his, they all seemed to be glinting with the same greedy interest.

"Harry," Ron whispered, nudging him in the ribs. "What are the chances that we are desirable to the general public?"

"Slim to none," Harry determined instantly, frowning. "Right? We are fools," he said bluntly, taking a long drink from his glass.

"Right, right," Ron agreed, nodding. "But - and hear me out - what if they don't _know_ we are fools?"

Harry looked up at that, his green eyes narrowed slightly as he paused to survey the room.

"Is it just me," Harry ventured carefully, "or are there quite a lot of women staring?"

Upon Harry's observation, Ron let his gaze travel slowly around the room. He quickly caught the eye of Padma Patil, who emitted a tiny, exhilarated squeak and quickly averted her eyes, cheeks flushed as she turned to whisper to her companions; upon receiving the same response from Susan Bones, he nodded with a renewed surge of certainty.

"Well done, Harry," Ron concluded, clapping his best friend firmly on the back. "It looks like Luna definitely _did_ do us a favor."

"What does that mean?" asked Harry, still seemingly unaffected by what Ron had so cleverly established.

"It means," Ron said, throwing an arm over Harry's shoulder, "that we, my friend, are about to have a _very_ interesting evening."

* * *

"Hey," Pansy said, casually clipping Theo with her elbow to open their circle to her and Daphne. "Sorry we're late."

"As long as you're here," Draco said gruffly. "Otherwise, I don't see the point in me being here."

"Oh, really?" Theo drawled, pointedly lifting an eyebrow. "You don't see _any_ point to - "

"You missed it," Blaise interrupted, his tongue flicking over his teeth as he smiled mischievously at Pansy. "Lovegood just made a delightful announcement."

"Which was?" Pansy prompted, already bored.

She wasn't sure why she had been so set on coming to this. _Well, fuck, that was a lie_ , she reminded herself, fighting a twinge of impatience with her own inability to face facts.

 _Fact one_ : Pansy's stock had fallen considerably since the war.

 _Fact two_ : nobody had any interest in a girl whose family had lost its fortune to reparations, lost its good name to their own unwise alliances, and lost its bargaining power when the other two things flew out the window.

 _Fact three_ : her last hope for not ending up tragically alone was probably standing somewhere in this godforsaken hall.

"That the war's favorite Gryffindors have all been romantically splintered," Blaise said gleefully, interrupting her thoughts as she fidgeted under the weight of them. "Potter and Gin-" he coughed. "Potter and _Weasley_ broke up, and so did Weasley and Granger."

Pansy felt Daphne stiffen beside her. "Potter's available?" Daphne asked, biting her lip.

"So are we, Greengrass," Theo drawled. "So thoughtless of you not to have noticed."

"When did they break up?" Pansy asked, frowning. Her mind was already beginning to tick with possibilities; Potter and Weasley were both the perfect option for renewing her fallen social status. Even dating for a short time would put her back in the public's good graces - _especially_ if it were Potter.

"Don't know," Blaise admitted, and Draco shook his head to indicate his agreement.

"No idea," he said, and Pansy narrowed her eyes, watching his gaze travel over her shoulder to where she'd already ascertained Granger was standing.

Pansy had already noted that the frizziest Gryffindor had once again managed to pull something respectable together a la Yule Ball of their fourth year, which was always a bit jarring. Pansy had to assume that the mousy brunette's appeal lay embedded in her shock value; surely Pansy, with her smooth, raven hair pulled back into an elegant french twist, was objectively the more striking between the two of them, wasn't she?

Unfortunately, Granger always wielded the element of surprise, and it was so annoyingly Draco's style to be blindly captivated by it. Even the she-Weasley looked better, Pansy noted, feeling a twinge of envy at the girl's attractive navy dress, which was cut perfectly for her figure; and then, of course, there was Daphne, exquisite in her dainty blue gown that seemed to whisper intimately around her curves, which Pansy could admit - begrudgingly, of course, but she could still admit it - made her easily the most beautiful girl in the room.

 _So yeah_ , Pansy thought, bristling. It wasn't like _Granger_ was anything special, however good she looked.

Or, Pansy noted with a grimace, however much she was letting her gaze flick repeatedly back to _Draco_.

"Damn it," Pansy seethed, letting out a hiss of infuriated impatience between clenched teeth as Daphne roughly yanked her aside. "What?"

"Pans," Daphne begged, smoothing her skirt and pleading desperately with her wide hazel eyes. "You have to help me."

"You look fine," Pansy said instantly, a reflex born of lifelong friendship. "You look beautiful."

"No - not that," Daphne said, making a face as she brushed the statement aside. "No, Pans - I - " she paused. "It's just that - "

"Spit it out, Daph," Pansy sniffed.

Daphne sighed, fidgeting with the delicate beading on her bodice. "Potter," she whispered. " _Harry Potter_ is available, Pansy, this could be - " she stopped, hesitating again. "This could be _huge_ for me - "

They were in the same boat; Pansy couldn't be more sympathetic. Daphne had Astoria to think of - her own marriage would invariably help make her sister more valuable - and despite the brief moment Pansy had had of thinking to snag Potter for herself, she instantly softened, recognizing Daphne's need was greater.

"I don't see what I could do for you that you aren't already accomplishing on your own," Pansy pointed out, gesturing to the inviting curves that were heightened by Daphne's gown.

Daphne blushed. "Thanks," she mumbled, "but I'm still going to need to get him . . . _alone_."

A loud, clanging surge of revulsion went off in Pansy's head as she sorted out the implication and looked up in alarm, seeking out Potter amidst the crowd. He stood alone with one other figure, precisely as she'd feared; a tall, lanky, redheaded -

"No," Pansy said instantly, recognizing Weasley's loping stance and shaking her head. "Absolutely not - "

"War hero," Daphne reminded her, her tone bordering on pleading. " _War hero_ , beloved by the public, unattached for the first time in five years - he could really turn things around, Pans - "

"It's _Weasley_ ," Pansy hissed, staring after him. "He's just _so -_ "

She'd initially paused because she couldn't pick a word - she was waffling between _prattish_ and _gangly_ and _lame_ \- but then felt her priorities shift abruptly as she caught a shared glance between Weasley and Granger; it was a look of such open detest that Pansy, from a distance, delighted in the candor of it.

"Well," she said, cutting herself off mid-protest. "Who knows. Maybe his taste has finally improved."

* * *

"What do you think they're talking about?" Theo asked, frowning over at where Daphne had pulled Pansy aside.

Blaise took another sip of his wine, his eyes casually flicking over to where Ginny stood talking to Granger, having a similar secret female conversation. "No idea," he murmured, catching the minute stiffening of Ginny's shoulders as she caught his eyes on her.

He knew her mannerisms. He knew he was making her uncomfortable.

And he reveled in it.

"Seems weird, doesn't it?" Theo asked, his brows knitted together in his lofty, refined confusion. "That you'd bring up Potter and Weasley and then she'd - "

"Theodore?"

Susan Bones had approached them in her quiet way and Blaise laughed a little to himself as Draco made a small cough of frustration.

"Not used to someone else being the center of attention, are you?" Blaise muttered in his ear, grinning as he elbowed Draco's ribs.

"I'm fine," Draco replied tightly, watching as Theo carefully dragged his attention away from Daphne to smile and sign Susan's copy of his book. "It's fine."

"You can admit that it's tiresome," Blaise pointed out, taking another sip. "Theo does all the time."

"Of course _he_ can admit that," Draco groaned. "A loner all his life and now it's like everybody wants to suck his - "

"Not everyone," Theo reminded him curtly, a slight scowl coming over his face as he returned to their side, watching as Daphne and Pansy seemed to whisper ever more intently, both girls deeply unsubtle in their blatant ogling of Potter and Weasley.

"You'd think all this fame would do something for your confidence," Draco reminded him, giving him a patented Malfoy smirk that Blaise knew to be equal parts affection and derision. "Maybe you'll finally abandon this very careful dance you've had going for, I don't know, _both your entire lives_ \- "

"I play a long game," Theo said loudly, making a show of tipping his glass against Draco's and then taking a sip. "Some things are complicated, Draco. Some things take time."

"They certainly do," Blaise agreed, seeking out Ginny in the crowd. She was stunning, of course, as always; the dress itself was understated, but that only meant that she, with her gilded copper hair and her flawless, creamy skin, could not be outdone by something as foolish as fabric.

He missed her, of course; had been waiting impatiently for her to come back to her senses, to come back to him; to realize that the times she'd come to him had _not_ been weakness, they'd been _fate_ , and it was going back to Potter each time that had been the error. He'd been patient, hadn't he? And selfless? Given her space? Difficult, of course; _exceedingly_ difficult, as Blaise was a man who knew what he wanted. And fuck him if it wasn't Ginevra Weasley.

And fuck _her_ if she thought he would forget.

She turned her back on him resolutely, but he saw the flush in her cheeks and knew she was remembering what it felt like to have him pressed against her, his lips on her neck, his teeth sinking into her shoulder. And if she wasn't thinking about that - _which she definitely was_ \- then she wouldn't be able to stop thinking about the rest of the night in his arms, her fears bared for him with her lips against his pillow, her thoughts floating in the air between them, her desires kept safe in his bed.

 _Harry's the one_ , she'd said stubbornly, _I'm sure he is, he has to be, or else why would I - ? Why would he have - ? But sometimes, sometimes, I swear -_

Blaise had said nothing, done nothing but kiss her, and she'd kissed him back and he'd been waiting for _this day_ , when what he knew - what he'd known since that first night - would finally catch up with her: that she was never meant for Harry Potter.

No. Blaise was a man who knew things; and fuck him if he didn't know Ginevra Weasley belonged to him.

"Excuse me," he rumbled primly, handing his glass to Draco, who looked bewildered at being used like a house elf. "I have somewhere I need to be."

* * *

"So you'll do it?" Daphne whispered excitedly, gripping Pansy's wrist. "You'll help?"

"Yes, yes, fine," Pansy said, rolling her eyes. "Fine. I will take Weasley," she conceded, her face contorting into a vaguely repulsed grimace.

"Maybe practice not making that face when you say his name?" Daphne offered, fighting a laugh. "Just a thought."

"Full of demands tonight, aren't you?" Pansy said, offering her a wicked smirk. "You're lucky you're my only friend, Daph, or I'd be forced to murder you if this goes badly."

"You wouldn't," Daphne reminded her, letting her hand slip to take hold of her best friend's slender fingers. "You adore me."

"That, or you've drugged me," Pansy agreed, and Daphne felt a thrill of excitement run up her spine, reminded of the prospects of the evening.

"It'll be just like it was at school," Daphne whispered gleefully. "Back when we were still - "

" - worth something?" Pansy supplied grimly.

"Oh, don't be sulky," Daphne chided her, fondly tapping her nose. "This'll be fun. We used to be great at this."

" _Used to_ being the operative term," Pansy returned.

But Daphne would not let Pansy's cynicism get to her; not tonight. It had been _ages_ since she'd gotten to dress up again - there weren't exactly grand parties anymore; or at least, if there were, she wasn't invited to them - and she was marvelling in her own beauty, in all her youthful charisma, and what she knew had once been her unfailing charm.

 _You should be married by now,_ her mother regularly lamented, always making a show of her fall from grace. _There should be men banging down our door. That blasted war._

 _War's over, Mother,_ Daphne would say, trying to be helpful. _It's a better world._

She had a job, after all; she wasn't destitute. She was doing fine. She was providing for her family; her father had passed away at the end of the war and her mother had never worked a day in her life, so that left Daphne, and she'd risen to the challenge.

 _It's a better world, Mother._

 _Not for you,_ her mother would wail. _Prospects dried up, nobody for you, nobody for Astoria - who will take care of Astoria?_

Astoria, her mother's darling. Daphne's darling too, really, for all her lively wit and humor; but primarily the pride and joy and undeniable mirror image of their mother.

 _I will,_ Daphne sighed, catching her sister's form as she ducked out of sight, pretending not to be eavesdropping.

And she did. She got by on her own, much as her mother hated it. She had started working as an interior designer when Narcissa Malfoy had required what she called "a tastefully trained eye" for the renovation of Malfoy Manor, affording Daphne the opportunity to make a living from it; thankfully - and tactfully - gracing her with a means by which to support her family. Not that it had done much for her _prospects_ , as her mother repeatedly reminded her; as much as pureblood families needed a designer with her impeccable taste, they also judged her harshly for it. As they reluctantly dropped their galleons in her hands, she knew they were also crossing her name off their lists for their sons - and Astoria's, too.

So in the end, beautiful Daphne Greengrass, for all her lovely features and her admirable birth and her bloody impeccable taste, had run herself right out of _prospects._

She stiffened momentarily at the thought, but suppressed it; if this was her last chance, then she was going down swinging. _Harry Potter_ , she reminded herself. _Auror Potter, the Boy Who Lived; the Chosen One._

She warmed at the thought. _Let them sneer at Daphne Potter,_ she thought, picturing their faces. _Let them try._

"Come on," Daphne said, artfully brightening her face with a coquettish smile and pulling Pansy along behind her. "Let's do this before anyone else has the same idea."

* * *

Theo held back a laugh at the look on Draco's face as Blaise took off, straightening his tie and proceeding straight for the table with Granger and Weasley. "Where did he - "

"Has business to attend to, it seems," Theo noted, though the smile on his face quickly vanished as he watched Pansy and Daphne proceed in the opposite direction, taking a direct route to where Potter and Weasley were standing in the corner.

"Ah," Draco mused, catching the sullen look on Theo's face. "Suddenly not so funny, is it?"

Theo swallowed, his throat suddenly quite dry. "No," he murmured, watching Daphne adjust her bodice - " _How are they?"_ she mouthed to Pansy, gesturing to her cleavage; _Perfect_ , Theo imagined assuring her, vehemently wanting to die - and confidently moving to tap Potter on the shoulder.

"You could try saying something," Draco suggested. "You know. In case the many years of hoping she'd learn mind reading is becoming tiresome."

" _You're_ becoming tiresome," Theo snapped, seeing Potter's eyes widen as he took in the concept that _Daphne Greengrass,_ goddess among women, had actually - willingly, consciously, and, as unhappily as Theo found it to acknowledge, _enthusiastically -_ chosen to speak to him.

Theo, perversely, was happy to see that Potter was at least aware of the magnitude of the situation, though his desire to see Potter burst into flames was at _least_ equally as intense.

"I love when you get frustrated," Draco remarked, smirking. "You become infinitely less clever, and it really evens the playing field."

"Shut up," Theo snapped testily, as Daphne let out a dainty, melodic laugh at whatever inanity Potter had supplied her with.

 _Maybe I should laugh too_ , Theo thought moodily, his entire countenance darkening at the _hilarious_ concept that he might now lose Daphne, whom he had lost time after time to a variety of pureblood heirs, over and over throughout their schooling. Hysterical, really, that the night he thought he'd finally get his chance, she'd be running straight for Potter, who wouldn't have been fit to tie her shoes while they were in school and certainly wasn't fit to now. Fuck, _the hilarity of it!_

"Does she know about the book?" Draco asked.

Ah, and to add to the comedy - _the fucking book._ The one that every other woman in the castle - McGonagall included, though she'd been much quieter about it, choosing to send him a highly discreet owl of congratulations and a _light_ _suggestion_ that he send her a signed copy - couldn't stop shoving in his face, begging for his attention. _That_ fucking book? The one he'd spent the last two years writing, the one he'd achieved sudden acclaim for, after so much obscurity? That was hailed all over the Wizarding World as the finest literary work in a generation? That was lauded for its brilliance, praised for its poignancy, worshipped for its craftsmanship?

"I don't think she read it," Theo muttered.

 _Fucking hysterical,_ wasn't it?

Absolutely, without a doubt, the most uproariously funny, the most riotously, heartwrenchingly entertaining joke he'd ever had the displeasure of experiencing.

It was so funny he could sob.

"Well," Draco broached tentatively, vacationing from his usual smug arseholery to comfortingly grip Theo's shoulder, "I'm sure that if she - "

Theo tuned him out, feeling his chest burn at the way Daphne's delicate fingers rested gently on Potter's forearm.

"You know what?" Theo said suddenly, squaring his shoulders and clenching his vacant fist, "I think I have to go do something."

He shoved his glass against Draco's chest and took off; certain, for once, that he was _not_ going to be the punchline of this joke.

* * *

Hermione nudged Ginny, feeling her face shift in confusion at the oncoming Blaise Zabini, who was approaching them in the most purposeful way she had ever witnessed a man walk.

"Hey," Hermione murmured, gesturing over Ginny's shoulder, "is there a reason that - "

"Good evening, Ginevra," Zabini said coolly, coming to rest between them.

Hermione was not fantastic with gauging social interactions, but even she could tell there was something to this one; the low, languid cadence of Ginny's name on Zabini's lips was startlingly intimate, and Hermione suffered a distinctly uneasy feeling at the sound.

"Blaise," Ginny said stiffly, the muscles tense around her jaw.

"How are you?" Zabini asked, and despite the innocuous content of the conversation, Hermione couldn't help feeling incredibly nonsensical and awkward - as if she were sitting between them during late night pillow talk instead of at a very public event, in a _very_ crowded hall.

"Don't," Ginny warned, her eyes flashing, and Hermione hesitantly took a step back.

"Um," she ventured, "I'll just - "

"Don't what?" Zabini asked, his voice husky and warm as he stepped closer to Ginny. Hermione instinctively took several steps back, resolving to find another glass of wine, or several glasses of wine, or someone else entirely.

In her haste to escape, she knocked directly into Theodore Nott, who seemed intent on reaching someone else across the room. "Sorry," she said quickly, but he had already taken hold of her shoulders and nudged her gently aside, striding past her without stopping.

"Okay then," she said quietly, biting her lip.

She had never felt like a more ridiculous afterthought. She didn't know why she had wanted to come; she'd insisted on it, really, and she'd prepared for it for weeks, and she told everyone it was because it was important that they honor their alma mater, that they celebrate how far they had come - but then, was that really a reason to buy a new dress, to spend all day on her hair? To pretend to still be with Ron, just to not have to come alone?

She sighed, straightening as she prepared to press on, and then paused, catching a flash of a pale, silvery head and feeling inexplicably relieved at the sight.

Hermione looked over and was forced to suppress a giggle at the way that Malfoy was clumsily maintaining a grip on three wine glasses, his own in addition to those of his two companions, who she realized must have recently abandoned him. He looked around, gaping helplessly, and she ducked her head, covering her mouth to ensure he hadn't seen her smile; but when she looked up, bound by curiosity, he was smirking at her.

No, not smirking.

 _Smiling._

"Laughing at me, Granger?" he called, and she, caught in the act, reluctantly moved towards him.

"You look a bit burdened," she commented, reaching out to take one of the glasses. Their fingers brushed momentarily as she took it, and her chest gave a strange, incomprehensible flutter, compelled forward by some invisible, cruelly merciless force.

It happened to her on occasion with him. Sometimes she handed him a quill and he, lost in conversation, would let the tip of it brush against his lips, forgetting it was hers. Sometimes he would hand her back the form with his signature and his grey eyes would settle on her face, sometimes hovering on her lips; and each time, she would think _please. Please stop._

She had her career to think about; she didn't need his pretty face distracting her. _Stop._

She had things to do; she didn't have the time for mindless flirtation. _Stop._

She had a history with him, an unpleasant one; she didn't wish to be made a fool, and especially not by him. _Stop._

And then, the biggest reason of all: she wasn't free. She had Ron. _Stop._

 _Please, please stop._

"Burdened indeed," he agreed, nodding. "Deliver me?" he suggested, and she watched his smile fade as he swallowed carefully, his breath suspended as he waited.

 _Please, please stop._

But she didn't have Ron anymore, did she?

"Let's walk," she offered softly.

* * *

Harry had never been particularly good with women, as both Ginny and Hermione, the only women in his life, chose to remind him on a regular basis. _Especially_ Ginny, who had become particularly adamant about pointing out his flaws in the last year.

 _You never notice anything,_ she repeatedly railed against him, her cheeks flushed as she roared her displeasure. _You barely notice me!_

 _I notice you,_ he would say, puzzled. _How could I not -_

 _I have needs, Harry!_ she would continue, and he would think _I know that, of course I know you have needs; what did I do this time?_

But she had stopped wanting to tell him, stopped being patient with his idiocy, and after the last two breakups, there was nothing left to fix.

Or so she told him. And he usually listened to the things she told him.

"Harry?" Daphne asked, his name so devastatingly sweet on her tongue. "You were saying?"

"Oh," he said, realizing he had been talking. He flailed momentarily, having forgotten the topic of conversation; Daphne Greengrass's beauty was intimidating. Distracting. "I, er - "

"Evening," Theodore Nott said smoothly, easing his lanky frame between them. "How is everyone?" he asked, his eyes glinting with something Harry judged to be mischief.

"Fine," Harry said, watching Daphne's cheeks flush appealingly.

"Excuse me, Theo," she said sweetly, giving him a look that Harry guessed was her particular variation of Hermione's withering glare. "Harry and I are talking."

"You still are," Nott assured her, tilting his head somewhat mockingly. "I've just joined in." He glanced over at Harry. "Post-war benefits, eh? Inter-house unity and all that?"

"Sure," Harry permitted, nodding vacantly.

"Theo." Daphne's pretty smile faded, replaced with a fiery disapproval. _Not that that was any less attractive_ , Harry noted, still shaking his head as to why Daphne Greengrass had felt compelled to talk to him, or why Pansy Parkinson was beside him, appearing to take an unusual interest in Ron's biceps. "Theo, I'm not exactly - "

"So, Potter," Theo said loudly, cutting her off. "What are your thoughts on the post-war economy?"

"Theo!" Daphne snapped, slamming her glass on a nearby table. "What the _f-_ "

"Hi Harry," he heard a voice say behind him, and he sighed in relief at the sound of her voice.

"Hi Luna," he said, turning to face her.

"I wouldn't answer that question if I were you," she said sagely, nodding her reassurance. "He doesn't really care to hear the answer at the moment."

"Because of Daphne?" Harry guessed, stepping away from where Nott and Daphne were now arguing to join Luna where she stood against the back wall. She was wearing her long blonde hair in a shimmering sheath down her back, and her dress, a soft, airy white gown that reminded him of a fairy princess from a muggle storybook, had a series of glittering birds sewn in around the shoulders.

 _Birds are nice,_ he thought.

"That, or nargles," she quipped, smiling. "Either way, you'll have to talk commerce another time, I'm afraid."

"How unfortunate." Harry smiled, relaxing in her presence. "How are you, Luna?"

"I'm quite excellent, actually," Luna told him, and she looked like she meant it. "I'm having a lovely time. Thank you for asking me," she added.

He felt his brow stitch together quickly, always finding Luna to be strangely disarming. "Of course," he said. "I wanted to know."

"I know you did," she replied. "And that's what's so lovely about it."

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it. He didn't know what to say, but he knew that would be okay with Luna.

They stood in silence for a moment as they watched the others around the hall; if it were Ginny beside him, Harry would probably have had to ask something - to make sure she was entertained, or at least not overtly bored in his presence. Ginny would be chatting with the people around them, always so social; it came so naturally to her.

Nothing really came naturally to him anymore. Work, he supposed, where things still made sense; but he was so used to having to save things, or save people, or save himself, that the concept of just getting by on a daily basis was frightfully mundane, and at the same time, overly complicated. Knowing how to go about his life, or how to behave when people wanted to talk to him on the street, or how to keep his girlfriend happy . . .

Ex-girlfriend, he reminded himself grimly. _I have needs, Harry -_

"Harry," Luna interrupted quietly, reaching up to brush his unruly hair away from his face. "You have an awful lot of Wrackspurts floating around."

The tips of her fingers briefly brushed against his jaw as she brought her hand down, frowning. "Are you quite alright?" she asked, and he felt, inexplicably, a jolt at the silvery brightness of her eyes, paired with a strange, thrilling sense of calm, like he was floating in them.

"I think," he started, his voice breaking momentarily. He paused, clearing his throat. "I think," he said again, "I am, actually."

Her smile was radiant. "Good," she murmured, and for once, he felt his smile come easily.

"So," he ventured after a moment. "What are Wrackspurts again?"

"Nothing you have to worry about with me," she whispered.

* * *

 **a/n:** THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A ONE SHOT! I estimate 3-4 parts. Sorry that I am so overwhelmingly VERBOSE.

All of the songs are available in a playlist on Spotify (search olivieblake). This one is dedicated to clausumcormeum and moonnott for song suggestions (the rest of you will have dedications in future installments). Thank you! And thanks again to everyone for reading, reviewing, tumbling, submitting things, etc - the best. The absolute best.


	22. Chaotic Good

**Chaotic Good**

 _Pairing:_ Hansy (Harry x Pansy)

 _Universe:_ muggle AU, Britain, 16th century (think Plantagenet/Tudor period)

 _Rating:_ M for sexual references

 _Summary:_ Pansy Parkinson is a pawn in Tom's game of thrones, unloved by her husband and left to suffer quietly as he wreaks havoc over his kingdom. What will she do when she crosses paths with her husband's enemy?

* * *

Lady Pansy Parkinson fought every instinct born of pride, every fiber of her being that told her to hold her chin high - _a Parkinson, after all, of noble birth, of peerless virtue -_ to lower her eyes to the ground, her hands clasped as she walked, knowing all eyes were on her.

Her shoes tapped against the stone of the castle and she fought a brief shiver of nerves, hearing her father's voice - _finally, some use for you; finally, someone has need of you -_ and his unsubtle reminder not to destroy her family's chance to rocket into prestige. Her secret fears - _what if I don't love him; what if I don't even like him? -_ were of little to no concern. They'd yanked her into her corset without a care to how they broke her, and oh, did she look _fine._

Her skirts rustled appealingly as she breezed through the door, the light hitting her eyes as she reached the Great Hall; she knew without looking up that he was there, the king himself, with her father beside him. She knew if not for her, her father would not find himself in such proximity; and yet she knew better - in her _noble birth_ , her _peerless virtue_ \- than to expect gratitude. She kept her eyes on the ground; saw the king's boots first, the gilded base of his throne; his face would have to wait. She would need permission first.

"Your Majesty," she breathed, sinking into a low curtsy before him.

Silence. A rustle. He was shifting in his seat; no doubt looking over her, gauging the value of his purchase.

"Up," he said, his voice low, and she rose, a puppet on his strings, her eyes demurely cast at his feet until she saw him stand; and then her breath caught as he approached her.

She knew, impeccably trained as she had been, that she was bound to acknowledge her father; to bow nearly as low to him as she had to the king; but her attention was elsewhere. The man before her - the man who was to take ownership of her - was far too distracting.

They whispered about him all over the country; so, of course, she'd heard her fair share of tales. She'd heard that he had claimed the throne in cold blood, a conqueror-king; that he had placed himself atop a throne that only noblemen had previously dared to reach for; that he muted any voice that opposed him; that he, of little name and even lower fortune, had stolen his title, made off with it by the blood-stained tip of his sword. What they had failed to mention, though, had been the stunning arrangement of his face; the rich paleness of his skin; the ebony sheen of his hair; the keen cleverness of his gaze - the velvety richness of the blue which appraised her sharply, traveling up and down the fabric of her gown, made for this occasion.

She shuddered, feeling naked before him despite the finery they draped her in.

"Slender," he noted, his gaze flicking to her father. "Taller than I expected," he added, and Pansy saw the twist of mockery in his gaze, an acknowledgement of her father's known insecurity. The king reached out, lifting her chin, his blue eyes searching hers.

"Lovely," he concluded, and as much as she wished to hate him, as much as she felt her stomach lurch in fear, she longed for his approval.

"Your Majesty," she said again, her voice barely a whisper. If the first time had been a greeting, this one was a promise. _My king._

"So formal," he murmured. "That won't do, if you're to be my wife." He stepped closer and she thought for a moment he meant to kiss her, and she wondered if he would dare; here, before his lords, before her own father - _did he dare?_

He didn't. She cursed the distance between his lips and hers.

"Tom," he offered coolly, and she cursed herself this time, for finding it a blessing. "Tom will do."

* * *

She had ladies now, and jewels, and the favor of everyone at court; she was queen, after all. Tom's royal seal now bore her signature flower, intertwined with a snake that made her shiver; as did he. It was a shiver born of half revulsion. Half desire.

Her ladies were numerous and as well bred as she, save one; Lady Hermione Granger - the _lady_ being, of course, a questionable addition - who was of ambiguously lower origins, who arrived one day in Pansy's entourage without fanfare. Or warning.

"Who is she?" Pansy asked, turning in her seat to murmur into the ear of her favorite, Lady Daphne.

"No one of importance," Daphne assured her. "Said to be brilliant, though," she permitted, and her pretty face instantly fell at the knowledge she'd accidentally revealed.

"Said by whom?" Pansy pressed, catching the slip in the other woman's expression.

No answer. In these times, that was as much an admission as any, and Pansy felt the air in her lungs turn cold. "Whose choice was she?" she pressed.

Daphne's hazel eyes dropped demurely to the floor. The king's, of course.

Pansy felt a tingling numbness at that, at the way her heart lurched, and she distracted herself by letting her eyes travel around the room, fighting a yawn; she was expected to remain awake for as long as Tom did, and he was deep in conversation with a man Pansy recognized as a Lord called Mulciber. The man was not an advisor, per se, as her husband did not care for the concept of requiring advice; nor a companion, as Tom rejected that concept too. But certainly something along those lines.

There was a boisterous intrusion at the entrance to the room and Pansy momentarily forgot herself, nearly leaping at the sound. Two men had burst riotously through the doors of the Great Hall, laughing and carrying on merrily, garnering glares from Tom and Lord Mulciber, where the two heads had been bent in conspiracy.

She ought to have looked away, and after a moment she managed it, but she felt her gaze snag slightly; it seemed her powers of sight were briefly caught on one of them, whose jewel-toned eyes danced with mischief.

"Who is he?" Pansy asked, gesturing.

"Ronald Weasley," Daphne replied, "the redhead, on the right. A would-be earl, though we've nearly all forgotten, considering how many Weasley sons there are." She made a face. "Too many."

"Not him," Pansy corrected quickly, then blushed.

"Ah," Daphne said sagely, fighting a smile. "Yes. Henry Potter," she explained. "Duke of Clarence. Called Harry," she added. "A people's prince, as it were." She turned scarlet. "Though not truly a prince, of course - God save the King," she murmured, a last minute reparation.

Pansy watched across the room as Henry-called-Harry threw himself at a table, digging into his food. He was lively and spirited, his expression bright and kind; his manners utterly atrocious.

"He looks like a knave," Pansy sniffed.

"He is," Daphne confirmed, her lips curling up in a smile. "Keep your distance."

Pansy nodded. She'd heard of him, this Henry-called-Harry, and Daphne's slip in referring to him as a prince had been dangerous indeed. Tom would not like it. Though, in fairness, Tom did not like much.

She let her eyes slip to her husband, let her mind wander to the memory of him bursting into her chambers, barking for her ladies to leave them; of the way he pressed her back against the bed, not bothering to undress, and left quickly. _There_ , he muttered. _Have it._

Tom was a man who did not care for threats, and Harry's presence was nothing but. Tom was a harsh monarch, the despotism of his reign unpopular, and there were many who preferred an England with young Harry at its helm. To make it worse, the younger man's claim to the throne was legitimate for those who valued - as Tom had not - the established line of hierarchy for inheritance to the throne.

Pansy suppressed the thought quickly, fighting a shiver; she knew better. She knew the thought alone could get her killed.

She watched her husband's eyes, intense as always, as they wandered to the table of her ladies; to the petite figure with chestnut brown curls, the bent head that Pansy could not prevent a venomous stir of loathing for. Pansy watched from afar as Hermione Granger looked up, the only woman on earth with the gall - or lack of breeding, as was more likely - to meet Tom's eyes. His gaze was searching and hungry.

Hermione smiled at him, a smile full of secrets; and Pansy, across the room, felt her heart sink.

* * *

"You shame me," Pansy called desperately, appealing to his sense of propriety, to the empathy she knew he lacked. "You dishonor me, my Lord - "

"Lady _wife_ ," Tom cut in, spitting the word out as though the taste of it were too bitter to stomach, "you dishonor yourself."

She had been a fool; she'd overplayed her hand. But a woman cast aside was a fool indeed, she thought, sulking.

Her husband's eyes flicked to the side; to Hermione, who curtsied deeply and, after a moment of hesitation, stepped forward to lay her fingers delicately on his arm. Pansy knew it was she, Hermione, that her husband turned to; it was _her_ mind that he coveted, and by the looks of it, her body, too.

At the reassurance of Hermione's touch, Tom turned back to Pansy, glaring.

"You think I wanted you? For your beauty, or for your wit?" He laughed; a callous, terrible laugh, so incongruous with the moment that she shrank back from it, from the mania of it. "Your family guards the border lands and we have trouble with the Scots. Our marriage is only a matter of geography - so if you find yourself displeased, I suggest you not cling so naively to your romanticisms," he sneered, mocking her with every line of his cruelly handsome face, "or to your foolish perceptions of _love_."

That word, too, he spat like it was poison. She wondered, then, what happiness Hermione could possibly find with her husband; until Pansy remembered the glitter in her eyes, the woman's captivating cunning. Perhaps Hermione, like Tom, looked disdainfully on something as flimsy as _love_.

Which was, as it turned out, something Pansy now doubted she would ever find.

At her silence, Tom nodded his rare approval and swept out of the room, a king with his chosen queen, the two of them the very portrait of power and authority. He left Pansy behind to sink to the floor, drowning in her sorrows, and neither he nor Hermione looked back.

* * *

Pansy closed her eyes, feeling the wind as it drifted between her fingertips, where it slapped color into her pale face and stung her bloodshot eyes, reminding her how wretched she was. It spoke in her ear, alternating between whispers and bellows. _Wouldn't it be nice to feel nothing?_

 _To be nothing?_

Some rubble came loose and fell to the ground below; she was so high up she could not hear it fall. _Good._

At this point, would she even make a sound? Did she even exist? Tom would be glad of her absence, she knew. Perhaps ultimately it could be considered a wifely duty, to spare him her presence.

 _Just a step_ , she told herself; one step, a fall, and then -

She felt the wind knocked out of her as steady arms wrapped around her ribcage, yanking her to the side.

"Wh- unhand me!" she yelped, fighting her captor. "What have you - "

A voice, throaty and deep, laughed in her ear. "I don't make a habit of sitting idly by as young maidens take to their deaths," he informed her.

She'd heard his laugh carry through the Hall enough times to recognize it, much as she regretted the discovery of having committed it to memory. It was Henry-called-Harry, the knave himself, and she was tightly in his grip.

"Codified somewhere in your handbook of roguery, is it?" she snarled, twisting out of his grasp.

"Nothing quite so limiting, but general theories apply," he said drily, releasing her.

She turned to face him, speechless with rage, sputtering in his face. "You - how - how _dare_ \- "

"How dare I?" he countered. "How dare _you_?" He stepped closer, forgetting himself, his nose inches from her face.

"How dare you let him win?" he asked quietly; so quietly that even if they were in the company of others, only she would hear. "How dare you admit defeat?"

"You can't speak to me like that," she told him, though the statement lacked her intended venom. "I'm the queen," she added haughtily, lifting her chin.

To her displeasure, he softened.

"Thanks to me, you still are," he reminded her. "Lucky I knew you'd be so gracious," he added, a glimmer of mischief returning to his laughing green eyes.

"You mock me," she said flatly. "I don't care for it."

"My roguery," he supplied, shrugging, as though that were explanation enough. "You understand."

"I don't," she snapped. "I don't condone it, either."

"Apologies, then," he murmured. "I shall have to settle for being the second most upsetting man in your life."

She drew her shoulders back furiously, summoning her aristocracy. "You overstep," she accused, feeling a hollow ache in her soul at the transparency of her abandonment.

"As is my practice," he admitted. "But I would be remiss if I did not inform you that your husband is a fool," he continued grimly. "A tyrant, and a fool; and if I let you walk away from here less than certain that you know it, then I will be the one to suffer for it."

There was no laughter in his eyes now; only a glitter of something.

 _Want._

"What is it you wish to take from me?" Pansy asked, careful not to betray the dryness of her throat, or the tight flutter in her chest. "Am I a tool to the throne, then? A mechanism for revenge? A path to your rightful place?"

"Why must you be anything but you?" he returned, and he raised a hand, smoothing an errant curl away from her face.

 _A lie_ , she thought, panicked. His words, his glance, it all had to be a lie - what had men done but lie to her?

"Don't touch me," she cautioned, swallowing.

He moved to let his fingers hover over her face; he let them trace the air over her cheek, let them float across her lips.

"I wouldn't," he assured her. "I won't."

* * *

She couldn't be rid of him. When she moved to dismount her horse, Harry was there, his hands firmly gripping her waist as she slid down, pressed against his chest, his fingers tracing the curve of her spine in the moment before he released her.

"Don't," she whispered.

When she looked up over her dinner, at her place beside Tom - Pansy on his right hand, as tradition dictated, but Hermione on his left - Harry was watching her, his eyes on her lips. _Don't._

When she traveled through the castle, he watched her hips sway. _Don't._

When she sought out solace in the gardens, he joined her, though he didn't say a word. He didn't need to. _Don't._

"You favor Lord Potter," Daphne noted. A warning.

"I don't," Pansy whispered. "I swear it."

When she slept. When she dreamt. When she breathed. His face, his voice; his hands, his arms. _Don't._

"You're avoiding me," Harry told her.

She had her head bent in prayer - _please, please, please don't_ \- but he'd found her in the alcove, her sanctuary. It was quiet; she needed the solitude.

"I'm not," she said, choking on the lie. _Don't._

"You insult my powers of observation," he joked.

"What is it you observe?" she challenged.

She tried not to watch his tongue drag across his lower lip. She failed.

"Poise," he told her, reaching for her fingers. She put her hand palm up and he did the same, leaving a sliver of air that kept them from touching. "Fire. Grace. Spirit. Heartbreak," he added, watching her, but she said nothing. "Pain."

"Beauty," he murmured, and she wondered if he could see her fingers shaking.

She felt faint and inadvertently swayed forward, her hand coming to rest against his; at the contact, he gripped her fingers and pulled her against his chest, his hands on her waist as he kissed her.

She slapped him.

No, she thought about slapping him. She kissed him instead, gave in; ground her hips against his and let him reach behind her head, tugging her hair loose and burying his fingers in it, letting his mouth travel to her neck, to the tops of her breasts.

"Don't stop," she gasped, and he yanked her to her feet, pressing her back to the cold, stone wall, his hands fidgeting with her skirt. He kissed her until she felt feverish, touched her until she thought she might burn.

"I won't fail you," he promised her. "I will never fail you."

"Fail me or don't, just don't stop," she said, and he grinned, his fingers tracing the inside of her thigh as he nudged her legs apart, his other hand pressed to her back, holding her tight against him.

* * *

Clever rogue that he was, he made easy work of finding his way to her chambers every night; fool that she was, she let him.

"Tom's days are numbered," Harry muttered against the creamy skin of her shoulder. "Ron's got his men ready, I've been - "

"You'd make me a traitor as well as a whore?" she interrupted, reaching impatiently for him. "One crime at a time, please."

"Like I'd put you at risk," he said, tracing his fingers over her neck. "Never."

"You already are," she reminded him, shivering at his touch. She'd die, surely. For something. For disloyalty, for treason. For want of him.

He gently pressed her back, laying her against the bed, running his hand between her breasts and down her torso. "Should I stop?" he asked, his fingers twitching at the words. "Should I leave, and save your life again?"

"I was dead when you found me," she reminded him, gasping as he began to replace the trail of his hands with his lips, kissing the flat of her belly, making his way to her thighs. "At this point, I'm on borrowed time."

He said nothing, though she watched his shoulders stiffen; he sighed, his breath ghosting across her skin, and then he looked up, dragging himself up against her to brush his lips across hers.

"I won't fail you," he whispered, the promise melting sweetly in her mouth. She slipped her tongue against his; he slid inside her, and she sighed.

"Be sure that you don't," she warned him, but then she closed her eyes, enraptured.

* * *

"He's dead," Tom raged, stabbing his dagger into the wooden table in frustration. "I'll wring his neck myself - I'll tear him to pieces with my own hands, nobility be _damned_ \- consider him _finished_ \- "

"Breathe," Hermione said sharply, and Pansy glanced at her. The petite brunette's frame was rigid, her eyes cold. "Control your temper."

There was a twitch between Tom's shoulder blades, a slight quirk in his mouth, and then his demeanor miraculously cooled.

 _She's a witch_ , Pansy thought in awe, swallowing. _No wonder he wants her._

"Find him," Tom instructed his guards; Mulciber, Nott, Avery. "Find him. _Now."_

They pivoted instantly, and Hermione came to his side.

"He has allies," she murmured to Tom, her hand smoothing across his shoulder as she leaned toward him, whispering in his ear. "You would be wise to uncover them."

Tom stiffened. "Allies?"

"He must."

Pansy watched Hermione's lips move, her tone purposeful and firm. "He must have allies. He must have someone whom he trusts." _As you do,_ Hermione did not add, though Tom knew her intent well enough.

His blue eyes darkened, turning glacially cold.

When they fell on Pansy, she felt a shudder in her soul.

 _For disloyalty, for treason. For want of him._

"My Lord?" she whispered, and her fear turned her blood to ice.

* * *

She knew when he'd be there. She'd come to expect him, after so many nights in his arms.

"He's there," she croaked, wanting to sob. "He's there. Someone grab him."

Mulciber and Avery dragged him away.

* * *

She ran through the castle, barefoot, holding her breath so as to not make a sound.

"I'm here," she whispered. "Where are you?"

She nearly gasped at the relief of hearing his voice. "Here."

Pansy made her way to his cell, her hands shaking as she clumsily struggled to unlock the door. The latch mercifully clicked and she exhaled sharply, her heart frozen in her chest and her feet numb against the cold stone floor.

"Go," she whispered, and at a sound behind her, she let out a fearful gasp. "Go, now, they're coming - "

Harry grabbed her face in his hands, kissing her; he bit her lip in his haste and she tasted her own blood. She would spill it all for him.

"Go," she said again, and he moved to run, but stopped.

"Come with me," he said breathlessly, and the chaos grew louder behind them. "Come with me, Pansy, please - "

"I can't," she panted, her chest straining. "I - I can't - "

"Are you with me?" he asked, nearly having to shout over the growing clamor. "I won't go without you." He held his hand out, his green eyes flashing. "Are you with me?"

 _I was dead when you found me. I'm living on borrowed time._

"I'm with you," she said, placing her hand in his and feeling a surge of certainty in her veins. "I won't fail you."

He never dropped her hand.

* * *

 **a/n:** This is obviously not my OTP - this is not even a pairing I actually care for - and yet I find myself compelled to expand this, should your interest be piqued. In any case, here you have it: by anonymous tumblr request, a Hansy.

Reunion Pt. II coming shortly, but I had to feed the muse. Also impending: new Nocturnes.


	23. Happenstance

**a/n: I was working on Reunion Pt II and then the muse struck with an unspeakable violence. Reunion is coming very shortly, but first, here's this, by request.**

* * *

 **Happenstance**

 _Pairing:_ Tomione (Hermione Granger x Tom Riddle)

 _Universe:_ Muggle AU

 _Rating:_ M, language and sex

 _Summary:_ Who exactly is Tom, and more importantly, why does he keep showing up?

* * *

She was thirteen years old, crying under her favorite tree. Ron had teased her again, the insufferable twit, and yet she was the one crying, wondering when she'd stop being so sensitive.

Probably never.

She tugged at the hem of her skirt, willing herself to care less. _You're so brilliant_ , her mother cooed. _Who cares what the other kids think?_

 _I care,_ she thought sulkily. _I do._

Her downfall, probably. Caring. It'd be so much easier not to, and yet -

"Hello, Hermione."

She looked up, startled. There was a man there - a _man_ , and a tall one; she squinted at him.

"Who are you?" she asked, wiping vigorously at the corners of her eyes.

"I'm Tom," he said, stepping closer and taking a seat beside her. He lowered himself carefully, elegantly, and made a charming face of displeasure, as though he found himself quite above sitting on the grass, but felt it somehow necessary to do so.

She gaped at his face; even at her age, she could recognize it as perfection. His eyes were a rich, dark blue, his hair smooth in thick, dark waves, his cheekbones, his jaw, his mouth - _he's handsome_ , she thought, frowning. _Yes, that's the word. Handsome._

People weren't handsome anymore; boys her age. They weren't handsome. Tom was handsome. She knew it right away.

"What's wrong?" he asked, and she made a face.

"Nothing," she said quietly.

He lifted an eyebrow, his mouth twisting into a dubious smirk. "You know," he began, somewhat gently, "you shouldn't worry about other people." He straightened slightly, taking a deep breath. "I can tell you with certainty that other people are terrible," he remarked, "and jealous of you. Of your mind," he added. "And your talent."

She frowned at him. "What do you know about my talent?"

"I'm an excellent judge of character," he said curtly. "And candidly, you reek of it."

She didn't relish the idea of reeking of anything, really, but she rarely got compliments, so she decided to accept them where they came.

"I'd rather fit in," she informed him, flinching a little at the sadness in her voice.

He stood then, brushing his trousers off. "You won't," he informed her. "You never will. Nor should you," he said sternly. "Don't debase yourself with the effort of becoming generic."

She sighed. "But wouldn't it be nice?" she said wistfully. "To feel like I belong?"

"You can try, if you like," he sniffed. "But I think you'll find it unsatisfactory."

"Do you?" she asked.

"Find it unsatisfactory?" he prompted. "Yes."

"No," she corrected. "Do you belong?"

He paused for a moment, thinking.

"In a way," he permitted. He squinted at her. "Don't let them get to you," he said firmly. "I won't have it."

She felt herself smile. "Okay," she agreed, and he turned.

She made a little noise of dissatisfaction - "Are you leaving?"

He turned. "Yes," he replied. "For now."

"Oh." She bit her lip, disappointed. "Who are you?" she asked.

"I told you," he reminded her. "I'm Tom."

And then he walked away, and she stared after him.

* * *

She was sixteen years old, sighing with boredom. Ron was paying her no attention, as always. She wondered if she was growing tired of him; she knew she wasn't, really. But she fervently hoped she would.

"I see you settled on trying to fit in," a voice said in her ear, and she jumped. "Pity."

"Oh," she said, clutching her chest in shock. "My god, Tom - "

He grinned at her, taking a seat across from her. He was as handsome as she remembered.

"I thought I dreamed you," she told him, surprising herself with her own honesty. "I was so sure it was a dream."

"You're awake," he assured her, as though such a statement were assurance enough.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, frowning. "What is it that you even do?" she added curiously.

"I'm here for the same reason you are," he said, holding up a book. "Purchasing."

 _The Age of Reason._ Sartre.

"Ah," she said softly. "How . . . enlightened."

"I consider myself the enlightened type," he agreed. "Replacing a copy, as it were."

"Ah," she said again, then remembered his opening comments. "What was that you said? About me 'settling on' fitting in?"

"Yes," he sighed. "Disappointing, if I'm being honest."

She bristled. "And why should your disappointment affect me?"

"It shouldn't," he said. "Nobody's should." He reached out, tapping his long, elegant fingers against the table. "You are beholden to nobody."

"Well - " she paused, swallowing. He was difficult to talk to; and so easy, at the same time. "I don't understand," she admitted.

"You're young still," he conceded, shrugging. "When you're older, you'll see what I mean." He rose to his feet, and she felt an unexpected pang of longing.

"You're leaving again?" she asked, actively trying to fight the strain in her voice.

"Yes," he said, and looked thoughtful. "I could come back."

She was elated. "Yes," she breathed, her chest tightening at the thought.

* * *

She was eighteen years old, frowning with displeasure; outside the party, out on the street. Ron was flirting with another girl, the bastard. She was sick of him. She wanted him.

She couldn't quite figure it out.

"A bit late to be out here, don't you think?"

She was startled, as usual, and then relieved.

"Tom," she said, reaching for him. She was a little drunk, if she were being honest. It was the result of all that ' _trying to fit in'_ that he was so opposed to. She put her hand on his chest, looking up into the blue depths of his eyes. "Tom."

She watched something in his gaze flicker. "You've been drinking," he noted.

"You disapprove, I'm sure," she scoffed. "Bossing me about, as always."

"You don't seem to mind," he reminded her. "Always so disappointed when I leave," he added, curling his fingers to brush the back of his hand fondly against her cheek.

She closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. "I do mind," she murmured. "It's cruel, what you're doing to me," she added boldly, leaning forward. "Don't you want me, Tom?"

He laughed, and she drew back, humiliated. "Don't laugh!" she shouted, smacking his chest with her hand, and then curling a fist, thinking about punching him in the stomach. _It would be so rewarding,_ she thought, _making him hurt._

He reached out, loosening her fist and threading his fingers through hers. "Hush," he told her. "You've been drinking."

"You've been patronizing," she shot back, distantly aware that the parallelism was a bit off. She wasn't at her sharpest. "Who even _are_ you, Tom?"

"No one at all," he assured her, lifting her chin to look at her. "Certainly nothing to be so aggressive about."

She stared at him. "Kiss me," she demanded, jabbing a finger into his chest. "I think you want to," she added, "you keep showing up, and if you - "

He bent his head, his finger still under her chin; he pressed his lips to hers and she gasped into his mouth, pressing herself against him. He wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her, the taste of something manly and mature - scotch, she thought fancifully, or bourbon, though she wasn't familiar with either - on his tongue, which he used to nudge her lips open and slide against hers. His kiss was fiery and thunderous and she clung to him, wondering how she could possibly go back to kissing foolish, boyish Ron after she'd had _him_.

He pulled away and she cursed his existence.

"I should - "

"Don't you dare go," she growled, letting her eyes flutter open to admonish him properly. "Don't you leave me, Tom - "

He laughed, and she hated him.

"Another time, Hermione," he said, his lips curling into a smile.

* * *

She was twenty years old and sitting in the library, attempting to spend some time on her thesis, which she'd already grown quite bored with. Tom was right; philosophy was hardly productive in the scheme of things, and yet she'd insisted on it. _It's important_ , she'd said, angry again that he was telling her what to do, furious he wasn't kissing her. _It's fundamentally the foundation of human existence -_

 _Hush,_ he said, and she fumed quietly, resolving to ignore him, promptly leaving to fuck Ron. To great disappointment, of course, as always, but it was nice to be touched. To feel wanted.

But now, of course, bored to tears, she wished she'd listened to him.

"How's it coming?"

"Fuck," she swore under her breath, dropping her pen. "Tom, you've got to stop sneaking up on me."

"Hardly sneaking," he said loftily. "You act as though I am not also compelled to visit the stacks when the opportunity permits."

"Why?" she demanded.

"Academia, as you well know," he reminded her. "Duty, on occasion, calls."

He held up a handful of books. She pretended not to care what they were.

"What do you even teach?" she asked. "You're always so mysterious." At the painful, girlish curiosity in her voice, she grimaced. "It's irksome," she added, hoping to salvage her pride.

"Physics," he replied. "My work is in physics."

"Oh." She was a little confused at that. "You seem more, I don't know," she shrugged, "the literature type. Or art history. Something snobbish," she added, flashing him an impertinent smirk.

"I make an effort to provide ample snobbery, I think," he said coolly, unaffected. "I wouldn't want to disappoint you, after all."

 _Ugh_ , she thought, _go away._

 _Stay,_ she begged, a moment later, watching the flex in his arm as he reached for something over her head. _Never leave me._

"Why do you always find me?" she asked, swallowing. He was close to her; too close.

"Happenstance, I suppose," he replied, unfazed. "Should I leave?"

Her heart thudded in her chest. "No," she confessed quietly, and he smiled.

"How are things with the boyfriend?" he asked, and she promptly hated him again.

"Fine," she said, then instantly straightened, amending the statement. "Great," she said brightly. "The sex is fantastic," she added, watching for his reaction.

His face flamed momentarily, and she reveled in it.

"Good," he said, recovering quickly, "I'm glad to hear it. Good sex is a blessing," he continued. "I'd hate to think you were somehow . . . unfulfilled."

God, she burned for him.

"It is great," she said again, licking her dry lips. "Particularly," she added, feeling bold, "since you don't seem to find yourself compelled to - "

She blushed. Her boldness had a quota, it seemed.

He looked down at her. "You want me to?"

"Um," she said. _Fuck, god, I want you._ "I - it's more an observation," she offered lamely. "You're always here, you seem to hate him" - she couldn't say Ron's name, not now, not to Tom - "and yet you never - " she faltered again. "You don't - "

"Hermione." He stepped in closer and she turned her head away, knowing that if she looked him in the eye all he would see was her mad desire for him, her gruesomely unrelenting greed for him. "If you want me, just say so."

 _He's asking me to lose_ , she thought angrily. _I'll say it, he'll laugh, and then he'll leave -_

 _But oh god, yes,_ "I want you," she managed roughly, turning to look him in the eye. They were blue, so fucking blue. Fuck. Fuck -

"Fuck me," she demanded, gritting her teeth in her need.

She fought a gasp as he slammed her against the bookcase, effortlessly tossing her up, propping her legs over his hips. He kissed her and it felt just like the first time, just as fiery and desperate, and his lips burned over her throat and down to her chest as his fingers traveled under her skirt, gripping her arse and slipping under the lace of her underwear.

He slipped a finger into her with ease and she sighed breathlessly into his shoulder, arching her back to encourage him.

"Fuck you," he mused, panting a little in her ear, "that's what you want?"

She could feel the hardness of his cock pressing against her and she bit down on his shoulder, mumbling _yes_ into his skin as she moved to fumble with his zipper, yanking it down and taking him in her hand. _Yes, yes, yes._

She slid her palm against his length and he hissed his satisfaction, filling her with a thrilling taste of power, finally giving her a taste of triumph over him, even in the blinding haze of her need. He slipped inside her and every thrust was like a victory - she finally had him, _finally_ -

"Tom," she gasped, and he yanked her head back by her ponytail, hungrily watching her face as she came.

* * *

She was twenty-three and restless, sitting at her favorite spot in the park, wondering what to do next. Done with research. Not exactly desperate to move on to another academic pursuit. Fucking sick _as fuck_ of Ron.

"Hello Hermione," Tom said, sliding gracefully beside her on the bench.

"You're back," she said dully. _Fuck me into oblivion once a year. Wonderful to see you._ "What's new?" she spat.

"You're upset," he noted. "A shame, that."

She glared at him. "We're outdoors this time," she noted. "You could have at least picked something less public."

"Ah," he said, uncomfortably. "I'm not here for that."

That concept, if anything, made her more furious. "Then what do you want?" she snapped harshly, staring at him. "We're just going to chat?"

"Sort of," he replied, shrugging. "Yes and no."

She clung to the ' _and no_ ,' despite her better judgment.

"Fine," she said evasively, waving her hand. "Chat."

He grimaced momentarily, but seemed intent on continuing.

"You've asked me many times who I am," he reminded her, after a moment. "I'm Tom Riddle."

She paused, feeling something different in the exchange. A shift in power.

"Okay," she said slowly, turning towards him, letting her curiosity get the better of her. "And?"

"I'm Tom Riddle," he repeated, "and I can travel in time."

She blinked.

"What?" she asked vacantly. "You - "

She thought about it, about his face, about the way he hadn't changed, even while she'd aged ten years. He was as handsome as he had always been, identical in every version of her memory.

"Explain that," she said flatly, waiting.

"I'm a professor of physics," he reminded her. "I discovered I could travel in time when I was twenty-six years old, and have spent two years refining my ability."

"You're - " she looked at him. "You're twenty-eight?"

"I am," he said. "I have been, the last ten years." He coughed, correcting himself. " _Your_ last ten years, I should say."

"Oh," she said, then tilted her head thoughtfully. "I should argue with you, I think - "

"You don't have to," he assured her. "You, after all, are the reason I was able to refine it."

She felt her mouth open slightly. "How - "

"Look over there," he said, nudging her; she noticed a dark head of hair, bent over a book, sitting peacefully on a bench across the way. "Do you see him?"

"That's you," she realized, her heart beginning to pound. He did look a bit younger, a bit more carelessly dressed; easily just as handsome. "Isn't it?"

"It is," he said, nodding. "He's about to meet someone very important."

She felt dizzy.

"Wait," she said, her head spinning, "but - wait - I have - "

"You'll have to break up with that boyfriend of yours," he muttered, grimacing. "It's about time, anyway. I assure you," he added, tucking some loose strands of hair behind her ear, "you won't look back once you meet him." He laughed. "Me, I mean."

"But," she insisted, "I don't know anything about time travel, or about anything at all, really - "

"I am currently a graduate student in physics," he explained. "I will grow to grasp the complexity of the mechanisms involved. You, though, have the final piece of the puzzle." He leaned over, whispering in her ear; she nodded, realizing he was right. She _did_ have the final piece of the puzzle.

"That's it, then," she said, feeling her mind whir with possibility. "That's it?"

"Essentially," he agreed. "I'll see you again in a couple of years. Though, I should make a point to encourage you to try not to be upset if I disappear from time to time," he added, smiling slyly. "It's just that there's someone that I'll have to visit, or she gets quite put out." He laughed again at that. "She has quite a temper."

She stared at him.

"I hate you," she decided firmly, feeling herself frown.

"You'll come to love me," he assured her, tangling his fingers in her hair and turning her face towards his. He kissed her, brushing his lips against hers, and sighed.

"How I envy him," he murmured into her mouth.

She shoved him away and stood, not looking back.

 _It was a lovely day, wasn't it?_ she thought, feeling the sun on her face. She did always love when a puzzle began to take shape. Fitting pieces together; she really did have a talent for it.

"Excuse me," she said brightly, tapping the shoulder of the handsome young man on the opposite bench. He turned, startled, and looked at her vacantly.

"Hi Tom," she said, smiling. "I'm Hermione."

* * *

 **a/n:** A muggle Tomione as requested by UnicornShenanigans, who has been having a rough go of it and DESERVES ALL THE STORIES. And honestly, several drinks.

Again, Reunion Pt. II coming very, very soon.


	24. Reunion, Part II of IV

**Reunion, Pt. II**

 _Pairing:_ Dramione (Draco x Hermione), Ronsy (Ron x Pansy), Nottgrass (Theo x Daphne), Blinny (Blaise x Ginny), Pottgood (Harry x Luna)

 _Universe:_ Post-Hogwarts, EWE

 _Rating:_ M for language, sexual scenes

 _Summary:_ Continuation of chapter 21, _Reunion, Pt. I_. The class of 1998 meets up for their 5 year reunion, and all is _decidedly_ not as well as it seems.

* * *

"No," Ron said quickly. "Absolutely not."

Pansy's falsely pleasant expression flickered momentarily. "Why _Ron,_ I simply can't imagine what you mean - "

"Oh shove it, Parkinson," he retorted, ripping his arm from her grasp. "You and I both know why you're doing this and I bloody well don't enjoy being played."

At that, she dropped the facade altogether, her expression melting into an irritating smirk. "Well, good news, Weasley," she sniffed. "You're still a twat, but you're at least not a dumb one anymore."

"Bloody hell," he muttered to himself, glaring at her. "How long were you expecting to get away with this?"

"Oh please. _Get away with it,_ " she scoffed, rolling her eyes. "If you weren't so paranoid - "

"Do you know how many times Harry's almost gotten me killed?" Ron countered, feeling distinctly less than pleased with the unflattering imitation. "If I weren't paranoid, I'd be ten different kinds of dead!"

"Ugh." She had fully abandoned pretense now, snatching his wine out of his hand and downing the remainder of glass. "Honestly, Weasley, I don't know what I was thinking - "

"Hey!" he grunted, making a grab for his drink; Pansy, who had failed to notice his indignation, moodily replaced the now empty glass in his hand, her gaze traveling elsewhere. "I certainly can't help you," he informed her, scowling. "Thanks for this," he added sarcastically, setting the glass down with a thud.

"You're welcome," she murmured, unfazed. "I'll take another, by the way."

"Godric, you are infuriating," he mumbled. "Do you really think you can just wander around demanding things?"

"I do not _demand_ things, Weasley," she corrected loftily, pausing to glare at him. "Normally, people are much more compelled to give them to me." She eyed him critically. "Imagine my surprise that you're not much of a gentleman."

"Imagine my _lack_ of surprise that you're not much of a lady," he retorted. Another levitating tray came around and he grabbed a single glass, pointedly stepping between it and her.

"You are an insufferable prat," she seethed, reaching behind him and stomping her foot as he knocked her arm aside, impeding her grasp. "Hey!"

"Say please, Parkinson," he instructed, grinning as she huffed in frustration.

" _Please_ ," she hissed, her teeth gritted; he obligingly stepped aside, flashing her an impish grin as he permitted her to reach for a drink.

"Oh, but you didn't let me finish," she informed him sweetly, in the kind of voice that made him want to instantly take cover. " _Please_ run off and die, Ronald," she purred, snatching a glass off the tray.

"You are a menace," he informed her. "Truly."

She snorted delicately. "Please," she said again, rolling her eyes. "I wear it well."

"At least you've grown into your nose," he snapped.

He felt an instant pang of remorse as she instinctively angled her face downwards; her eyes, normally narrow with snobbish dismay, now widened at him in artless horror, and he could tell immediately that he had delivered far too low a blow.

"Sorry," he offered sheepishly, alternately hearing his mother - _Ronald Weasley, how dare you insult the poor girl? -_ and Hermione - _for heaven's sake, Ronald, have you absolutely no tact? -_ as their voices resonated shrilly inside his head. "I, er, I just meant that - "

"Shut up," Pansy snarled, her moment of self-consciousness abandoned as she set her jaw and glared angrily at him. "I should have known better than to try to talk to you," she added, lifting her chin. "Like Potter's pathetic sidekick was really going to get me anywhere - "

"Hey," he interjected, frowning. "I know I upset you, but you don't need to be a dick about it."

"I'm not upset!" she insisted, clearly deeply upset. "I'm merely stating facts, Weasley," she added haughtily, "and you - "

"Stop," he interrupted, setting his glass down and ignoring her squeak of protest as he lightly took hold of her shoulders. "Let's just start over, okay? I - " he paused, hesitating. "I was rude. I'm sorry."

She pursed her lips and eyed him dubiously, but seemed resolute in her desire to say nothing.

"So," he started, taking a deep breath. "How are things, er - " he waffled between using her first and last name, deciding at the last minute to be generous. "Pansy?"

She made a face for a moment, but seemed to have grasped the sincerity of his intent; he fought an audible sigh of relief as she mercifully offered him a conciliatory grimace.

"I'm great," she said sulkily. "I'm absolutely _grand_. I've been completely cast out by society, for one thing," she added, in an alarming half shout, "my family's vault is practically drained; I have to pay my father's debts and I'm drowning in his mismanaged accounts - and then on top of that, of course, I have absolutely _no_ prospects - "

"Whoa, whoa," Ron cut in quickly, sensing a rising hysteria. "Shit, Parkinson, that's bleak - "

"I fucking know that," she snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. "So forgive me," she continued, letting out a completely unhinged bark of laughter, "if I was momentarily foolish enough to deign to talk to you, Weasley, as I'm not exactly in an ideal state of mind to think sensibly!"

"You certainly aren't," he agreed, letting out a low whistle and completely disregarding the insult. "That sounds bloody _horrible_. I really had no idea," he added, attempting to be sympathetic.

He looked earnestly at her, hoping she would recognize the effort; she softened a bit, seemingly appreciative of his intent. He relaxed a little.

"Yeah, well," she shrugged. "Why would you know that? It's not like I really endeared myself to your crowd of heroes."

He made a face. "Don't call us that," he mumbled, letting his gaze drift to the floor as he shuffled his feet uncomfortably.

"The rest of the world calls you that," she reminded him, then stopped, tossing in a derisive laugh. "Well, really, the world gives Potter most of the credit, which isn't exactly fair," she amended, and Ron looked up, startled.

"I - what?" he asked, wondering if he was being insulted.

"Well, Potter's the one who gets all the glory," she sniffed. "He always was, even though the rest of us knew perfectly well he'd have died a thousand times if not for you - " she paused. "And Granger," she conceded, making a face. "But still," she sighed. "He gets too much credit, I think."

He stared at her; she looked away, taking a long sip of wine and refusing to meet his eyes.

"Parkinson," he managed. "I - " he hesitated, wondering what to say. "Thank you," he offered weakly, and she gave him a look of such intense irritation that he almost laughed.

"Don't thank me," she told him, tsking impatiently. "Help me find someone else," she decided. "Since I presume you're not - "

He made himself shudder dramatically. "I'm definitely _not_ ," he said bluntly, though he wondered if he was as adamant about that as he had been at the beginning of the exchange.

She nodded. "Good," she declared, then straightened. "Then eyes open, Weasley, I've got a society-approved boyfriend to snare" - she paused, glaring at him as he groaned - "and _you're_ going to help me find him."

* * *

"So," Harry ventured, listening to the sound his shoes made as he walked the courtyard with Luna, "are you and Neville" - he shrugged, hoping that was sufficiently telling - "you know? Together?"

"Oh, no," she said dreamily, giving him a little smile. "He was nervous about seeing Hannah again, so he brought me along for moral support. People have a tendency to do that," she noted, frowning slightly, "though once the opportunity for support arises, I find they're not really paying much attention to me."

"That's a shame," Harry said tentatively, wondering if he should comfort her. Ginny would expect to be comforted, he suspected, but Luna . . . he hadn't quite worked her out.

"Is it?" she asked, looking thoughtful, and he paused.

"Ye-es," he said slowly, trying to decide. "I mean, I'm sure you'll find someone," he told her kindly.

Her normally vacant eyes became startlingly sharp as she stared at him. "Harry Potter," she said, and he gulped comically in alarm, "do you think that I'm not involved with anyone because nobody wants me?"

"Uh." He turned sheepishly, looking intently at the ground. "Well, I mean, nothing quite so harsh, really, but I'd just thought - "

"Harry," she said, sparing him a little sigh of affectionate exasperation - the way Molly might sigh fondly at Arthur, for example - before placing her hands on her hips. "Do you even know where I've been for the past five years?"

"Um," he offered apologetically, realizing he hadn't the faintest idea. "I don't, but - "

"You've been busy, of course," she said gently, "so you might not have thought to ask, but I've been traveling around the world," she informed him. "Research, mostly, and writing for my father; but in the process of traveling," she continued, "I've had my fair share of intercourse."

"Intercourse," Harry repeated, finding himself displeased with the knowledge.

"Oh, sorry, I was being opaque," she said, pausing. "I'm referring to congress." She glanced at him, searching for recognition. "Sexual congress," she offered, in case the subject were still in question.

"I know what you meant," he said quickly.

"Alright then," she said, smiling. "It's just that you normally need me to explain myself."

He chuckled. "Yeah, I guess that's true," he agreed, stretching a hand up to pass it through his hair. "I didn't just mean sex, though," he clarified. "I mean, unless that's all you wanted. Er, not _all_ ," he amended hastily, a little horrified with himself, "I just - "

"It's quite alright, Harry," she interrupted cheerfully, and he sighed in relief. "I know you've been in a very meaningful relationship. I'm sure you want that for me, because we're friends." She looked at him. "Does that sound right?"

"It does," he confirmed, feeling a little silly, but also unexpectedly relaxed. "I mean, yeah. That's all I meant."

"I haven't really been interested in much more than that at the moment," she told him, looking a little bit lost in her thoughts. "I suppose I've just been waiting for someone to come around who will . . . " she trailed off, tilting her head as she stared off into nothing.

"Who will what?" Harry prompted, surprising himself with his own immense curiosity.

"Well," she said, frowning a little. "Someone who will measure up, I suppose."

"To what?" Harry asked. "To who?"

Her pale grey eyes slid to his, a delicate smile spreading over her face. "To _whom_ , Hermione would say, I think," she said, and he laughed.

"To whom, then," he agreed.

"Well," she said again, and her smile faded slightly. "To you, I suppose."

* * *

"I'm surprised to see you here," Hermione said tentatively, attempting conversation as they walked.

"I could say the same," Draco agreed. "Or I would, anyway," he amended, "if you hadn't been so instrumental in planning everything."

"How did you know that?" she asked, glancing sideways at him. She usually made a point not to claim too much credit; she was far more comfortable in the background.

"McGonagall," he supplied, shrugging. "She mentioned it."

"You talked to Professor McGonagall?" she asked. _About me?_ she didn't add, knowing her eagerness would inevitably color her tone.

"She had approached me for some assistance," he admitted, coughing uncomfortably. He furiously looked away as she eyed him, entertained by his unexpected coquettishness.

"Financial assistance, you mean?" she asked, then laughed, gripping his arm. "Stop hiding!"

He turned to her with a smile, leaning into her grip; she noticed what she was doing and retracted her hands, blushing.

"Yes, Granger," he said, his smile fading just slightly as she brought her hands back to her sides. " _Financial_ assistance, as you've so crudely made a point to emphasize."

"You're being so coy about it," she noted, enjoying his obvious discomfort. "Why?"

"Well, Granger, if you must know," he sniffed. "Not every pureblood family was able to come out of the war with their fortunes intact," he explained stiffly, and she felt her teasing smile fade. "Luckily we weren't destroyed by reparations, but plenty of other families were. The Parkinsons, the Goyles, the Greengrass family - "

"Right," she said softly, biting her lip. "I'm sorry, I was being . . . thoughtless."

"I doubt you've ever had a moment without thought," he countered dubiously, though not unkindly. "But regardless, I don't blame you. It's certainly not your job to concern yourself with the losing side."

He scuffed his foot against the stone castle floor at that, and she felt the immensity of his situation suddenly weigh heavily on her.

"I guess I just assumed you were doing well," she ventured nervously, twisting her hands in her agitation. "I mean, you obviously have good standing in the Ministry - "

"Thanks in large part to McGonagall interceding on my behalf," he supplied. "And I make a rather concerted effort to donate where possible," he added, "hence the conversation about this event."

"Oh," Hermione said. "Well - "

"Granger." He paused, pulling her aside; he let his hands float over her shoulders and around her upper arms, like he wasn't sure he trusted them to land. "You really don't need to worry about me. Despite your tendency to fuss over anyone who doesn't particularly need your help," he added, and she rolled her eyes at that.

"You'll never stop teasing me about that, will you?" she sighed, though she couldn't help a smile. "I'm sure you were terribly inconvenienced by the house elf march S.P.E.W. organized, but - "

"Oh, I wasn't," he said quickly, and promptly turned scarlet.

"You weren't?" she prompted. "Why not?"

He hesitated. "I, er," he coughed, swallowing, before murmuring something entirely incoherent.

"You what?" she asked, squinting at him. "Didn't quite catch that, Malfoy."

He sighed, holding his hands up in resignation. "Fine, Granger," he barked, and she jumped. "I don't fucking have any house elves, okay?" he continued, practically at a shout. "I got rid of them after the war!"

"Why," she opened curiously, "on _earth_ are you yelling?"

"I don't need you to mock me," he insisted, still unreasonably loud. "I hardly need to hear you laugh in my face about how _you_ of all people convinced me to free them - despite the absolute monstrosity of a temper tantrum I anticipated from my mother, which she _definitely lived up to -_ "

Hermione gaped at him. "Draco - "

" - and I _certainly_ do not need to watch you give me that smug look you have, the one you always give Potter when you're snottily outsmarting him - "

"Draco!" she exclaimed, grabbing his wrists as he waved his hands about in agitation. "Draco, it's okay," she continued, her cheeks flushed with pleasure. "Draco, I promise, I'm not going to mock you."

He sighed loudly, still hesitant to meet her eyes. "You should," he muttered. "You reduced me to an absolute buffoon, you know."

"What, just now?" she asked, biting her lip to fight a broad smile. "I think that was all you, really."

"No," he said, and then his breath caught as he eyed a strand of hair that had come loose around her face as she'd reached for him. "I - before that," he explained, sighing. "I've been a buffoon for quite some time, I'm afraid."

She held her breath - and held his gaze - as he slowly reached to tuck the hair in place behind her ear, his hand slightly shaking. "I couldn't really stand the thought of having them, you know," he told her quietly. "Knowing you were working so hard, I mean. It was hard to stomach having them around, knowing how much work you put into it."

She realized now why he'd been shouting. She realized also that what he had just said was perhaps the most meaningful thing she could remember anyone having said to her; she tried to think of the last thoughtful thing Ron had done, or the last time she'd really felt valued, and she found herself coming up short when compared to the concept that _Draco Malfoy_ had set his house elves free, and all because he couldn't stand to see her effort wasted.

"Well," she broached carefully, feeling a threatening creak in her voice, "I think I would have preferred it if you'd freed them for their sake. But," she continued, "short of that - "

"They were not overly thrilled about being freed," he informed her, raising an eyebrow. "I actually had to give them money. Last I heard they'd pooled their funds and are living somewhere in some kind of shire," he added, shrugging.

 _Oh, for heaven's sake_ , she thought, feeling her innards turn to mush. _He checked in with them._

"Ah," she managed, clearing her throat. "Well then," she determined, squaring her shoulders, "I suppose your intentions were _infallible_ ," she offered, tossing in a gratuitously Malfoy-esque smirk, "and I owe you an apology."

 _I should kiss him,_ she thought, watching his mouth quirk up in a smile.

"Well, Granger," he replied, his voice husky and wam. "I would certainly agree that you do."

 _I am definitely going to kiss him,_ she thought resignedly, before deciding she was quite looking forward to it.

* * *

Ginny wasn't looking at him; Blaise decided that was an excellent sign.

"I don't want to talk to you," she said bluntly, crossing her arms over her narrow chest. "I have absolutely nothing to say to you."

"Selfish, Ginevra," Blaise sighed. "As always."

At that she glared at him, and he had to fight a smile. Irritated Ginny was only a breath away from Fiery Ginny, and Fiery Ginny would eventually find her way to his arms.

"Goodbye, Blaise," she said loudly, turning to stomp away from him. She tripped slightly on her gown but carried on, never wavering in her retreat.

Ah, she was infuriating. He loved it.

"Ginny," he called after her, catching her easily as she struggled in her formalwear, "did it occur to you that, perhaps, _I_ might have something to say to _you_?"

"It did not," she snapped. "Nor will it."

"Pity, then, that you'll have to hear me out," he purred in her ear. "Only fair, really, considering how many times I've granted you favors."

She stopped abruptly, coming to a halt in the corridor. "Was fucking me the favor you think you did me?" she asked, her brown eyes narrowing.

He scoffed. "Charming," he told her, lifting an eyebrow, "but no. I was thinking more along the lines of being at your disposal," he reminded her. "Waiting for your late night owls, being at your beck and call every time you fought with Potter - "

"And _then_ fucking me," she supplied, scowling. "One might think you should consider yourself aptly rewarded."

He found she was testing his not inconsiderable patience. "Ginny," he said, turning her to face him. "I was there for you in your darkest nights. I was there for you, every time you needed me. Was I not?" he prompted.

"You were," she permitted curtly, without a hint of remorse. "Though not without - "

"And where were you, Ginevra?" he pressed. "Where were you when I needed you? When I was waiting to hear from you?"

She hesitated, and he relished her silence, took pleasure in his triumph. "Where were you when I was at my worst?" he pressed.

"With my boyfriend," she reminded him coldly. "Where I should have been," she added. "Since you know as well as I do that I should never have come to you." She looked saddened at that, and he hated it.

"We didn't do anything wrong," he reminded her firmly. "You came to me when you broke up. You were fully broken up, there was no cheating - "

"Yes there - " she cut herself off, cursing under her breath. He watched her, waiting for her to speak.

"No, there wasn't cheating," she sighed eventually. "But - it was still wrong."

"How?" he urged. "Why?"

"Because sometimes - " she stopped, half-choking on a tiny sob of frustration, "sometimes I would look forward to a fight because of you." Her voice was quiet; just above a whisper. "Sometimes I wished he'd break it off again, because then it meant - " she cut off again, and he curled a hand under her chin, lifting it to look her in the eye.

"Say it," he murmured, and she blinked, tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

"Because it meant I could go back to you," she whispered.

"Oh, Ginevra." He pulled her into an alcove, wrapping her in his arms, tangling his fingers in her long red hair. "Why didn't you come to me?"

She sniffed into his robes. "How could I?" she asked, and the fury had made its way to her voice again. "I hadn't heard from you at all, I didn't want to just be your - your _conquest_ , or something, your fucking _prize_ \- "

"I was trying to be considerate," he said sharply. "You had a boyfriend. It wasn't my place to force myself on you."

"But you did that just fine before!" she said, shoving him away. "You practically hounded me when you started working with the team, didn't you?"

"It was my job," he reminded her, teeth gritted slightly at her pushing him away. "I'm a publicist, Ginny, the team was a client, and you are fucking impossible to track down - "

"Oh, that's a _laugh_ ," she spat. "Like you weren't watching me? Staring at me?"

"And you weren't staring back," he countered. "Is that what you're trying to tell me?"

"I wasn't," she insisted angrily. "I couldn't, I was with - "

"I fucking _know_ who you were with!" he shouted. "I am _hugely_ fucking aware that you were with Potter, considering that I had to see you with him in every newspaper, every magazine, as every topic of goddamn conversation - "

"Stop yelling," she told him, though a look of desperation crossed her face, "please stop - "

"It didn't matter to you that every road you took came back to me," he told her, not bothering to feel ashamed of the pain in his voice. "It never fucking mattered to you what you did to me, when things were hard for me and I - " he broke off, struggling. "I had no one - "

"You lost your mother," she interrupted, cupping her hand around the jut of his cheek as her eyes filled with sorrow. "I know. I know how much she meant to you," she said softly. "I couldn't stop thinking about you when I heard."

"You knew," he agreed, feeling a stinging pain at the words. "But you weren't there."

"I wasn't," she murmured, but lifted her chin. "I couldn't," she said again, and he sighed, taking a step back from her.

He thought about leaving. About walking away from her, washing his hands of her. It would be the best thing, really; what was he expecting from her? She'd never really known what she wanted. She wasn't naturally very selfless, which he knew quite well - he'd always admired her for her flaming sense of self, her stunning confidence, her relentless pursuit of her own desires. He couldn't ask more from her than she could give; it wasn't right.

He moved to exit the alcove, hanging his head. "I'm sorry I yelled," he sighed. "And - "

"I should have been there for you," she cut in suddenly, and he paused mid-stride. "I wanted things to work with Harry, I didn't want to hurt him, but - "

He pivoted, looking back at her. "But?" he prompted, swallowing with difficulty, barely daring to breathe.

"But I thought of you," she confessed. "I thought of you every waking moment, I swear, I dreamt you every night - I missed you and I hated you, _hated_ you for not writing to me, or coming to see me, for not taking me away from everything - "

"I'm here now," he interrupted, teeming with want as he stepped towards her, pressing her back against the wall. "I'm here now."

"Don't let me go," she said breathlessly, and he let out a growl as he bent to press his lips to hers.

* * *

"Theo," Daphne seethed, "what are you thinking? What are you _doing_?"

"Trying to indulge in a little thoughtful conversation," he said obnoxiously, and she, fidgeting in her anger, considered whether she was capable of throwing a punch that would land.

 _Undignified,_ she concluded after a moment, figuring it wouldn't do much for her image.

"Theo," she said again, attempting to simulate patience, "have you perhaps suffered a head injury? Is it possible," she added, "that you may have lost your fucking mind?"

"You know, in the immensity of my experience, I find it best not to rule out any possibilities," he replied, and she felt her hand clench in a fist.

"You know I need this," she warned. "You know how important this is to me."

"Potter?" he asked, scoffing. "You've only just discovered he's even an option," he said skeptically. "How am I to know he's suddenly important to you?"

"Not him!" she snapped. "You know - "

She stopped, realizing they had attracted attention; she grabbed Theo's arm, pulling him into the corridor. "You know I need to find someone," she hissed. "I'm worried about Astoria; my mother never lets her out of the house, and she ought to have some prospects by now - "

"Salazar's balls, what a romance," Theo drawled. "What stunning poetry, the pairing that is you and Potter; what spectacular _enchantment -_ "

"You can mock me all you want, Theo," Daphne said furiously, nudging her skirt back to step towards him and jabbing her finger into his chest. "I don't mind it, you know, I can take it - "

"I know you can," he assured her, and she raised her finger to point it in his face.

"You might think I'm some stupid pureblood snob who needs a husband," she started, then paused. _Pureblood? Check. Snob? Check. In need of a husband?_

"Oh fuck," she muttered, bringing her hand to her mouth. "That's - fuck. That's precisely what I am, isn't it?"

She looked up, catching his eyes as they grew large with concern. "Theo, I'm just an idiot pureblood who needs to marry rich, aren't I?" she gasped. "Oh no, oh _no -_ "

"No, no," he interrupted hastily, gripping her arms. "No, Daphne, not at all - "

"Oh _no_ ," she wailed. "I thought I had the right intentions - do I not?" she gasped, thinking of how she'd been prepared to throw herself at Harry Potter's feet, all so that - what? So that she could trick him into marrying her? Just to make her life a little easier? So that people she didn't even care about wouldn't look down on her?

"Whoa, hold on," Theo said urgently, bending slightly to look her in the eye. "Breathe, Daph, come on - you're okay, you're fine - "

What had she been thinking? And now, of course -

"Oh, and now I can't even do that!" she yelled, turning back to him as she remembered who she was really angry with. "I was about to do something stupid and selfish and _I didn't even accomplish it_ because you had to interfere! And - "

The rest of the sentence, whatever it was going to be, escaped into his mouth. She blinked for a moment before she realized he was kissing her, his hands cupping her face and then moving into her hair; it took another moment before she realized she was actually _enjoying_ his kiss. Melting in it, really; and as his tongue slipped against hers she felt herself sigh into his mouth, drooping helplessly against him until -

"Wait," she gasped, shoving him away. "Theo, what - "

"Sorry," he said instantly, his face turning red. "I was only - "

"I'm not here for you to play games with," she snapped, bringing a hand to her swollen lips. "Theo, someone could have seen that - I would have been humiliated - "

"Why?" he insisted, his eyes flashing. "I'm humiliating?"

"I'm not one of your stupid" - she stammered, trying to think of an appropriately hurtful term - " _book groupies,_ Theo! I'm not going to suck your 'bad boy' dick just because every other woman in the world is bizarrely captivated by your firsthand account of the dark side of the war," she spat nonsensically, "or _whatever_ that thing is about - "

"My 'bad boy' dick?" he echoed, his face helplessly pained. "Dark side of the - " he stopped, shaking his head. "You really didn't fucking read it, did you?" He barked out a sharply unpleasant laugh. "Not even the back cover, did you _?"_

"What, your book?" she asked, scoffing. "Of course not, Theo, I'm not exactly in a hurry to read your vanity project about - "

" _Vanity project?_ "

She felt her breath catch as his green eyes went wide with disbelief. "Well," she muttered, stumbling a little, "I meant - "

"You," he interrupted furiously, "can fuck right off, Daphne Greengrass."

He turned away, took five steps, and then paused, swiveling to look back at her. He pulled at his mouth for a moment, his expression tense as he considered her.

"I wrote that book for you," he intoned flatly, and it shot like an arrow through her chest. "You might as well know that now, seeing as everyone else does." He laughed a little; a jarring, maniacal laugh. "Fuck me, right?"

She stepped forward, knowing she'd done something awful. "Theo," she begged.

He shook his head. "No," he told her firmly. "No."

With a final pained grimace, he pivoted back around, striding angrily into the hall and leaving Daphne behind, her heart still pounding from his kiss.

* * *

Draco noted with pleasure that Granger was looking repeatedly at his mouth; he considered it a victory, and one that was made considerably more crucial by the fact that he'd nearly humiliated himself over the whole elf debacle. Fuck, he was an utter fool. Thank fucking Merlin she seemed not to mind.

He glanced at her again, fighting a smile as their gazes locked.

 _I'm so fucking glad you finally broke up with Weasley,_ he imagined telling her. _Do you know how long I've waited? How long I've wanted -_

"Oh," she murmured, a jittery look of nerves passing over her face as she bit her lip. "Sorry, I didn't really realize where I'd been walking," she said hesitantly, glancing at him. "Is this - "

She trailed off, and he realized with a jolt what her concern had been. They were heading up to the Astronomy Tower.

"Oh," he echoed faintly. "I haven't been here since - "

"I thought as much," she admitted, looking sheepishly at her feet. "We can go somewhere else, if you'd rather," she assured him. "It's a big castle," she added, the warmth of a playful smile blossoming in her cheeks.

 _Nah. Let her see._ "It's okay," he told her. "The view from up there is pretty spectacular, and anyway, it's" - he paused, inhaling sharply - "it's been long enough, I think."

She nodded. If anyone was going to understand, it was probably going to be her. They took the steps in silence, but she occasionally let her eyes drop to his hand, as though she considered she might take it in hers; he wished she would. He knew she would not.

The night air was cool on his face, and Draco found himself surprised by how little he actually remembered of the fateful night in the tower. Perhaps he'd pushed it out; perhaps she'd done it for him.

"It really is beautiful up here," she said, and he nodded, standing beside her as they looked over the castle grounds.

"It is," he agreed. "This whole castle is beautiful," he added, holding his hand up and letting the wind brush his fingertips. "It's home."

They stood together for a moment in silence; a comfortable silence. A rarity in his life. He found himself grateful to her for it.

"It's so strange being back here," she confessed. "I've been back before, of course, but now, with everything sort of" - she hesitated - "put back together, you know - "

"It almost feels like nothing's changed at all," he supplied, and she nodded.

"Yes," she sighed. "Almost like none of it happened." Her lips dipped into a thoughtful frown. "I can't decide if that's a good or bad thing."

"Well, it definitely did happen," he reminded her. "Some of us have to live with that every day," he added grimly, and her eyes traveled slowly to his.

"What was it like?" she whispered. "How did you - "

"Where do I begin," he joked. "The rubble, or my sins?"

The look she gave him was soft; almost tender.

"I was caught up in the dust settling around me," he offered, thinking she deserved the truth. "Lost in my vices. My prejudices. And by the time I knew I was wrong - "

She nodded. She understood.

"Would you do it differently?" she asked. "If you could do it over?"

They were facing each other now; she was the view.

"It depends," he confessed. "It's hard to go back, you know, without knowing what I know now. But maybe if - "

He trailed off. _Maybe if you'd been there, I could have done it differently._

"Sometimes I feel like I can just go back," she whispered. "Like if I closed my eyes, it would almost feel like I've been here before."

He closed his eyes, feeling the need to oblige her in her moment of whimsy; he thought for a moment he _had_ gone back, back to being young and thoughtless -

He inhaled sharply as the smell of her, the faint scent of vanilla and gardenias, suddenly breezed around him and she touched her lips to his, her hands braced gently on his chest as she leaned towards him, reminding him why he was glad to have suffered as he did. He kissed her back but kept his hands at his side, letting her be the one to direct him; she reached up to caress his jaw and he leaned into her touch, shivering as she traced her tongue across his lower lip. It was a ghost of a kiss, really, but it was entirely her; as warm and inviting as it was strange and enigmatic.

She pulled away and he felt her vacancy like a punch to the gut; he sighed, keeping his eyes closed, willing himself to maintain some semblance of cool.

"Granger," he said hoarsely, letting his eyes flutter open. "I - "

He frowned. "Granger?" he asked, looking around.

Nothing. She was gone.

"DAMN IT, GRANGER!" he swore, peevishly crossing his arms over his chest.

* * *

"What about Dean?" Pansy asked, jutting her chin out to reference him.

"Gay," Weasley said bluntly. "Or have you not heard his more common moniker? Dean, as in Dean ' _and Seamus_ '?"

"Ah, rats," she said, pouting. "I thought this would be easier."

"You're bloody telling me," he muttered. "Believe me, I'm not overly thrilled about being single either."

Pansy made a distinctly unpleasant gagging sound. "Don't tell me you're pining over Granger," she said, making a face. "If you are, I'm leaving."

He gave her a weary look of impatience. "I'm not _pining,_ " he said, "but I'm not thrilled about my options. I would have been relieved to be done with the whole thing," he added, waving his arm wildly. Pansy giggled.

"It is pretty sad," she admitted. "Pickings are slim."

"Slim is an understatement," he scoffed. "Who's even left?" he asked, his blue eyes scanning the remaining women in the room.

"Excuse me," she sniffed, bristling at the motion, "but we have to pick someone for me before I spend any of my valuable time on you."

"You generous angel," he drawled, lifting his glass for a drink. "You charming pixie."

"I am both those things," she agreed. "Good on you for noticing."

"I'm surprised you didn't try your hand at Harry," Weasley remarked. "Or did you rightfully suspect that 'he's there, grab him' is _not_ the love story of the century?"

Pansy felt her cheeks redden and scowled, less than appreciative of the reminder. "I could have won him over," she sniffed, "but Daphne - "

She felt herself blush again and ducked her head, taking a sip of wine. Weasley, however, was still looking intently at her.

"Daphne what?" he prodded, in his crude, direct sort of way.

She sighed. "Don't tell anyone, okay?" she asked, not sure why she was revealing anything to him, but resolving to continue at his nod. "She's sort of in the same position I am. You know, needing someone," she explained, and he nodded a second time. "But it's worse for her, since she supports her family, and she has her sister, and - "

She cut off, realizing he was smiling at her. "What?" she snapped. "You have a stupid look on your face," she informed him, raising her glass to her lips. "I don't care for it."

"Sorry," he said, chuckling. "It's just - I didn't realize."

"Realize what?" she asked sharply, not insignificantly put out by his laughter.

"That you're so," he paused, thinking. "Soft, I guess."

She gaped at him. " _Soft_?" she echoed, her eyes wide. "Oh, fuck you, Weasley."

"What?" he said, still laughing. "Come on, Parkinson. You care about your friend. It's cute."

"Cute?" she repeated, realizing her hand was clutching her chest as though he'd insulted her mother's pedigree. "I - I can't - "

He was laughing harder now, and she was stunned; feeling herself out of options, she reached out on instinct, abruptly slapping him across the face.

"Bloody hell!" he exclaimed, doubling over. "What the - "

"Oh stop," she said breathlessly, though she couldn't quite identify where the impulse had come from. "You're fine."

"I know I'm fine," he snapped, glaring at her. "That doesn't mean you need to violate my face."

"Violate your - " she cut off, realizing she was giggling now, and even he looked entertained, his cheeks red from both her hand and his fit of laughter.

"That should teach you to call me cute," she informed him steadily, but she was pleased to see he had taken it quite well, rubbing his face and shaking his head.

"Consider myself taught," he rumbled, his eyes flicking to hers as he fought a smile. "Fuck, Parkinson. Your future husband is a lucky man," he drawled sarcastically, taking a very loud sip of wine.

"I'm aware," she replied drily, then dragged her gaze away from his face - which was really not so bad, once you got past the whole Weasley thing; he was at least better looking than his brothers - to analyze the room. "What about him?" she asked, motioning to Justin Finch-Fletchley.

Weasley raised an eyebrow. "Really?" he asked.

She made a face. "No," she agreed. "Terry?"

He made a face this time. "I guess," he sniffed. "If you're in the market for a total prat, I suppose."

"I opened with you," she reminded him. "My defenses are down."

"Stop, I'm blushing," he remarked into his glass, rolling his eyes.

"Oh," she said, catching sight of Michael Corner; she backhanded Weasley in the stomach, prompting him to cough up his swallow of wine. "Him?"

"Fuck, Parkinson," he choked, "you're not safe to be around - "

"What do you think?" she asked. "Corner could work, right?"

"Um," he said, clearing his throat and emitting a single, throat-vacating cough, "sure."

She looked warily at him. "No?"

"I mean, sure," he said again, shrugging. "He's got a good family, he's done pretty well for himself after the war, he's at least interested in women - "

She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "Okay," she said, fidgeting with her fingernails. "Good then." She glanced back at Weasley. "Do I look okay?"

She heard it; the insecurity in her voice. She heard it slip, and she knew he heard it too, and she hated herself for a moment, furious with her own vulnerability; she realized her hand had risen to her nose and she cursed herself again, wishing she didn't think about it so much.

"Hey," he said hastily, pulling her hand from her face. "Look, I was a dick earlier, but you look really pretty, okay?"

She nodded dumbly, wishing she could slap him again. Was there cause? Was cause necessary?

"You're clever, and you're funny, and if he has quick reflexes, then he's a lucky guy," Weasley added, and she realized she was smiling at him, and he was smiling at her, and they were smiling at each other.

Like idiots.

She wiped her face clear of emotion.

"Bye," she said impassively, but he was still smiling, his eyes on her lips.

"Bye," he said, and she turned and walked away, wondering if he was still watching.

* * *

The moment Blaise's lips met hers, Ginny was met with a vigorous flashback of herself. At that bar. That horrid bar, where she was just trying to have a goddamn drink _,_ and forget for _five seconds_ about her breakup with Harry.

The first one.

They were fighting about how much she was on the road with the team, or something. She barely remembered that part. You'd think she would; you would think it would matter, what she and the supposed love of her life had fought about, but fuck if she knew. All she remembered was having to turn around and get back on the road, and she and the girls were at that fucking _horrid_ bar, somewhere in Spain, and Blaise was there.

Fucking Blaise was there.

He was right; it was his job. He wasn't there for her. She knew it, and the rest of the team knew it, and they were crawling all over him, and she hated it. They were trying to sweet talk him into shots and he was smiling, happy with the attention, his handsome face alit with pleasure as they practically groped him. Fucking Harpies.

Ginny was on her fourth drink - or fifth? - by the time she'd had enough. Losing Harry was one thing, but didn't those bitches know Blaise was hers? He wasn't some team mascot; it was _her_ he always looked at.

She had been drunk and sad and watching his perfect smile and perfect eyes and thinking for the first time that _he should be hers_.

 _Hey_ , she'd said, grabbing him by the collar. _I need to talk to you._

He'd politely obliged, rising to his feet and making vaguely coaxing apologies to the other girls as he followed her outside; she knew he would follow and so she wandered into the alley, looking for privacy and finding it.

 _What is it?_ he asked, with a smile so perfect that it nearly split open her chest.

 _I want you to kiss me,_ she told him. _I want you to kiss me like I'm the only fucking girl in this bar. I want you to kiss me so that I don't think about anything else, or anyone. I want you to kiss me so that I forget my name, or who I am -_

 _That,_ he interrupted firmly, _is the only way I would ever think to kiss you._

And he did, and she did a lot more than kiss him.

And they did it a lot more than once.

And now it was just like then only better, only with more heat and more spark and more longing; he whispered a few charms to keep people away and then he was on his knees, her gown pushed up to her hips, his breath hot on the inside of her thigh as he trailed his tongue along her clit. Just how she liked it.

Just how _he knew_ she liked it.

She saw sparks behind her eyelids and then he was on his feet, his trousers unzipped and then he was fucking her in the alcove, in her stupidly expensive dress, with her friends and ex-boyfriend just a few feet away; and she was whispering his name in his ear, over and over, thinking about the first time.

 _Don't make this complicated,_ she'd said.

 _I wouldn't_ , he replied, smiling. The smug bastard.

 _You're cool, but I'm cooler_ , she informed him between kisses. _You're pretty, but I'm cuter._

 _And smarter,_ he generously agreed, his hands tearing open her blouse.

They managed one of those miraculous simultaneous climaxes and collapsed against each other, their foreheads pressed together as he sank to the floor, her legs still wrapped around his hips and his cock still inside her.

"That," she said hoarsely, "was perfect."

He nodded, still breathless.

"The perfect goodbye," she whispered, pressing her lips against his still-closed eyelids.

He leaned back sharply, yanking her head back by her hair.

"What the fuck do you mean goodbye?" he demanded, his eyes flashing with fury.

* * *

Theo marched straight to Draco, who was breathless as he raced into the hall.

"Have you seen her?" Draco asked frantically, panting. "Is she - "

"She didn't read the book!" Theo shouted. "She thinks it's about the war!"

There was a clatter around them as people noisily shuffled around, trying to identify the source of the yelling; Draco grabbed Theo's shoulder, pulling him into the corridor and heading for the courtyard.

"You're a famous author now," Draco reminded him sternly, muttering in his ear. "You can't just go around yelling about things now that people are aware you're not one of the tapestries."

"She didn't read it," he repeated, at an only slightly lower volume because _fuck you, Draco!_

"Well, that's a real jab to the gut, isn't it?" Draco sighed, coming to a reluctant stop outside. "Sorry, mate."

"The jab to the gut is the idea that she could have somehow failed to notice my existence for over twenty years," Theo scowled. "Her failure to read the book, on the other hand, is a fucking twist of the knife."

They didn't say anything for a moment, both marinating silently in Theo's suffering. Arsehole though he generally was, Draco was still Theo's best friend, and he knew the catastrophic depths of Theo's disappointment without having to be told.

"You could have tried a more direct way of getting her attention," Draco suggested hesitantly, not meeting Theo's eyes.

"What, like calling her a mudblood for six years?" Theo countered, and Draco rightfully turned pale.

"Maybe not that," Draco permitted, coolly overlooking the slight. "But I'm not sure the book was an entirely practical plan."

"The book wasn't just to get her attention," Theo mumbled, and Draco eyed him expectantly.

"Then what was it for, if not that?" Draco prodded, nudging him. "Was it just your muse revealing itself for the first time, then?"

"It was - " Theo cut himself off, fearing impending judgment.

"Oh, fucking say it," Draco snapped, and Theo glared at him.

"It was to bring me back into the public's good graces, okay?" he said tightly. "My father was shitty and then everyone assumed I was shitty and I wanted to prove I wasn't, and I did it so that someday, she might consider me - " he paused, sighing again. Draco stood quietly, waiting for him to finish his thought.

"I wanted the book to do well so that someday she might consider me a real option," Theo confessed. "Which," he added, looking up to glare at Draco, "I'm aware makes me out to be a giant fucking fool."

Draco let out a lengthy exhale, smoothing his hair back in thought. "I'm not going to lie to you," he said, after about a minute of silence. "That is what one might call an overly complex plan."

"I know," Theo agreed, grimacing.

"Like, _far_ too complex, honestly - "

"I'm fucking aware!" Theo exclaimed, glaring at him. "It has already been brought to my attention that I'm a dumb twat, I'm perfectly clear on that," he snapped. "And I know you think it's stupid - "

"What, the book?" Draco asked, furrowing his brow.

"Yes, fucking _yes,_ the book," Theo spat irritably, shaking his head. "You certainly made that clear, since you complain about it constantly - "

"It's a good fucking book," Draco interrupted, shrugging.

Theo gaped at him, confused. "It is?"

"It's my favorite fucking book, you silly cunt," Draco sighed, throwing an arm over his shoulder. "I can't believe you didn't know that."

"Of course I didn't fucking know that," Theo grumbled. "I don't think you bothered to actually _tell_ me."

"Funny what misconceptions a person can have when not explicitly told things," Draco mused, nudging him again. "Isn't it?"

"Hilarious," Theo agreed, pouting.

He felt a little bit better, but in some ways, ten times worse; there was nothing more infuriating, after all, than Draco managing to make an elegantly argued point.

* * *

"Me," Harry repeated. "Me?"

Luna tilted her head, trying to make sense of his confusion. "Yes," she said, waiting. Perhaps he just needed time to sort it out.

"I don't understand," Harry said slowly, and Luna smiled. She had never met anyone else so willing to admit their own confusion; it was one of the things she quite enjoyed about him.

"Which part?" she asked patiently.

"I guess all of it," he admitted, then stopped. "No, wait. I guess my question is - " he paused again, squinting at her. "Are you trying to tell me you have feelings for me?"

"I have a wide variety of feelings for you," she confirmed, nodding. "Fondness, primarily, though a great deal of admiration - "

"No, sorry," he said quickly. "I mean," he amended, "do you like me?"

"I like you a great deal," she supplied, nodding. "It's definitely one of the feelings."

"No," he said again, though he laughed this time. "Sorry, I hadn't realized how so much of the things people say is really just dodging the point."

She nodded, trying to coax him with a smile. "Take your time," she said.

He took a deep breath. "Okay," he sighed, smiling as he exhaled. "What I want to ask you," he began uncertainly, and she nodded her encouragement, "is whether you are trying to tell me that you are interested in me. For dating," he suggested. "Or, I suppose, for - "

He trailed off.

"Sex," she supplied. "Is that the word you're looking for?"

"It is," he confirmed, nodding, and then laughed at himself again. "Sorry, I really thought I had it that time."

"You don't need to be sorry," she said. "I suppose I may not have made that clear before, which is my fault. Oh!" she exclaimed, feeling the weight of something settle in her chest. "I think I'm just realizing that I should have told you sooner." She smiled. "It's so nice to put a name to the feeling. Really lessens the risk of nargles," she added, looking around to make sure there were none in sight.

Her eyes lowered to rest on Harry, whose head was bent; he looked lost in thought, and she reached out, touching his wrist. "Harry?" she asked.

When he looked up at her, there was something new in his green eyes; something she hadn't seen before, though she'd seen it before in other people. It was warm, and yet it made her shiver a little.

"Why me?" he asked her, and she thought he sounded a little bit afraid; it made her reach out for him, and he took her hand, slipping his fingers between hers.

"You're kind," she told him, stepping in closer. He seemed to want her there. "You fight for people that you love," she added, "and you never let anyone stop you."

"Ah," he said, and then her hands were on his waist, and his were resting lightly on her ribs. "Ginny always hated that about me."

"Ginny is a flower," Luna explained softly. "And you're a flower, too."

He frowned, a little half-laughing frown, as his hands moved to join behind her back. "Are you saying I'm not very manly?"

"No!" Luna exclaimed, feeling her cheeks warm as he pulled her into the circle of his arms. "No, but a flower needs a gardener. Someone to help it bloom, help it grow."

"So two flowers," he mused. "Not good?"

"Beautiful," she said. "Flowers are beautiful, and everyone wants a flower."

"But?" he prompted, smiling at her. "Are you a flower?"

"Me? No," she laughed. "I'm a gardener. Well," she said, pausing. "For you, anyway. For you, I'm a gardener."

"You are, aren't you?" he murmured, and she rested her head against his chest, her heart beginning to pound as he leaned down to speak into her ear.

"I think," she said quietly, tilting her head up to look at him, "that I was correct. I have been looking for someone to measure up to you," she decided, nodding. "Someone just like you," she repeated quietly.

"Is there any chance," Harry said, and then cleared his throat. "Is there a possibility, I mean, that maybe what you were looking for is actually . . . me?"

She felt a rush of something then; the Harry feeling. She had only ever felt it with him, and she'd never really known what it was, but she was content to call it the Harry feeling, and let that be that. Seemed overly tiresome to question it, but she was glad to be feeling it again.

"Harry," she said suddenly, feeling something sneaky in her bones, "what time is it?"

He shifted her in his arms, checking his watch. "11:11," he said, and then smiled. "Muggles have a tradition for that, you know."

She smiled too. "I know it," she agreed, briefly shutting her eyes.

 _Please, let it be Harry._

* * *

 **a/n:** Okay, these are extremely long, what have I done. There will be three parts total and it will conclude sometime this week. Dedicated to i-heart-hogwarts and accio-echo for their tumblr song suggestions!


	25. Reunion, Part III of IV

**Reunion, Pt. III**

 _Pairing:_ Dramione (Draco x Hermione), Ronsy (Ron x Pansy), Nottgrass (Theo x Daphne), Blinny (Blaise x Ginny), Pottgood (Harry x Luna)

 _Universe:_ Post-Hogwarts, EWE

 _Rating:_ M for language, sexual scenes

 _Summary:_ Continuation of chapter 21, _Reunion, Pt. I_. The class of 1998 meets up for their 5 year reunion, and all's well that ends well.

* * *

Daphne wandered blindly through the castle, wondering whether to be furious or devastated.

 _Was she really so out of line?_ she thought morosely, making a face at her dress as it glittered in the dim lighting of the corridor. It had been so lovely and full of promise when she'd put it on, and now it just seemed gaudy and gratuitous. _Like you,_ she told herself fiercely. _All sparkle and no substance._

She was turning the corner, fighting tears, when she was suddenly hit by a tiny, sprinting figure in an equally blinding shimmer, causing Daphne to stumble and their dresses to become hopelessly tangled.

"Stupid gown," the other woman growled, looking up, and Daphne swallowed a gasp.

"Oh," Daphne said, wiping at her eyes. "Sorry, Gr- er. Hermione."

"Oh," Granger said nervously, "I'm sorry, I um - " she continued fidgeting, trying to unhook the snagged beading, "I'm so sorry, I didn't see you coming - "

"It's just as much my fault," Daphne muttered apologetically, marveling at how lovely Granger had gotten since they'd last seen each other. Not that she could ever admit such a thing out loud, being Pansy's best friend. "This is hardly the worst thing to happen to me this evening," she added, biting her trembling lip.

Granger looked up at that, pausing. "Oh," she said quietly, and her overlarge brown eyes softened. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes, yes, everything is magnificent," Daphne sniffed, raising her arm so that Granger might have better access to the snag on her bodice. "I've only been completely horrible to someone who means a great deal to me, and have insulted his book, of course, which I didn't read, because I'm an illiterate degenerate who apparently has no heart - "

At that, Granger finally managed to unhook the snagged fabric and sighed. "You don't mean Theo Nott, do you?"

Daphne let out a frustrated wail, sinking to the floor. "He was right," she sobbed, fanning her skirts out and letting her head lean back against the wall, covering her face with her hands. " _Everyone_ knew, except me!" She let her hands fall, suddenly exhausted. "Stupid me."

Granger hesitated for a moment, but then settled herself carefully beside Daphne on the floor. "Well," she said delicately, "I don't really know if _everyone_ knew."

" _You_ knew," Daphne sniffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "You read it?"

"I did," Granger said slowly. "I was, um." She paused, her face reddening.

"You're witnessing the entire collapse of my psyche here, Granger," Daphne said desperately. "You could at least have mercy on me and _share._ "

"Right, right," Granger said nervously, toying with her fingernails and sighing loudly. "I suppose that's fair."

She looked away for a moment, and Daphne, in her impatience, cleared her throat.

"Right, sorry," Granger said instantly, blushing again. "Well, fine. The truth is, I bought Theo's book because I thought that someone else might, um, make an appearance in it." She stared resolutely at a spot on the floor, not acknowledging Daphne's curious grin. "A friend of his."

"Ah," Daphne said, unable to prevent a tiny chuckle of amusement.

"Anyway," Granger said quickly, "I was expecting it to be about his life or something. Theo's, I mean. A memoir of some sort, I guess - "

"Right?!" Daphne exclaimed, straightening. "Sorry, go on."

" - but it _wasn't,_ " Granger continued, looking a bit professorial in her assertion. "It was actually this very lovely, very sensitive study on love," she admitted, and Daphne felt her heart sink in her chest. "It was quite moving, if I'm being honest." Granger looked up, meeting Daphne's eye. "It makes a lot of sense to me that it would be about you."

"I wish I had read it," Daphne said, sighing desperately. "I feel just _terrible_ now, and I - "

"Well," Granger said slowly, "I do have a copy." She picked up her small beaded bag and opened it, reaching so far inside that her arm nearly disappeared.

"Don't you work for the Ministry?" Daphne commented, puzzled. "Isn't that - "

"Do you want the book or not?" Granger interrupted curtly, pulling her arm out and offering it to her. The cover was the same as the many copies Daphne had seen in shop windows; the same plain navy cover with the gold embossed print. _A Sky Full of Stars by Theodore Nott._

"Yes," Daphne grumbled, holding a hand out, and Granger placed it in her waiting palm.

She felt a little flutter in her chest at the prospect of holding it and turned eagerly to one of the pages that Granger had dog-eared, holding her breath.

 _He envied the sun on her face. He envied the fabric on her skin, the words on her lips. He envied more than anything the men who had learned how to make her moan; whose names had escaped, breathless, traipsing off her tongue. Whether many or few, he envied them. He envied their closeness, envied the air they breathed, the lives they led, that they had been there to capture it; the sound of her, of yes, yes, more, harder, deeper - for how many times had he longed to run his tongue along her_

"Oh," Granger said, her cheeks tinted pink. "Sorry. That's for something else." She took the book back from Daphne and sought out a different page, handing it back to her. "Try this."

Daphne, who could not fight a smirk at that, nodded silently and bent her head to read the passage.

 _Love is truly the most humbling force in the world, he learned, bowing his head below the sky full of stars. You imagine there is someone out there whose heart was crafted for yours, whose body was designed to tuck itself into the acuteness of your angles. And then you realize you are wrong - you are so very, very wrong - for how could you be the one for her? How could you be the one for her, when you are so crude, so flawed? And then you learn, in love, that you are destined for pain; for however bright her eyes shine, you and your flaws - and the many ways in which you are a fool - can only be dull in them._

Daphne looked up in alarm. "Oh," she said softly, bringing a hand to her lips.

"What is it?" Granger asked, but Daphne closed her eyes.

 _You talk about that Nott boy too much,_ her mother scolded. _I don't want you hanging around with him._

 _Why not?_ Daphne pleaded. _Theo's my friend, Mother, and he -_

 _His family is nothing but worthless, arrogant tyrants,_ her mother replied angrily. _His father is a monster and he will be too. Just watch._

 _No!_ Daphne cried, horrified. _Not him, Mother, I swear, you don't know him, you don't know what he's like with me -_

 _I know the apple never falls far from the tree, and I know he and his father are well on their way to ruin,_ her mother warned. _Believe me, dear,_ she cooed, twisting one of Daphne's dark auburn waves around her finger, _you don't want a boy like that._

Daphne reached up, finding that Granger's arms were around her and that she was crying, remembering the way she used to feel; the way she _might_ have felt, if she hadn't been so concerned with following the guidelines her name and family had determined for her.

"He's always been my friend," she whispered, resting her forehead on Granger's shoulder. "I didn't think I could let myself - "

"I know the feeling," Granger murmured, nodding. "But things are different now, aren't they?"

"They are," Daphne said, pulling away. She waited for a moment, seeing the genuine look of encouragement on Granger's face, before wiping her eyes dry and smiling.

"Thank you," she said quietly, reaching out to grip one of Granger's hands. "I really appreciate you being so nice to me."

"Oh, no," Granger said, shrugging and looking away. She really was infuriatingly humble, considering. "It's really nothing, I just - "

"Do you know why Pansy hated you so much in school?" Daphne interrupted, deciding to give back a little. It was only right, really, even if Pansy hated her for it. She would get over it.

Granger, not unpredictably, made a face. "Because I was a hopeless little swot," she sighed, "and incurably bossy."

Daphne laughed, rising to her feet and offering Granger a hand, which she accepted. "No," Daphne corrected primly, squeezing her fingers once before releasing them. "Not at all, actually."

"Oh no, something worse?" Granger joked, rolling her eyes.

Daphne laughed again and leaned in, turning to speak directly into her ear. "It's because Draco wouldn't stop staring at you," she whispered, then offered her a wink and strode away, ready to make amends with her new favorite author.

* * *

Hermione stood alone in the corridor for a moment, smiling after Daphne, before it occurred to her that she was wasting valuable time.

She was still buzzing from the knowledge that she had finally done it. She had _finally_ kissed Draco Malfoy after years of curiosity, of countless awkward too-long stares and constant thrills of panic when they accidentally touched; after so long of _no, don't do it, don't think about it,_ it had finally happened, and it had been breathtaking and perfect and she had yet to recover - not that running down the stairs had helped in that.

But of course the moment it happened, the moment she realized that kiss was what she had been waiting for - that it was one reason among many that Ron had been . . . _not quite right_ \- was the same moment she felt a paralyzing pang of guilt, recognizing vaguely that before she kissed him again - or more than that, as _more_ was surely coming - she had some logistics to sort out. She had to regain her capacity to think straight, and surely there was no way she could do that in the presence of Draco Malfoy, whose lips and face and hands were, with certainty, going to prove distracting.

She shook her head quickly, resolving to recover her ability to process. Did abandoning him in the tower now seem highly illogical? Yes. Did she desperately need the time to think that running around the castle had permitted her? Yes. Should she stop standing pointlessly in this corridor and sort herself out?

Resounding yes.

She took off for the Great Hall and caught the subject of her attention, yanking him to the side.

"Hey!" Ron grunted, scowling. "What is with the women of Hogwarts deciding to manhandle me tonight?"

"Do me a favor and don't explain what that means," Hermione sniffed impatiently. "I just need to tell you something, as I think it's best if I deliver it myself rather than you hearing through the rumor mill that - "

"Yes, go ahead, date Malfoy," Ron cut in with a grumble, rolling his eyes.

"I - what?" Hermione squawked, gaping at him. "Where on earth," she added, "did you come up with such a grossly miscalculated, _totally_ far-fetched - "

"Mione," Ron said, gripping her hands and giving her an exceedingly stern look that, really, she might have given him. "I have known you for thirteen years."

"Yes," she replied, pursing her lips. "And?"

"And I have had the great benefit of learning your little ticks," he continued, patting the top of her head, "and the great misfortune of watching you stare at him for the last couple of years. Combined with my not inconsiderable ability to put two and two together - "

"I never stared at him!" she insisted, drawing her hand defensively to her chest. "I was nothing but completely faithful to you, Ronald - "

"I know that," he interrupted gently, a rare tone of affection returning to his voice for the first time in months. "I know you were, and I know you loved me."

She withered a little, sighing. "I did," she said softly. "I really did."

"And I loved you," he said adamantly, lifting her chin to look her in the eye. "And I still love you as my best friend, Mione, and I always will. I just - " he paused, a slow, languid grin spreading over his lips. "I look forward to being with someone who actually lets me make them happy."

She smiled at that; a sad smile, at the somewhat deflating idea that they were never going to be Ron and Hermione again, but a smile nonetheless.

"I want that for you," she told him. "I really do."

"And I want you to be with someone who can keep up with you," Ron said, shrugging. "Who _wants_ to keep up with you, I guess I should say," he amended thoughtfully, before looking intently at her. "If that's Malfoy, then fine. He seems to have gotten his overall twatting under control in recent years."

"Ron," Hermione groaned. "Really?"

"His general fuckery has been greatly diminished," Ron said loudly, and she brought her hand to her face, massaging her temple.

"Fine," she said curtly, sensing they'd reached their limit of purposeful discourse. "As long as you're not totally destroyed over it - "

"Broken," Ron said dramatically, feigning a stab to the chest. "Bleeding all over the floor - "

"Then I'm going to go for it," she cut in, lifting her chin. "Give me that," she added, gesturing to his glass, and he relinquished it with a scowl. "I need this."

"I need it more," he grumbled, his eyes straying across the room.

"Why?" Hermione said suspiciously, furrowing her brow as she watched him. "What's going on with you?"

"Nothing," he muttered, clearly lying.

"Ronald," she said warningly, glaring at him.

"Let me just say, I am not going to miss that ball-shriveling look of yours," he said, but at her stomp of impatience, he sighed. "Fine. I just - " he looked at the floor. "I had a thing. Maybe a thing. I don't know."

"What kind of thing?" Hermione asked, nudging him. "Are we talking a crush, or an ulcer?"

"Honestly, both," Ron said, making a face. "Pansy Parkinson," he finally said, scuffing his foot guiltily against the floor.

"Oh," Hermione said, surprised; but upon further reflection, she began nodding slowly. "She is your type," she said slowly. "Controlling and shrill."

"Look what you did to me," Ron sighed in agreement. "I'm ruined."

"Honestly, I think your mother did that," Hermione told him, grimacing. "Well," she sighed, "if I'm going to try something with Draco, I don't see why you wouldn't try something with Pansy." The words sank in and she looked up at him, her expression pained. "Are we insane? Are we terrible masochists?"

" _I_ definitely am," Ron assured her grimly. "I sent Parkinson after some other bloke and now I'm here, talking to you about it."

"Yikes," Hermione said, taking a long sip of wine and letting it linger on her tongue before swallowing. "Well," she said, deciding to be practical, "who was it?"

"Corner," Ron said, gesturing to where he was talking to Pansy. "I don't know why I didn't stop her," he added glumly.

Hermione squinted at where Pansy and Michael were talking. "Oh Ron," Hermione said, shaking her head. "She looks horribly bored." She patted his shoulder, giving him back his glass. "I changed my mind. You probably _do_ need this."

"You think?" he asked distractedly, taking a sip and staring. "That she's bored, I mean."

"Even if she isn't, I assure you, you're the better option," Hermione said, giving him what she hoped was a reassuring smile. "You're a good man, Ronald Weasley."

He chuckled at that. "You're a good woman, Hermione Granger," he replied. "I'm just glad we're done trying to live together."

"Oh god, definitely," she agreed, and nudged him forward. "Go get her."

"Fine," he said, patting her head again. "Have a good night, Mione. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"Please leave," she sighed, and he obliged, taking a last sip of wine and replacing the glass on an empty tray before setting off to where Pansy had been standing.

"And now," Hermione said out loud to nobody in particular, "I think I'll go find myself my own entitled Slytherin."

* * *

"Mhmm," Pansy mumbled indistinctly, listening to Michael Corner go on at length about some sort of real estate investment in Diagon Alley and feeling a bit of fury rise up in her bones at seeing Granger's hand tighten affectionately around Weasley's arm.

Not that Pansy _cared_ , obviously. Not that it mattered. Not that she had spent the last ten minutes with Corner thinking about how curious she was about whether Weasley had actually filled out quite a bit around the shoulders and chest or if it was just her foolish, overactive imagination. She certainly had _not_ been wondering if Weasley would have laughed at her jokes (Corner did not seem to grasp them), or if he had meant what he said about her being pretty. She was quite certain that none of that had happened, was happening, or was ever going to happen.

"Pans," Daphne said breathlessly, suddenly materializing at her side, "have you seen - "

"Oh, Daphne, let me help you!" Pansy cried frantically, grabbing Daphne's arm and turning over her shoulder to call back to Corner. "Sorry, so sorry, friend in need - "

"I'm perfectly fine," Daphne said once they were out of earshot, frowning as she pulled her arm out of Pansy's tight grasp. "What's this?"

"Needed an escape," Pansy sighed. "He's not exactly the thrill of the century," she added, jerking her head to reference Corner.

"Ah, a shame," Daphne said, smirking. "I have to go though, Pans," she said, like she'd just remembered something. "I, um. I just had a very crucial realization, and I - "

"What?" Pansy asked, squinting at her. "Is everything okay?"

"I think so," Daphne said slowly. "Or at least, it will be. It's just - "

"Yes?" Pansy prompted, nudging her. "What is it?"

"I think I'm in love with Theo," Daphne said thoughtfully.

"You are," Pansy agreed, nodding. "I thought you knew that."

"I didn't!" Daphne insisted, shocked. "What do you mean you thought I _knew_ that?"

"I don't know, it seemed obvious," Pansy said, shrugging. "Is that all?"

"I mean, I guess so," Daphne muttered uncertainly. "I guess I didn't think I'd find love somewhere it wasn't supposed to be," she grumbled. "Specifically, right in front of me."

"I know the feeling," Pansy agreed, grimacing, "considering I think I might be interested in Weasley, but only figured that out after I left him to talk to someone else."

If Daphne was startled by the admission, she wisely did not show it.

"At least you didn't first fail to realize he wrote a book for you, and then proceed to insult it to his face," Daphne ventured tentatively.

"I didn't do that, no," Pansy replied. "Though, to be fair, I did violate his face."

"Violate it more," Daphne offered, shrugging. "Like, with your mouth."

"What?" Pansy exclaimed.

"To be totally honest, I'm not sure what I was specifically trying to accomplish with my phrasing, but my intent remains," Daphne mused pleasantly. "Why not just go for it?"

"Oh, I don't know," Pansy began, "maybe because I truly did not intend to fall in love with anyone tonight, and I'm very adamant about not letting him complete me?"

"That . . . seems a bit much for the first night," Daphne sighed. "I really just meant sex."

"Oh," Pansy said, relieved. "That I can probably manage."

She opened her mouth to say more, but felt her stomach lurch as Daphne's eyes widened at something over her shoulder.

"He's coming," Daphne whispered, squealing a little and leaning in to kiss Pansy's cheek. "Good luck."

Pansy, true to form, panicked. "I - Daph, wait - "

"Hi," Weasley said, sidling up to her as Daphne quietly slipped away. "I, um. I may have done something stupid."

"Don't blame yourself, Weasley," Pansy said instantly, falling back on her chronic acerbity. "It's not your fault you were born colorblind," she offered, gesturing to his terrible dress robes.

"I happen to know for a fact that this is a great color on me," he insisted, pouting.

"Did your mother tell you that?" Pansy countered breathlessly. "She lied."

"Okay, what is with - you know what? Nevermind," he sighed, shaking his head. "Glossing over the continuous slights on my mother - "

"What did you do?" Pansy asked quietly. "The stupid thing, I mean. Other than this haircut," she added, reaching up to fuss with a particularly mussed up section.

He seemed to be holding his breath as her fingers brushed over his hair. "I may have," he began, clearing his throat, "failed to have stopped you from talking to Corner. Which may or may not have been stupid," he added, as she brought her hand back to her side, fidgeting in her unexpected struggle not to reach for him, "considering that I would have preferred that you continue talking to me."

"I can talk now," she offered, looking at the floor. "I mean, I'm obviously very busy," she amended quickly, "but if it means you'd be willing to consider a serious conversation about your fashion sense - "

"Stop," he said quietly, reaching out to brush his thumb across her lower lip. "I want to talk to you," he offered, "or not talk. Whatever you want. But I don't want to pretend with you." He took another step towards her and she felt something terrifying course through her veins; she clutched his arms like stairway railings, trying not to fall.

"Obviously I have some kind of severe head trauma," he murmured, "but I don't care. I like you. I want to understand you. I want to learn the things you like, because I bet they're bloody weird and interesting."

"They are," she agreed, swallowing.

"I don't particularly want you to hit me again, but I do want to make you laugh. I want to make you feel beautiful," he added, his eyes scanning her face, "and I want you to believe me when I say it."

"And if I don't?" she asked, struggling to find her voice.

"Then you don't," he said softly, "and I'll try again tomorrow."

"I'm not good at tomorrows," she warned him. "I don't trust them."

"I'm pretty shit at them too," he replied, shrugging. "But I've done scarier things before. Followed a trail of spiders once," he said with a shudder. "Did _not_ care for it."

She hesitated for a moment. The last thing she wanted was for this to go badly; to be humiliated by Ron Weasley would be a disaster to outdo all possible romantic disasters. It would be mortification and tragedy all rolled up in one, and she couldn't bear the thought of him knowing how much he had eased her ailing, or the chance that he might see through all the pieces of herself she had carefully constructed to keep people out.

But then, she was equally afraid that if she didn't take a chance now, she might never rid herself of her thoughts of him. She might never feel his lips on her skin, and that, out of everything, just seemed too impossible to fathom.

She didn't want to let him go.

"Is there somewhere you can meet me?" she asked, and a smile slowly stole across his face.

* * *

"What the fuck do you mean goodbye?" Blaise asked again, releasing her to pull away, leaping to his feet and angrily zipping his trousers. "You can't be serious, Ginevra - "

"Stop calling me that!" she exclaimed, struggling to her feet and haughtily lifting her chin. "I don't know why you do it - "

"Ginny is a child's name, and sometimes I want you to behave like an adult," he snapped, crossing his arms. "Is that so hard to believe?"

"Would you please stop being so patronizing?" she huffed back. "You can't fuck me and then call me a child. It's intolerable."

"Explain yourself," Blaise pressed again, trying to bite back his rising temper. It was utterly impossible to have a conversation with her that didn't make him want to shake her or kiss her, and it was particularly unbearable when he couldn't distinguish between the two.

"I can't be with you," she said stubbornly, staring him down from her diminutive height. "I can't. It doesn't make sense."

" _What_ doesn't make sense?" he asked, letting his head drop in exasperation. He was embarrassed by the pleading in his voice, but far too exhausted to hide it. "How can _we_ not make sense to you, Ginny?"

"That's - that's not it," she said quietly, sobering a little at his obvious pain. "It's not you, Blaise, it's - "

"Don't," he warned, thinking he would spontaneously combust if she said what he thought she would. "Don't do it."

"I just ended a long relationship," she sighed. "I can't invest in something right now. I just can't." She looked down, looking vulnerable and beautiful and pulling effortlessly at his heart. "We need to be apart."

"I don't want to be apart," Blaise said mechanically. "I've been away from you long enough."

"Blaise, I - "

"No," he said, and she winced at his volume. "No. Don't I get a say? Don't my feelings count?"

"You're yelling," she said stiffly, grabbing his arm and yanking him into one of the classrooms on the first floor. She cast a quick _muffliato_ before turning back to him, placing her hands on his shoulders. "You need to calm down," she told him, which only served to infuriate him further.

"How can I possibly calm down?" he countered, taking advantage of the silencing spell to shout to his heart's content. "I'm tired of being in love with you, Ginevra, I'm fucking sick of waiting for you - "

"Love?" she repeated, dumbfounded. "Did you - "

"Yes, I said love!" he spat bitterly, looking everywhere but at her. "I've been in love with you for months. Fuck, I've been in love with you for years. Not that that seems to matter to you in any conceivable way," he added, glowering at her.

"Well - I, that's not - " she sputtered, stumbling backwards. "You - I wasn't - "

"You, Ginevra Weasley, are beautiful, and intelligent, and violent and quick-tempered and _alive_ ," he said, advancing on her. "I would be blind and stupid not to love you."

"You shouldn't," she said nervously, tearing at her lip with her teeth. "I'm - I don't know if I -"

"What?" he demanded, taking another step towards her.

"Stop that," she said instantly, brandishing her wand at him. "Don't come any closer."

"Or what?" he scoffed, though he paused in his progression. "You'll hit me with another bat-bogey hex?"

"I might," she snarled. "I've improved them."

"Just tell me the truth, Ginevra," he begged. "Just tell me what you're feeling because I promise - " he took one tentative step. "I _promise_ I won't leave you if you do."

"I don't like this," she said, teeth gritted. "I feel too exposed."

"I was inside you earlier," he reminded her, in case she'd forgotten; though the covetous look on her face told him she had not.

"I'm just afraid," she said slowly, "that if we try to start something right now - if we were in an actual relationship - "

She looked up at him, terrified, and he took another step towards her, nodding reassuringly.

"Go on," he said, and she sighed.

"I'm just afraid you won't like me if you have me all the time," she whispered.

"Ginevra," he sighed, reaching out to trace the line of her jaw. "You fool."

At that, her eyes widened in frustration. "I'm trying to be honest with you!" she sputtered, swatting his hand away. "You asked me to tell you the truth, and I _am -_ "

"I know that, and I'm telling you that you're a fool!" he snapped. "Aren't you listening to me? I'm in _love_ with you - "

"How can you know that?" she pressed. "You've never lived with me - you've never been there when I've left the dishes in the sink for three days in a row, or decided not to fold the laundry, or forgotten to wash my hair - "

"So I'll learn," he retorted impatiently. "I'll learn to love those parts of you because I am so fucking captivated by the rest." He paused to glare at her for good measure. "Why is it so hard for you to accept that I might love you?"

"Because - because you're _you_!" she insisted, smacking his chest. "You're bloody perfect, and I couldn't ever measure up - "

"You're insane," he said tightly. "Would you like to see my flaws? I have a temper, for one thing," he seethed. "And for another, I process most of my emotions through my dick."

She stared at him.

"You're going to fuck me on this desk, aren't you?" Ginny demanded, backing into it as she finally ran out of room to escape him.

"Probably!" Blaise shouted back, scowling.

"Either I'm in love with you, or I'm going to murder you later," Ginny determined, glaring at him as he picked her up, depositing her roughly on the desk behind her.

"Fine by me," he growled, making good on his promise.

* * *

Luna was fully in his arms now and Harry was beginning to realize that he wished he'd tried it sooner.

"Did you make a wish?" he asked, and she looked up, smiling.

"I did," she said, and he wondered how it had not occurred to him to look at her this closely before. In the castle's dim lighting she was practically glowing in the dark, and he found it breathtaking. "Did you?"

"Um," he said, pausing. "No, actually."

She tilted her head thoughtfully. "Why not?"

"I - " he paused, thinking it through. "I guess because I can't think of anything else I want," he realized, the clarity suddenly dawning on him; the unspeakable _rarity_ of the fulfillment he currently had. He'd been dreading this night, had been so _sure_ it would be awkward and uncomfortable, and instead, this was the most relaxed he'd been in months. "Besides," he said, trying to shake the immensity of that recognition from his mind as he realized she was waiting for an answer, "you're really not supposed to say your wish out loud, anyway."

Luna gave a little giggle. "Oh Harry," she said, giving him a look. "You know muggle jinxes aren't real."

"I - what?" he asked, laughing. "You mean, like wrackspurts?"

"Oh no, wrackspurts are definitely real," she said solemnly. "They look sort of like - "

He wasn't sure what came over him but he couldn't wait any longer to kiss her, and so he didn't. Her lips were soft and full and tasted like strawberries and she was so pliant in his arms; he felt a pang of something, some sharp opposition to the idea that she had gotten all done up for someone who wasn't him, and he held on tighter, pulling her closer, tangling his fingers in her dirty blonde hair. She kissed him back with the kind of breathless desperation that he felt he'd been waiting his whole life for, and when they broke apart, he couldn't help but hate himself for _missing it_ for so long.

"Like I was saying," she managed, "they look a bit like nargles, only the wings are - "

"You are so full of hot nonsense," he gasped appreciatively, and she laughed, bringing her lips back to his as his hands found their way to her hips, pulling her against him.

To his surprise, her hands found the button of his trousers, making quick work of the zipper and taking him in her hand.

"Oh," he said, startled. "Are you sure that you, um - "

"You don't want to?" she asked innocently, sliding her palm against him in a slow, languid stroke. "Would you prefer to wait?"

"I - " he swallowed, trying not to cry out as she brushed her thumb against the tip. "I mean, I suppose I'm not particularly busy at the moment - "

"I suspect it's always been you for me, Harry Potter," she mused absently, her grey eyes wide with sincerity as she looked at him. "Personally, I think it's been you from the beginning."

 _Oh god, oh god, oh god -_ "I think you're right," he said, and once he said it, he realized he meant it. "It was you from the beginning," he repeated, stunned. "I mean, I was hoping you'd be here, I didn't even realize - "

She smiled. "If there's one thing I know about you," she said, taking his hand and bringing it to the neckline of her gown, "it's that you eventually figure it out."

* * *

"Draco," Granger breathed in relief, appearing out of nowhere and panting, like she'd run there. "There you are."

"There _I_ am?" Draco echoed in disbelief, and Theo fought a laugh at his expression, which was nearly identical to Narcissa's look of indignation. "Granger, I was sitting here composing your eulogy," he sniffed. "I was starting to think you might have fucking fallen off the tower - "

"Theo," Daphne said breathlessly, emerging from the opposite side of the courtyard, "I have to - Oh," she exclaimed in surprise, catching sight of Granger and smiling. "Oh, good for you."

"Oh, hi," Granger said, her cheeks flushing slightly. "Yes, um - same, I guess."

"You know, I had a dream like this once," Theo remarked, smirking as he let his eyes flick between the two witches.

"Tell me I wasn't there," Draco said, making a face.

"No, you were definitely there," Theo said, shrugging. "And you liked it."

" _Please_ don't give me any reason to regret anything I say before I even say it," Daphne sighed, and Granger ducked her head to hide a laugh, reaching out a hand for Draco.

"Come on," she said softly. "Let me explain?"

Draco flashed Theo an impish grin and winked before dramatically accepting. "Fine," he said, feigning misery. "Though this had better be _good_ , Granger."

She rolled her eyes and gripped his hand, pulling him towards the castle.

"I like her," Theo said aloud, nodding.

"Me too, actually," Daphne noted, watching Draco and Granger disappear.

"Don't tell Pansy," they said at once, and then both looked down shyly, realizing they were alone again.

"So," Daphne said, clasping her hands and looking down at them. "There are some things I need to say to you."

"Same," Theo said, wincing preemptively. "I wasn't entirely fair, I think - "

"Oh no," Daphne interrupted, looking up. "No, Theo, this one's on me - "

" - there's a lot I didn't tell you, and I can't have expected - "

" - I'm the one who didn't read your book, which was so stupid, but now I've - "

" - you shouldn't have to guess my feelings, Daph, I was being ridiculous - "

" - finally looked at it, and I had this realization, but Theo - "

" - the thing is, Daphne, I just - "

" - I'm in love with you," they said in unison, and then they promptly forgot how to breathe.

"What?" they both said. "You go first," they added in chorus, and Theo made a motion to his lips, promising silence and gesturing for her to go ahead.

"Theo," she said quietly, "why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I'm a fucking fool," he asserted, but at her pleading glance, he sighed. "Because I didn't want to hear you tell me you didn't feel the same way," he confessed. "I've just spent so much of my life being in love with you that I thought - stupidly, of course," he said, and she nodded, "that maybe if I could just show you in some hugely significant way, then maybe you might feel the same." He shook his head. "Believe me, the error of my ways has been made clear to me in several different forms today, your rejection included."

"Rejection," she echoed, and smiled. "No, Theo." She came towards him, placing her hands on his hips. "Not at all."

 _Well,_ he thought, _that sounds bewilderingly like a good thing._

"I'm going to need you to explain that," Theo said slowly. "Possibly over-explain. Imagine you're speaking to a simpleton," he added. "Or even someone just slightly thicker, like Draco."

"Theo," she said, smiling up at him. "Hush."

He nodded.

"The thing is," she began hesitantly, "I think you know as well as I do that my family's expectations are . . . rigid," she determined, and he nodded again. "I was told a long time ago that you were never going to be an option for me, and I think I heard it so much that I started to believe it."

"I'm sorry," he mumbled helplessly, and she reached up, taking his face in her hands.

"No, you shouldn't be," she said, and her hazel eyes took on the fiery, blazing glimmer that he had always loved. "Because the reason I couldn't see what was right in front of me is the same reason I'm ashamed of the fact that I managed to build a life for myself. That old pureblood garbage," she said, waving her hand like she wished to shove it away from her. "All it did was keep me from seeing what was _so obvious,_ and it keeps me from being proud of myself now. But I love you," she said, her eyes wide, and he wondered for a moment if he might just collapse in her hands. "You've always been there for me, you're the person I want to tell when good things happen to me, you're the only one who makes me better when I'm sad - "

"You're the same, for me," he murmured, and she nodded fiercely.

"There was a moment when you walked away that I thought I might never have you back in my life," she admitted miserably. "And I swear, I missed you more in those few minutes than I've ever missed anyone in my entire life."

He swallowed hard, still wondering if any of this could possibly be real.

"We belong together, Theo Nott, and to hell with my mother," Daphne said, a tear slipping from the corner of her eye. "I'll get Astoria out from her house and help her make a life of her own, I'm going to stop worrying about what all the fucking purebloods think, and I'm - " she stopped, her voice breaking as she started to cry. "And I want to be with you, Theo, if you want me - "

"Are you kidding?" he gasped, pulling her into his arms. "Daphne Greengrass, are you fucking insane? I want you," he said firmly, bending to kiss her cheeks, her nose, her eyes, her lips. "Of _course_ I want you - I wrote a fucking _book_ for you - "

"I read a bit of it," Daphne admitted, sniffling. "It's beautiful, Theo - "

"Fuck the book," he said loudly, pulling away to look her in the eye. "It doesn't mean anything if I can't just tell you that I love you. That I've loved you since the moment I saw you," he said, shouting it for everyone else to hear, and she laughed, wiping a stray tear from her cheek, before he lowered his lips to her ear. "And I will love you for the rest of my life," he promised her, bending to press a kiss to her shoulder.

"Is this what happens at the end of your book?" she asked hopefully, then grimaced. "I'm sorry I haven't read it yet," she sighed, "but I will, I promise - "

" _This is for you_ ," he recited, knowing the end by heart. " _I don't care if it fails; go on and tear me apart. Because for me, you light up the dark; whether you want it or not, my heart is yours. And if I die in your arms_ ," he finished, pulling back and lifting her chin to look in her eyes, " _you'll be my sky, you'll be my stars_."

He took a deep breath, letting his fingers travel the beautiful curve of her cheek. " _And what a heavenly view_ ," he finished as she raised herself onto her toes, bringing her lips to his.

"That was so beautiful," she whispered, before hanging her head slightly. "And now I feel bad, because I know I should say something equally beautiful," she admitted sheepishly, "but all I really want to do at this point is have sex with you - "

"Oh, fuck, poetry to my ears," he said, grabbing her hand. "Let's go."

* * *

"So," Draco drawled, suddenly quite grateful to have a reasonable show of indignation with which to hide behind. "What happened?"

"Sit, please," Granger said, patting the spot on the bench next to her.

"I don't know if that's a good idea for you," he sighed, taking a seat. "Easier for you to run away if we're standing."

"That," she said carefully, "was a one time thing. I promise."

"Well, I don't know about you," he sniffed, "but I think that I deserve - _mphmph_ "

He was abruptly cut off as she grabbed his face, pulling him towards her and kissing him with the kind of vigor he wouldn't have previously assumed she possessed. "Shut up," she gasped, and then she was kissing him again and he promptly abandoned his charade, gripping her hair with one hand and her waist with the other, pulling her impossibly close until she was almost sitting in his lap, the skirt of her gown spread over his legs.

"There is a chance," she began slowly, pulling away with her eyes still closed, "that I did not handle the situation quite as well as I might have done if I were thinking straight."

"I forgive you," he said at once, reaching hungrily for her again, but she stopped him with a laugh.

"No, I owe you an explanation," she said, and he growled in frustration.

"Granger, you're pushing me to insanity," he muttered. "But fine, by all means, explain - I'll just sit here and suffer - "

"I'll fix it later," she promised, and he huffed his agreement. "Just - listen?"

"Listening," he confirmed gruffly, shifting his grip around her so that she was now indeed sitting on his lap, perched there like she had always been meant to curl inside his arms.

"I only broke up with Ron a couple of weeks ago," she said, and he made a face at Weasley's name. "No, don't make that face - it's just that it wasn't _that_ long ago, and I was very, _very_ alarmed by how much I enjoyed kissing you. Which I did," she repeated adamantly. "Enjoy it, I mean. A lot."

"And plan to do more of," he offered, prompting a nod.

"Definitely," she agreed. "But you have to understand, it was scary," she said tentatively, and he buried his face in her shoulder, content to let her get her thoughts out. "I don't think I realized quite how long I've - " she stopped, biting her lip. "How long I've had feelings for you, I guess."

"You guess?" he prodded, hoping for certainty.

"Well, I _know_ ," she said, looking a little sulky at having to admit it even as he silently boasted his triumph. "I have feelings for you, which was made very clear to me when I kissed you. Which is what I need to bring up now, because I'm sorry," she added, twisting around to look at him. "If that's not what you want - feelings, I mean - "

"If all I want is sex?" he clarified, frowning.

"Yes. If that's all you want, I don't think I can do it," she determined grimly, staring fixedly at her lap. "Because the truth is, I've really started to make up reasons to go to your office," she confessed, looking at him regretfully. "I mean, you can't possibly think I need your signature on that many things."

"I had wondered," he admitted, chuckling.

"And I'm finally admitting to myself why that is," she said firmly. "So," she sighed, giving him a pointed look, "in conclusion, either you want me, and we do this thing for real, or - "

"Hermione Granger, if you can't see how wholly infatuated I am with you, then you are hardly the witch I thought you were," he informed her, squaring his shoulders and holding her closer in the same motion. "I want you to be mine immediately. I want you to be mine yesterday. I want to go back in time, steal you from under Weasley's nose, and have woken up with you this morning - "

"How about tomorrow morning?" she cut in breathlessly, and he let out a loud groan, pulling her towards him.

"I hope that's a promise," he muttered, resting his forehead against hers. "Because hell if I'm letting you go now."

He felt her smile, and a warm contentment settled itself in his chest.

"Oh," Granger said after a moment, nudging him. "Look."

Theo and Daphne emerged from the courtyard holding hands, half-running back through the castle.

"Hey," Draco called out to them, "where are you - "

"Going to catch the portkey," Theo supplied, not slowing down. "Very important business to take care of immediately."

"Let's do lunch tomorrow!" Daphne called brightly - " _I'm going to marry this girl_ ," Theo mouthed to Draco, pointing gleefully at Daphne's head - and Granger nodded back, smiling.

"What did he mean, catch the portkey?" Draco asked after they'd disappeared inside the castle, turning to look at Granger.

"In the literal sense? I think he meant the portkey to the Three Broomsticks," Granger said. "We set up a few in case people were interested in staying the night. Rather than drinking and apparating, you know, and risking splinching."

"And in the metaphorical sense?" Draco prompted, smirking.

"Ah, sex, I think," Granger supplied, her cheeks reddening deliciously. "I imagine, anyway."

"Hm," Draco said, clearing his throat. "I don't suppose _you_ would find that portkey interesting, would you?"

"Well, there's another one in thirty minutes," Granger supplied primly, letting her hand drift confusingly to the band of his trousers.

"And until then?" Draco asked, deflating slightly. "Shall we talk more about our feelings?"

"Oh, no," Granger said, laughing. "I'm pretty sold on you, Draco Malfoy."

He couldn't fight a triumphant smirk at that.

"Actually," she continued, "I was thinking we could revisit the Astronomy Tower. The view, you know," she explained, shrugging, and he felt a slow smile spread across his face. "I have a proclivity for heights and, um," she coughed delicately, letting her finger linger on the zipper of his pants. "Recreation."

"Don't be so coy, Granger," he murmured in her ear. "If you want me to fuck you in the tower, all you have to do is ask."

"Please," she purred in his ear, and he leapt to his feet, thinking he'd never heard anything more wonderful than her laughter as it filled the corridor.

* * *

"Okay," Ginny sighed, sitting up from where she'd been laying across the desk. "Fine. Let's date."

"Well, please," Blaise drawled snobbily, "don't smother me with your enthusiasm."

"No fuckery, do you hear me?" she told him, sternly pointing a finger in his face. "No flirting with other witches. No being stupidly handsome all the time and running off with someone better."

"Finding someone better? Impossible," he said, smirking. "Someone more sane, possibly, but why would I want that? So boring," he murmured, kissing her neck.

"Don't toy with me," she warned him. "This is what you get, okay? Insanity." She waved her hand around aimlessly. "Unbridled madness."

"Ginevra," he murmured in her ear, and she shivered, furious with his effect on her, desperate to have it forever. "I want you. Only you," he added, kissing the other side of her neck, "and all of you."

"You're cool, but I'm cooler," she reminded him. "You're pretty, but I'm cuter."

"And smarter," he offered. "And _mine_ ," he concluded emphatically, taking her in his arms to accentuate the point.

"And yours," she said, feigning a resigned sigh and smiling when she knew he couldn't see.

He held her hand as they walked back to the Great Hall and she let him, deciding it wasn't so bad, really. Being loved. Being loved by _him_ , specifically. Her love with Harry was always rooted in a frustrating inequity, in the owing of her life to him, and in her childish obsession. It had stretched and waned as they aged, and then it didn't fit her anymore, like a jumper she'd adored but outgrown.

But Blaise was different, she realized, sneaking a glimpse at him. There were no exhausted concessions to please her. There was no letting her unreasonable expectations get the better of him. They fought, yes, but there was some understanding, for her, that he was eternally on her side. That he understood her, for all her gaps and rhythms.

As if he knew what she was thinking, he squeezed her hand tightly, and she smiled.

"Shall we take the portkey?" he asked. "I mean, I'm aware we've already - "

"Let's," she determined with a nod.

"You're insatiable, Ginevra," he said, shaking his head, and Ginny turned at a loud gagging sound.

"Sorry," Pansy sniffed falsely. "Something in my throat."

"Heading to the Three Broomsticks, Pans?" Blaise asked smoothly, tucking an arm around Ginny. "Alone?" he added, his face expressionless.

"Yes and yes," she said pompously, just as they caught up with Theo Nott and Daphne Greengrass.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Blaise pronounced, eyeing them. "Did this finally happen?"

"It did," Nott declared, bowing. Daphne backhanded him in the stomach, sighing loudly.

"Oh, look how sad all the other girls are," Pansy said, smirking wickedly and gesturing. They were, indeed, quite crestfallen, Ginny noted with an inward laugh. She didn't know Blaise's friends well, but had some concept of their dynamic - and there was, of course, no getting around the obvious fame of Theo Nott's book.

Ginny had read it, of course, and devoured it. It wasn't _erotica,_ per se, but if she concentrated hard enough -

"So this is a thing?" Daphne asked, smiling between Ginny and Blaise. "I like it, I think."

"As do I," Blaise nodded, and he nudged Ginny forward, offering her access to the portkey. "Just a few seconds, right? Is it midnight on the nose?"

Ginny heard someone confirm the time for him but was distracted by Pansy, who was eyeing something in her hand; it was a note of some kind, and the thin, spindly handwriting looked oddly familiar.

"Hey," Ginny said loudly, blinking in disbelief and pointing to Pansy's note with her free hand, "is that from my - "

"Oops, off we go!" Pansy said loudly, turning bright red as they were all sucked through the air with an uncomfortable slurp.

* * *

Ron started to fidget while he waited, wondering if she had changed her mind. They'd agreed it was best not to disappear together - too many questions, obviously, and they were in such a fragile state of only just barely not hating each other anymore - but he wished he hadn't been the one to leave first. He'd mildly enjoyed the walk to Hogsmeade, as it had given him plenty of time to think, of course; not that he'd done much thinking about anything other than loosening Pansy's dark hair from its complicated twist, letting it fall around her bare shoulders, reaching down to her breasts -

He coughed, trying not to delve any further. Wouldn't do for her to walk in on him already at attention.

He stood, pacing the room. This would be terrible for him if she didn't show up, he thought with a grimace, just as a key turned in the lock and she slipped in the door.

"Sorry," she said, pressing the door shut behind her and backing against it. "I, um, had a bit of an encounter with your sister."

Ron blinked. "Please don't bring her up ever again," he said, now trying to clear the image of Ginny from the room he hoped to have sex in.

Pansy grinned, and the pure wickedness of it was enough to put any other thoughts aside. Ron cleared his throat, eyeing her.

"I'm glad you came," he said hoarsely, stepping towards her.

He expected a snotty remark, but she flushed brilliantly, accepting the hand that he offered her and gesturing for him to put it around her waist.

"I guess I decided you look well on me," she returned, and a smile sparked across her face.

"Funny," he commented. "I'm hoping to see how you look on me."

"Oh, wordplay," she noted silkily. "Nice."

"I thought you might like it," he said, realizing as her eyes glittered in the low light of the room that this, for her, was foreplay. "The wordplay. Seems up your alley."

"It's a lifestyle, Weasley, not a party game," she said breathlessly as he reached around, slowly dragging the zipper down her spine.

"Ron," he corrected her, leaning forward to speak in her ear. "I'm going to want you to say my name," he explained, feeling a rush of something inexplicable as he watched her shoulders tense at his voice.

She slipped the dress off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor with an audible drop, and he felt his jaw go with it.

"Damn, Parkinson," he gasped, and she bit back a laugh, pulling him by his tie.

"It's Pansy," she told him, falling back onto the bed and pulling him on top of her. "I'm going to want you to say my name," she whispered, and he murmured it against her skin well into the night.

* * *

There was no doubt about it. Harry Potter was _exceptionally_ skilled with his penis. Though he did not seem comfortable with that information when she offered it to him, and Luna could not fathom why.

"Really," she said breathlessly, as she loosened her legs from around his hips and he pressed her one last time against the wall, cutting her off with a kiss. "That was quite inspired, Harry. I'm remarkably satisfied."

"I'm glad, I think," he replied uncomfortably, though he did look relieved on some level.

"I worry I'm not accurately expressing myself," she mused, closing her eyes as aftershocks continued to flood through her. "I think in the interest of accuracy, I should lean towards _ecstatic_ , really, but the connotation there isn't quite spot on, or so I'm given to understand - "

"Luna," Harry interrupted, yanking her to him and kissing her slowly, biting down softly on her lip before pulling away to smile at her. "You can just say the sex was good."

"Good?" she echoed dubiously, letting herself sway towards him. "Are you sure, Harry? That seems underwhelming."

"Colloquially, you could say the sex was fucking fantastic," he amended. "Which it was," he added, looking a little hungry at the statement.

She paused, thinking.

"The sex was fucking fantastic," she determined with a nod, smiling as he threw his head back with laughter.

"Come on," he said, pulling her under his arm and leading her back toward the Great Hall. "Let's go see what's left of this reunion."

Luna couldn't help noting how comfortable it was to walk with him, fitted snugly under his arm like a puzzle piece; she was also relieved to see that he was free of any wrackspurts or nargles, and the smile on his face was both handsome and gratifying.

She decided she would have to tuck away the muggle wishing concept. Evidently time symmetry was indeed quite crucial to good fortune.

"Oh, Mr Potter," Professor McGonagall said, approaching swiftly, Lee Jordan at her heels. "I had hoped you would be around for closing remarks, but - "

"Where is everyone?" Harry asked, looking around in confusion. The Great Hall was completely emptied, despite the room being littered with empty wine glasses and vacant floating trays.

"Gone, it appears," McGonagall replied with an audible sigh. "I am unsure whether to determine this event a success or failure, to be quite frank - "

"Success," Harry said instantly, and Luna caught a flicker of a smile. "Definitely a success."

"Mm," McGonagall said, suddenly eyeing the two of them with suspicion.

"What are you doing here, Lee?" Harry asked curiously, turning to him. "Wasn't your reunion - "

"Oh, McGona-girl here thought she might need a host," Lee replied jovially, nudging her with an impish grin. "It appears she may have overestimated her ability to throw a party."

"Oh, I don't think that's the problem," Luna informed him, surveying the room and recalling the very interesting energy that had tingled between the guests at the beginning of the night. "I imagine you've simply lost them all to congress."

"Congress?" McGonagall echoed, blinking vacantly. "Whatever do you - "

"Hermione!" Harry said loudly, catching her oncoming form and waving his arms manically. "Good, you're still here."

"Hi Harry," she said breathlessly, pulling Draco Malfoy in her wake. They both seemed consummately tousled, Luna thought, tilting her head in amusement as she eyed the pretty brunette and her uncharacteristically relaxed companion. _About time,_ Luna thought with pleasure, thoroughly relieved to see that Hermione had finally been rid of her stray snabberwitches.

"Speaking of congress," Luna exclaimed in delight, and Harry immediately wrapped her in a very tight hug, entirely eliminating her capacity for speech.

"Well, I suppose we should all head out for the evening," McGonagall said stiffly, eyeing the messy hall. "The elves have all been promised double wages for this, so might as well leave them to their work."

"Oh, lovely," Hermione said brightly. "It really was a wonderful evening, Professor," she added, flush with happiness. "Very special."

McGonagall's gaze flicked skeptically between Hermione and Draco. "I'm going to leave," she sniffed, "before I find out anything I don't want to know."

"That's probably best," Draco agreed, smirking, and McGonagall promptly disappeared, Lee following at her heels.

"Huh," Hermione said, staring after them. "Is it just me, or did that seem like - "

"Congress," Harry supplied, and Luna giggled in his arms.

"Was the sex fucking fantastic?" she asked them, and though Hermione reddened considerably, Draco seemed glad of the question.

"It was," he declared. "Life-alteringly fantastic. Explosively, uninhibitedly, unadulteratedly - "

"We should leave," Hermione cut in instantly, and Harry nodded.

"Let's go," he said, sighing, though he seemed secretly quite pleased. He wove his fingers between Luna's, squeezing them gently.

She smiled.

All was well.

* * *

 **a/n:** THE END. Not my neatest ending, but hey, there's a Hermione masturbation joke in there. This one's for nvrlnd-xassy, dr sally, and mechengmama - thank you for your song suggestions! I fear I am missing someone but I fervently hope I am not. Did you guys catch all the embedded songs?


	26. Chimera

**Chimera**

 _Pairing:_ Sevmione (Severus Snape x Hermione Granger)

 _Universe:_ EXTREMELY AU. _So_ AU, in fact, that I do not have an explanation for where it takes place.

 _Rating:_ M for language, sex

 _Summary:_ Hermione Granger was a grad student until she woke up in some other world, where a handsome man and his eerily persuasive mother have taken her under their wing. She can't remember who she is or how she got there, but she does know that the surly stranger with a high place in court is not to be trusted . . . _probably_.

A gift for my friend oblivionbaby, both for being the thousandth review on _Clean_ (!) and for being an overall delight. Plot heavily influenced by the book _The Thinking Woman's Guide to Real Magic_ by Emily Croy Barker.

* * *

 **Chimera | noun, \kī-ˈmir-ə, kə-\**

 _Def: a horrible or unreal creature of the imagination; a vain or idle fancy;  
_ _i.e., he is far different from the chimera your fears have made of him._

* * *

"What's this?" Merope asked impishly, nudging the thing's foot. "Did you put this here?"

"Of course not, Mother," Tom said smoothly, chuckling fondly at her foolishness. "Why would I?"

"A girl, is it?" Merope said primly, her hands on her hips. "What kind?"

"A human kind, I presume," Tom supplied with a sigh, bending to look at her. "Sort of pretty, I suppose." He stood. "Or will be, once you've finished."

"Too much hair," Merope sniffed in displeasure. "Good size, though."

"I think she'll be interesting for a time, don't you?" Tom asked whimsically. "You've been so bored lately, anyway."

"True," Merope agreed, sneaking a sharp kick at the girl's leg to see if she'd notice. "When will she wake?"

"Soon, I'm sure," Tom said indifferently, tiring of the conversation. "I've got to run, Mother, but you'll take care of her, won't you?"

"I suppose if I'm to be so tasked," she permitted, letting him kiss her cheek before he strode forward, his boots echoing through the vast, cavernous corridors of the castle.

"Now then," she said, bending again to look at her. "Yuck," Merope said to nobody in particular, making a face. " _Far_ too much hair," she mumbled, brushing her skirts aside as she started her work.

* * *

There are two ways to wake, as far as Hermione Granger is concerned. One is slow and comfortable, wherein one opens one's eyes to find one is in the precise location one would expect to be. The bedroom in which one falls asleep, for example. Such is the preferred waking.

The other, of course, is with a start, like a cannon explosion, wherein one is entirely disoriented, and forcefully bolts upright. That, of course, was how Hermione awoke to her new life.

"What happened?" she gasped, frantically trying to wiggle her way out of a set of tightly tucked silk sheets. "Why am I - "

There was a small _tsk_ from the corner of the room and Hermione looked up to find a beautiful woman she had never seen before; her skin was startlingly pale and her eyes, the most distinctive and alluring Hermione had ever seen, were dark and slightly unfocused.

"Too loud," the woman said impatiently, making a childish face of disapproval. She perched herself lightly on the bed - _impossibly_ lightly, Hermione thought, wondering how she did not feel the shift of weight beside her - and reached over, placing her hands on either side of Hermione's face.

"Um," Hermione said, swallowing with discomfort, "what exactly are you - "

"Quiet," the woman instructed briskly. "You will be quiet, yes?"

"Yes?" Hermione offered, and the woman shook her head unhappily.

"Say it," she demanded. "Say, 'I will be quiet.'"

"I will be quiet," Hermione repeated, and she was startled to find that her tone had suddenly deepened in timbre, her voice taking on the kind of soothing, melodic strum she'd always secretly envied in other women. "Oh," she said, and the other woman nodded with satisfaction, removing her hands.

"Good," she said, suddenly clapping her hands with glee. "Excellent."

"Sorry," Hermione said slowly, "but could you tell me who you are, please?"

"Merope," the woman said, "and we have to get you ready."

"Ready?" Hermione echoed blankly. "For . . . what?"

"The ball!" Merope declared jubilantly, rising to her feet. "We have _ever_ so much work to do."

"A ball?" Hermione repeated.

" _The_ ball," Merope corrected, pausing to rest a hand on Hermione's head. "Listen better."

"Okay," Hermione replied numbly, wondering why she was now seeming to hang on Merope's every word, as though her body urgently _ached_ to hear the other woman speak. "The ball?"

"Yes," Merope said curtly. "The ball where you'll meet my son."

"Your son?" Hermione asked, her voice shaky with confusion. "Is he very young?"

As far as Hermione could tell, Merope looked scarcely older than she was.

"Oh no, my son is a man," Merope said quickly. "A human man," she added, as though that were in question. Somehow, Hermione didn't think it safe to ask. "I think," Merope added slowly, "if I do a good enough job - which I will," she amended confidently, "then perhaps you should marry my son."

Hermione made a low, strangled noise of protest. "But," she sputtered, and then Merope's hand was on her head again, soothing her.

"Don't fuss," Merope said with a sigh, narrowing her eyes in displeasure. "It's tiresome."

"Okay," Hermione agreed, feeling dizzy as Merope withdrew her hand and set about the room, which Hermione realized was a vast, elegant bedroom lined with floor to ceiling windows, each of which overlooked a stunning, palatial garden. "But does your son _want_ to marry me?"

Merope, who had been opening the grandest wardrobe Hermione had ever seen, paused at that. "Hmm," she said, her oddly-shaped eyes widening. "What did you say your name was?"

"Hermione," she supplied. "Hermione Granger."

"Is that a name?" Merope asked in confusion, frowning into space. "Ah, well, I suppose," she decided after a moment, giving a pert little shrug. "Hermione, was it?"

Hermione nodded, finding that both her mind and body seemed frozen, awaiting Merope's instruction.

"Let's do something about your hair, Hermione," Merope mused, perching again on the bed to curl a ringlet around her finger; Hermione was surprised to see the curl, which had until that moment been its usual mess of frizz, bounce upwards in a golden-tinged ringlet. "And then we can set about concerning ourselves with whether Tom wants to marry you."

She hummed a little as she wandered through the room, returning to the wardrobe. "I think this will be just the thing," Merope said, pulling out a floor length satin gown. "Don't you?"

 _There's no way I'll look good in that,_ Hermione opened her mouth to say, but as she looked down at herself, she realized that wasn't true. She was suddenly quite reassured that her body would, in fact, be flatteringly framed by the flimsiest fabric she'd ever seen, and though she heard a faint voice in her head - _Jesus Christ, Hermione, you'll spill something on that thing! -_ she found it pleasantly easy to ignore.

"Yes," she said happily, taking Merope's proffered hand and moving primly to sit, placid and doll-like, at the crystal vanity. Merope happily went to work on her hair and makeup, transforming Hermione's already petite features into the kind of breathless, delicate prettiness that she would have associated with a Hollywood starlet. It was a lengthy process but a fruitful one; Hermione wondered how she could have ever thought herself plain, eyeing her reflection. Was her skin not perfectly fair? Her hair not stunningly blonde? Her lashes not sensationally coquettish?

"Ah, perfect," Merope pronounced after zipping her up. "Oh, except one thing," she said apologetically, giving Hermione's breasts a quick fondle. "There," she said, smiling as Hermione's cleavage swelled appealingly. "What more could he want!"

* * *

"You must be Hermione," a handsome man said, bowing low. "I'm Tom."

"Tom," Hermione said breathlessly, finding it difficult not to stare into his cornflower blue eyes. "Merope said - "

"Ah yes, you've spent the day with my mother," Tom said with a smile. "Did you take to each other?"

"I think we did," Merope supplied, materializing out of nowhere. "Didn't we, Hermione?"

"Yes, certainly!" Hermione said, ducking her head coyly. "A pleasure."

"You are stunning," Tom noted appreciatively, his eyes traveling hungrily over her. Hermione, who would normally have found such behavior repulsive, was instead pleased with his attention. "Was it difficult, Mother?"

"Only a little," Merope said brightly. "Overall, quite good, I think."

"Oh, absolutely," Tom agreed. "Quite pleasing. May I?" he asked, offering Hermione his arm.

"Of course," she returned exuberantly, giving Merope a broad smile as she took his arm. He swept them out of the ballroom, walking her to a balcony that overlooked a vast, mirror-like lake.

"Hermione," he said, her name dripping like honey from his tongue. "Are you happy here?"

"Yes," she breathed, leaning into his touch as he lifted her chin, his breath dancing across her lips. "Yes, Tom, I - "

There was a cool breeze from somewhere - _inside the castle,_ she wondered in confusion - and she shivered, catching sight of a dark figure amidst the crowd.

A tall man stood there, at least as tall as Tom, though nowhere near as handsome; he was dressed in a long black cloak, his dark hair swept out of his face, and he was staring relentlessly at her.

"Who's that?" Hermione asked, blinking.

Tom turned. "Oh," he said, clearly irritated with the interruption. "That's Severus, my advisor."

"He looks terrible," Hermione said, bringing a scandalized hand to her chest, and Tom laughed - a lively, exuberant laugh that made Hermione want to never hear another sound for the remainder of her life.

"Oh, he is," Tom assured her. "Killed his wife, you know."

"No!" Hermione exclaimed, aghast. "And yet you let him advise you?"

"His wife was . . . unsatisfactory," Tom said darkly, a flicker of something appearing in his narrowed blue eyes. "I agreed with his decision."

Hermione frowned. "But - "

"Hermione," Tom interrupted. "Do you wish me to kiss you?"

"Yes," she realized, entirely consumed by him once more. "Yes, oh Tom - "

And then his lips were on hers, and she tasted euphoria.

* * *

"So," she heard a voice say behind her. "Are you enjoying the party?"

She turned from where she'd been watching Tom converse with his friends to face the man Tom had called Severus, who was, indeed, quite severe.

"I am," she cooed happily. "Isn't he wonderful?"

She waited for Severus to agree, but his mouth twisted strangely into something she guessed was disapproval.

"Well," Severus said moodily, "that is most unfortunate."

"What is?" Hermione asked, wishing the man would cheer up; his sulkiness was dampening her mood.

"How long have you been here?" Severus asked brusquely. "Do you know?"

"Of course I know," Hermione said, shaking her head at his consummate silliness. "I arrived earlier today, and Merope helped me get ready, and now I'm at the ball." She turned back to Tom, sighing dreamily. "Merope says I can marry him," she added, smiling broadly. "Aren't I lucky?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Severus grumbled, taking her by the shoulders and turning her.

"Ouch!" Hermione protested, startled by the jostling. "Excuse me, I - "

"You've been here for three weeks," Severus told her urgently. "You arrived at the first ball _three weeks ago_."

"That's impossible," Hermione assured him sweetly. "I saw you for the first time just about an hour ago - "

"Three weeks ago," Severus repeated emphatically, gripping her arms tightly. "Listen to me - "

"No," Hermione said stubbornly, tossing in a pout of displeasure. "I shouldn't be talking to you anyway," she added, a little distressed at the thought, "seeing as Tom might need me - "

She was cut off abruptly as Severus dragged her behind a tapestry, ducking them both out of sight.

"They've covered you in so many enchantments I'm surprised you even know your own name, much less who you are," he said, grimacing.

"Excuse me!" she snapped furiously. "I'm trying to - "

"Here," Severus muttered gruffly, placing his hands over her eyes; she fought him for a moment, then drew a ragged breath. "Now can you see them clearly?"

She thought she'd been standing in a castle; she was wrong. She could see now that they were in a dilapidated manor house, like something out of a dystopian novel from her studies - _ah yes,_ she thought, remembering, _I was working on my thesis, and then I found something in the library -_

She was distracted as she realized that in place of Tom there was a thin, skeletal man, his skin a pale, chalky white, his face skull-like in construction, and with snake-like slits for nostrils; his blue eyes, which had charmed her to her very soul, were red and flashing and his fingers, which had held her chin only minutes before, were unnaturally long, more claws than hands.

"No," Hermione whispered, "no, no, this can't be happening - "

Beside Tom, a woman who should have been Merope was stooped at his side. Her eyes were slanted, seeming to face in separate directions, and she bore a heavy, miserable expression that could only have been described as grotesque; the rest of their friends, who had been so beautiful only a moment before, were masked and heavily cloaked.

"What did you do to them?" Hermione asked, panicked. "What is this? Where am I? Who are all of these - "

Severus clapped a free hand over her mouth. "Quiet," he warned; she realized that he, unlike the others, looked the same. There was a coldness to him, something that resonated in his eyes; but she, in her panic, clung to him.

"Who are you?" he asked. "How did you get here?"

"I'm Hermione Granger," she said desperately, struggling to remember. "I'm a graduate student studying literature - I'm from London, I was in the library - I found a book - "

She started to hyperventilate and he cautiously sunk to the floor, still holding one hand to her eyes. She ducked her head awkwardly between her knees, trying to breathe.

"Books," Severus sighed. "Dangerous things, at times."

"I - " she managed, struggling to speak. "I - I don't - "

"Breathe," Severus instructed, his voice low. He patterned his breath to set a cadence for hers. "In and out."

She nodded, slowly regaining her capacity to speak. "Why can't I see them like this?" she asked fearfully. "Why am I - "

"Merope is a very powerful witch," Severus told her. "A deeply unhinged one, as well," he added. " _Very_ questionable handle on reality, though" - he paused, emitting a sharp burst of mirthless laughter - "the same could be said for everyone here."

"A witch?" Hermione repeated, horrified. "This - this can't be real, none of it is real, I must have been drugged - "

"It _is_ real," Severus said curtly. "Unfortunately for you, it's all too real, and the moment I release you," he added, gesturing to his hands, "you will return to what you've been the last few weeks."

"Which is?" Hermione prompted, fighting back tears.

"A toy for Merope, and an object of desire for Tom," Severus told her. "Needless to say, I would caution you against marrying him," he added darkly. "Marriage vows are especially binding when there is magic attached."

"You can't let me go on like this," Hermione said fearfully. "You have to help me, you have to clear the enchantments - " she paused, hearing the ludicrousness of the sentence, "or _whatever_ this is - "

"I can't just _clear them_ ," Severus pronounced flatly, with a finality that nearly broke something in Hermione. "They'll notice."

"So what if they do?" Hermione asked frantically. "So what if - "

"Tom will kill you," Severus said. "Or Merope," he added, thinking. "But more likely Tom."

"Surely," Hermione begged, " _surely_ there is something - "

He looked scrutinizingly at her. "It would take days to unravel all of this," he deduced, sounding annoyed by the prospect. "Weeks, more likely."

She nudged her face up, trying to see him from under the visor of his hand; his eyes were dark and guarded but not cruel, she decided, and he seemed to soften even more at the sight of her expression.

"Hermione," Merope croaked from a distance, and she flinched violently, nearly upending Severus's hand from her face.

"Please," Hermione whispered desperately. "Please, I'm begging you - "

"Come find me," he muttered to her. "When I remove my hand, the enchantments will return. In the castle, I live in the dungeons."

"What are they really?" she asked hesitantly, and he grimaced.

"Nothing good," he assured her, and she jumped as Merope called her name again.

"What if I don't remember?" she insisted apprehensively. "What if the enchantments are too strong?"

"Stronger than you?" he countered, a flicker of a smirk tugging at his lips. "Doubtful."

He released her, nudging her forward, and she breathed in the warm, comfortable air of the castle, her gown restored and the pleasantness of her surroundings resurrected.

"Hermione," Merope said impatiently, her stunning eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Did you not hear me calling you?"

"I did," Hermione said apologetically, "I came as fast as I could, but something - "

She frowned. What had she just been doing?

"Come now," Merope said, reaching for her hand. "Tom is looking for you."

"Tom," Hermione said pleasantly, thinking eagerly of his jewel-toned eyes and following happily. "Oh, I hope he's not too upset!"

There was a cool rush of air behind her and she turned, catching sight of the man Tom had called Severus; Merope followed her gaze, hissing with disapproval.

"You weren't speaking with Severus, were you?" Merope asked venomously. "I don't know why Tom trusts him. Killed his wife, you know," she said pointedly, nodding at Hermione as though this information were encouraging.

"I don't know him," Hermione said with confusion. "Do I?"

"No," Merope said, brushing her thumb roughly against Hermione's cheek. "No, my dear, you don't."

* * *

She woke with a strange, pulsing need to visit the dungeons; it struck her with a jolt, and she realized it was the first time she had remembered waking since her first morning - which was itself only _very_ hazy in her mind, and accompanied by loud, imaginary cannon fire - something she did not know what to do with at the time. A strange curiosity coursed through her and she, unaccustomed to the feeling, decided to pursue it, happily rifling through her wardrobe of silky evening gowns and selecting a cheerful turquoise to match her mood.

The castle was empty and Hermione hummed to herself as she walked, following her inexplicable urge for exploration. There was a tiny piece of her that whispered for her to be _careful,_ to be _quiet_ , but she ignored it.

Merope and Tom would want her to be happy, wouldn't they? Charming people that they were.

She made her way down a narrow, curving staircase, feeling a slight chill in the air that struck her as familiar, if not a bit unwelcome. It was drafty and eerie, and she wondered for a moment why she'd come; she paused at the foot of the stairs, considering whether she should turn back.

"I see you found your way," a voice said, coaxing her forward.

"Hello?" she called, squinting into the darkness. "Tom?" she asked hopefully, brightening at the prospect.

"Ah, not entirely present then," Severus commented gruffly, appearing in a doorway to her right.

"Why am I here?" she asked, and he sighed.

"Come on," he said, gesturing for her to follow. " _Clearly_ " - he said the word with a slight lean, a weighty enunciation - "we have a lot of work to do."

He offered her a small vial of liquid, which she drank; he waited patiently until she blinked in confusion, feeling the heaviness of panic settle itself in her chest.

"Oh god," she said, looking around at the dingy walls and barely standing furniture. She was in a tiny sitting room which had the feeling of a dark, padded cell; the walls were completely covered in books, and she sat beside a rickety table that stood in a pool of dim light. "What is this?"

"Do you remember the conversation you had with me?" he prompted, searching her expression for comprehension.

"I do," she said, frowning. "Am I fixed now?" she asked hopefully, and he laughed.

"Not even remotely," he pronounced with a grimace. "I've merely administered a draught that will allow me an hour to sort through the enchantments on you. Easier," he explained, holding up his hands to gesture to their mobility. "Better than having to cover your eyes the whole time."

"An hour," Hermione sighed sadly. "That's it?"

He seemed uncomfortable with her disappointment and chose not to answer; instead he sat down in front of her, eyeing her like she was a puzzle to be solved.

"I'm going to have to leave your appearance the way it is," he informed her, his tone intently clinical. "I will also have to leave the thread that's blocking most of your memory. Though, to be fair," he added after a moment, "that is really for the best."

Hermione scoffed at that. "For the best? Really?"

"Ignorance is bliss," he muttered, taking hold of her face to look at something she was sure she'd never be able to see. "Best you not be forced to see Tom for what he is, given your circumstances."

She shuddered, resolving not to think about it.

"What do _you_ see?" she asked, and he shrugged.

"It is my lot in life to see things for what they are," he provided ambivalently. "It is why Tom values me, I imagine."

He reached up, loosening something, and she felt a spring fall into place somewhere in her chest. She reached up in surprise, her fingers resting instinctively on her throat.

"Your voice," he explained. "It seems Merope didn't care for it."

"You think that's funny," Hermione noted sullenly, catching a glimmer of amusement in his eye.

"I think what she turned you _into_ is funny," Severus replied easily. "The hair, the eyes. The breasts," he added, his lips quirking up at the corners.

"Like a Barbie doll," Hermione sighed, and he shrugged.

"If you say so," he returned, clearly not recognizing the reference.

She watched him for a moment, intrigued by the concentration on his face. He seemed entirely consumed by his task, his coldness abandoned as he focused, an artist set to work at his craft. He was strangely delicate, oddly elegant; she followed the movements of his fingers, a little entranced against her will.

"You work for him, then?" she asked, clearing her throat as she struggled to speak.

"I advise him," Severus confirmed, not looking up.

"But you're helping me," Hermione said, biting her lip.

"Ah," Severus warned, brushing a finger warningly against her mouth. "Don't do that."

"What?" she asked, puzzled. She brought her own hand up, replacing the spot where his touch had been. "Why?"

"A bad habit that Merope made a point to erase," he noted, glancing at what she imagined to be an intricate, invisible halo of magic floating around her head.

She sighed. "How much did she change about me?"

"More than you want to know," he assured her. "Though you survived it, which says quite a bit about you."

"Survived it?" Hermione repeated, alarmed. "Was there a chance I wouldn't?"

"More than simply a _chance_ ," Severus scoffed, shaking his head at her ignorance. "Many before you have not."

"Have you helped them as well?" she asked, trying not to think about how many might have come before.

He swallowed uncomfortably. "No."

She blinked. "Then why - "

He smoothed a hand around her face, tucking a curl behind her ear. "You ask too many questions," he noted, his dark eyes slowly settling on hers.

Her breath caught in her throat.

"Not to worry," he said smoothly, giving her a wry smile. "Merope took care of that."

* * *

"Are you enjoying yourself?" Tom asked, offering her his arm.

"Oh, of course," Hermione said brightly, accepting. "Merope's gotten me a new dress," she added, reaching down to run her fingers against the fabric. "Do you like it?"

"I love it," Tom said, his eyes sparkling with wolf-like hunger as he ran his fingers along the curve of her waist. "It suits you."

"Merope knows best," Hermione said with a smile, feeling a cool breeze nearby and shivering as a dark cloak came into view.

* * *

"What are my clothes really?" Hermione asked, leaning back in the chair and sighing. "All the silk gowns she has me wear, what are they?"

"Rags," Severus replied evenly. "Essentially."

Hermione frowned. "But why do I - "

"She's a very gifted witch," Severus said, shrugging. "Illusion is her specialty."

"What's Tom's?" she asked, and Severus's dark eyes flashed.

"Control," he said tightly, and she watched the muscle tense around his jaw.

* * *

"Who are all your friends?" she asked Tom, pouting a little at not having been introduced. "Why haven't I met them?"

Tom gave her a weary look. "Jealousy," he noted with a grunt. "Mother overlooked something."

"I'm not jealous," Hermione said, a little hurt by his displeasure. "I only asked."

Tom sighed, letting his hand slip to her lower back. "I'll fix it later," he muttered. "For now, suffice it to say you would not find my friends interesting."

"But I find _you_ so fascinating!" Hermione argued hopefully, batting her lashes as she looked up at him. "How could I not love them as well?"

"As well?" Tom echoed, flashing his teeth as he smiled. "Do you mean to tell me that you love me?"

"Of course," Hermione insisted breathlessly. "Surely you must know!"

Tom frowned, reaching around her face before finding what he was looking for. "Ah, Mother," he determined with a smirk. "Very well," he said, patting her head. "I love you too, Hermione."

"Oh Tom," she sighed, radiant with pleasure.

* * *

"I feel sick," Hermione mumbled, fighting bile in her throat.

"Had a rough day yesterday," Severus noted. "You have a bit of Tom's magic on you now, too."

"It's like one step forward, two steps back," Hermione sighed morosely, wishing she could permit herself the luxury of sobs. "Am I ever going to get out of here?"

"I never said I could help you get out," Severus erupted sharply, letting his hand fall. For the first time, he seemed distracted from his work. "I specifically never said that."

There was something lonely and forlorn in his glance, and she remembered a little tickle of something in her brain; a word of caution.

"They say you killed your wife," Hermione commented, holding her breath as she waited for his answer.

"I did not kill my wife," he retorted sharply. "She died, and it was my fault. There's a difference."

"How - "

"She did not please Tom," Severus said curtly, drawing his shoulders back as he set to resume his work. "And as I mentioned," he murmured, his voice low in her ear, "I specifically never said I could get anyone out."

"What was her name?" Hermione whispered.

"Lily," he replied. "And if you ever mention her again, I will no longer be at your disposal."

Hermione nodded. Neither spoke another word.

* * *

"You've made it so far, Hermione," Tom crooned in her ear. "I'm so proud of you."

"Have I?" she asked, a little breathless.

"Further than anyone," Tom assured her, nuzzling her neck. "You've pleased me immensely."

"Oh," Hermione said, feeling a little shiver at a coolness somewhere nearby.

Tom leaned back abruptly, his eyes flashing. "Oh?" he repeated angrily. "That's it?"

"Oh, but I'm speechless," she amended quickly. "What words would possibly do my pleasure justice?"

He nodded his approval, his eyes still slightly narrowed. Over his shoulder, Hermione saw a faint smile on Severus's face.

* * *

"Tell me the truth," Hermione demanded. "Why are you helping me?"

"Aggressive today," Severus commented simply in response.

She glared at him.

"Maybe I'm getting a little sick of being Merope's puppet," she growled. "And maybe I just want to know _one thing_ that's real."

"Maybe," Severus agreed, frustratingly ambivalent.

She stood, tired of sitting in the goddamn chair; tired of being two goddamn people. Sick _as fuck_ of having two different intuitions. Funny that it was this one she didn't trust, she thought, eyeing him from across the room.

Funny that it was this one she was afraid of.

"Tell me," she begged, and he stared at her.

"You reminded me of her," he said, and she knew he meant Lily. "The way you don't belong. The way you stand out."

"I stand out because of what Merope did to me," she grumbled, but he cut her off.

"No, not that," he said impatiently, moving to stand in front of her. "I told you, I can see things for what they are. I can see you," he explained, his gaze traveling from her eyes to her nose to the curve of her cheek, coming to rest on her lips. "I see you."

For a moment, she held her breath, hardly daring to trust it.

"I'm not her," Hermione warned him, her voice barely above a whisper. He was so close; if she reached out, she could touch him. If she were even a little bit braver, her hips could meet his.

"You're not her," he agreed. "You're you." He drifted towards her and she leaned into him, wondering whose nerve would fill the space between them.

"You're you," he told her, "and _you_ are spectacular."

She shut her eyes, letting his words be the thing to fill her mind for once.

"I want something real," she whispered to him. It was a question, a request, and a demand. _Give me something real._

He yanked her chest against his and she braced herself against him, breathless as he lowered his lips to hers; he kissed truth into her soul and she licked the cool flames of him, tasting him, frosty on her tongue.

"More," she pleaded, and he lifted her up, tucking her legs around him as he pressed her roughly against his bookshelf.

She bucked against him, rocking her hips against his, and he lowered his head to her neck, grazing his teeth against her skin as she moaned in his ear, shivering at his touch.

"More?" he asked her, and she whimpered as he nudged her dress aside, running his palm up her thigh and cupping her arse, sighing his satisfaction as she fumbled for his trousers, discarding his heavy cloak and rejoicing in the feel of his skin on hers.

She let her head fall back against the shelf as he slid inside her, tightening her legs around his hips as she closed her eyes, feeling at once the foreign pleasure of his touch and the soothing comfort of being in her own mind.

 _I want you,_ she thought, feeling the distinct blow of the _I_ and the _want_ and the _you._

"I want you," she said, gasping as his mouth found her breasts.

"I'm yours," he murmured, and she felt herself unravel around him.

* * *

"Instead of a party tonight, perhaps a wedding?" Tom asked, his gaze flicking to Merope. "Don't you think she's ready, Mother?"

"What do you think, Hermione?" Merope asked, her voice puckish and testing.

"Oh," Hermione declared, clasping her hands in delight. "A wedding for me? For us?"

"Indeed," Tom confirmed, his narrowed gaze relaxing a fraction of a degree as he made a note of her elation. "You're pleased?"

"Pleased?" Hermione repeated in disbelief, her voice melodic with joy. "Oh Tom, I'm so honored!"

"A wedding it is," Merope determined, viciously pinching Hermione's cheek.

* * *

"Oh," Hermione said, seeing the dark cloak out of the corner of her eye. "Hello."

"Hello," Severus said smoothly, giving her a curt nod. "Tom has requested I escort you into your chambers."

"Oh, isn't he just wonderful?" Hermione asked, sighing. "He's so thoughtful."

"He is," Severus determined, offering her an impassive half-smile. "I wish you both a fruitful wedding night."

"Kind of you," she said, flashing him a bright, exultant smile. "He's so lucky to have such good friends."

She stepped forward, ready to head to what was to be her bedroom, when he reached out, gripping her wrist.

"My best wishes for you, Hermione," Severus said softly, closing her fingers around a narrow metallic hilt. She deftly buried it in the folds of her gown, offering him a small curtsy.

"Thank you," she purred, gripping the knife and smiling. "I'm so looking forward to the prospects of the night."

* * *

There were two kinds of ways to wake, Hermione reasoned. One was the unpleasant way; a start, like a cannon explosion, wherein one is entirely disoriented, and forcefully bolts upright. That was how Hermione had initially awoken to her new life.

The other, of course, is slow and comfortable, wherein one opens one's eyes to find one is in the precise location one would expect to be. The bedroom in which one falls asleep, for example, after having killed one's husband and fallen into the arms of one's lover, having had one's true self restored.

Such is the preferred waking, she thought, reaching over to press her lips to Severus's neck.

* * *

 **a/n:** This skipped the queue for oblivionbaby because she's had a tough time recently, and I had to give her the one thing at my disposal: my unending nonsense. For you, my love! xx

(Also, thanks to Dr. Sally for pre-reading what is decidedly not her pairing, she says, giggling.)

In the queue and coming soon (I haven't forgotten, the muse is just quiet):  
 _Krumione Year 4 fluff for Eidyia1_  
 _Breakup Dramione for MereWhispers_  
 _Marlene x Regulus for Mabel K_  
 _Dudley x Gabrielle for clausumcormeum_  
 _Dramione Marriage Law OS  
Secret relationship Dramione for agnl9_


	27. How to Lose Her

**How to Lose Her**

 _Pairing:_ Dramione (Draco x Hermione)

 _Universe:_ Post-Hogwarts, EWE

 _Rating:_ M for language, sexual references

 _Summary:_ Based on a Dramione prompt from i-heart-hogwarts on tumblr (MereWhispers) based on the song _We Don't Talk Anymore_ by Charlie Puth ft. Selena Gomez. As always, this is my interpretation, but check out the awesome edit on tumblr! Prompt: _we don't talk anymore like we used to do._

Despite the title, a decidedly happy ending.

* * *

 _ **HOW TO LOSE HER**_

* * *

 **Step 1:** _Work in her office._

* * *

"What do you mean we'll be sharing an office?" Granger barked sharply at the retreating Ministry aid, not having noticed his arrival. Draco knocked politely on the doorframe.

"Granger," he said, knowing he bore his usual irritating smirk. "Lovely to see you're as shrill and unaccommodating as ever."

She stiffened, firm in her oppositional silence, and in the harsh lighting of the wretchedly institutional building he could see the curls coming loose around her face, the dark circles under her eyes.

"Fuck, Granger, you look shit," he commented distastefully. "Have you been sleeping here?"

She glared at him. "I will deal with you later," she snapped, before bounding past him; heading directly to Potter's office, no doubt, to demand a rearrangement.

No such luck. Potter had been the one to put him there.

* * *

 **Step 2:** _Be nicer than you used to be._

* * *

"Here," he said gruffly, placing the mug on her desk with a resounding thud. "Drink this."

"What is it?" she asked, sniffing it suspiciously. He sighed, settling himself at his desk across the room.

"It is coffee, Granger," he replied, aiming for indifference. "Drink it."

She looked momentarily stunned, squinting at him like he were some kind of animal in the wild. "Why?" she asked, and he threw his hands up in consummate frustration.

"You're exhausted," he informed her. "Your workload is ridiculous and since you don't seem to trust me with any of it, you might as well continue to stay awake, tragically wasting away - "

"Fine," she cut in curtly, carelessly levitating a series of folders toward him. "Here. Take these," she said, as though she didn't particularly care either way. "If you're so concerned about my workload."

"I never said I was concerned," he informed her stiffly, but she rolled her eyes, smiling into the mug as she took a sip.

"Mm," she murmured, closing her eyes and leaning back in her chair. "Good coffee."

He wouldn't know. He didn't drink it.

He'd made it for her.

* * *

 **Step 3:** _Attempt something chivalrous. Fail horribly._

* * *

"Oh, what are these?" she asked, delighted. "Ron sent flowers!"

"Granger," Draco said gruffly, "could you please - "

"I was so sure he'd forgotten," she sighed happily, bringing the gardenias to her nose and inhaling their scent with an uninhibited jubilance that made him want to vomit. "Ugh, I suppose I'll have to rethink the moody sulking I'd had planned for him tonight."

"Granger, once again, please do me the great honor of not including me in the details of your abhorrent love life," Draco grunted.

"Oh, hush," she said, swatting at him from afar. "Are you busy this weekend?" she added, still fussing over the bouquet. "Harry's throwing me a little get together, and while I would generally assume you would consider birthday parties to be stupid and utterly beneath you - "

"I do," he sniffed. "So plebeian."

" - I thought you might like to come. You know," she added quickly, "if you've nothing else planned."

He stiffened. "I'll think about it," he said, and she smiled at him, running a finger over the smooth petals of the flowers.

He looked at the dropped card on the floor and sighed.

 _Happy Birthday, Granger. It's not been entirely unpleasant working with you. You hardly even look homeless anymore. Hope you get everything you want. - DM_

Oh well. He didn't like what he'd written, anyway.

So plebeian.

* * *

 **Step 4:** _Try again, only better._

* * *

"I'm so glad you could come," she slurred, stumbling a little.

"Here," he sighed, offering her his arm. "Hold on, would you? You look like a baby giraffe."

" _You_ are a giraffe," she accused, squinting at him and instantly knocking into a bush. "Whoops," she said, bowing apologetically to the shrubbery, and Draco threw an arm around her waist, prompting her forward.

"I had no idea you were such an incredible lightweight," Draco informed her, nudging her closer as she nearly collided with a planter. "You're a fully functional adult, and yet you are completely incapable of motion after barely three glasses of wine?"

"'s my birthday," she said smugly, shrugging and grinning up at him.

"True," he conceded. "Though shouldn't your boyfriend be doing my job?"

She made a face. "Ronald Weasley?" she repeated. "Him? He is - " she stopped, waving her hand around carelessly. " _Elsewhere_."

"I would have expected him to be at your party," Draco noted carefully, and she let out a loud, uninhibited groan, turning to face him and putting her hands on his shoulders.

"Draco Mlalfoy," she said, tapping his nose with her finger, then stopped, frowning in concentration. "Mralfoy. Meow-lfoy."

"That's me, I think," he muttered, waiting.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" she asked, narrowing her eyes as she considered him. "You hate me," she asserted, nodding with certainty, as if she were answering a question in class.

"I don't hate you," he corrected her. "Why else would I walk you home?"

"Don't know," she mumbled. "Because you're a gentleman?"

"I assure you," he said, inexplicably infuriated by her assessment, "I am _not_ a gentleman."

She giggled. "Okay," she said happily, before slumping in a heap at his feet, curling up on the pavement.

He picked her up, sighing, and muttered in her ear. "I don't hate you," he told her. "I like you."

She nuzzled her face into his chest, mewling contentedly, and he cradled her in his arms.

She was definitely asleep.

* * *

 **Step 5:** _Okay. Keep trying._

* * *

"All I'm _asking_ , Ron, is for _one night_ of your undivided attention, instead of having to continually share you with George, fussing over dungbombs or whatever it is that you - "

" _Dungbombs_? Hermione, you could have at least _listened_ to me when I was telling you about our new products - _dungbombs_ , Hermione? Bloody hell, what year do you think it is?"

"That is not the _point_ , Ron!"

Draco could hear through the door that she was starting to cry; he raised a hand to knock but then stopped, feeling foolish. His parents had never fought. Not openly, anyway; his mother berated his father with cleverly veiled passive aggression.

You know, like _civilized_ people.

"What do you want from me, Mione? I keep telling you, this is _important -_ "

"More important than _me_?"

There was a pause, and even Draco knew that was a bad sign. _Say something,_ he thought furiously, _say something, you dumb twat -_

"Get out," he heard her say coldly. "Get out of my office."

"Fine. We can talk later - "

"No. Get out of my office. Don't call me. We're done."

Draco drew a sharp breath, wondering whether to be sympathetic or elated.

The office door opened and Weasley shoved past him, not even bothering to look where he was going, and Draco stepped tentatively inside. She was leaning on her desk, her head bent, pretending to read a file. He, for his part, felt something low in the pit of his stomach - a feeling that he could only assume was indigestion - at her obvious sadness, her sniffles choked back as she put on an elaborate and thoroughly unconvincing show of ambivalence.

"Sorry about the noise," she said offhandedly, her voice muffled behind her hand.

He sighed, walking over to her and wrapping his arms around her.

"I'm sorry, Granger," he said, and she conceded to sob, her tears soaking through his Ministry robes. He patted her head. "It'll be okay," he said awkwardly, and she looked up, something defiant in her gaze.

"You know what?" she said. "It will be. You know why?"

His heart did something murderous in his chest. "Why?"

"Because _I_ ," she shouted, startling him with her volume, "am done with men. Done with them!" she added, brusquely shoving him away to turn to her desk and drop herself in her chair. "I will just focus on my _work_ ," she continued, aimlessly sorting through several piles of paper that he suspected were irrelevant, "on my many philanthropic endeavors that I have _abandoned_ in my foolish attempts to be a good girlfriend, which were not even _remotely_ reciprocated - "

She broke off at that, looking pained, and glanced up at him. "Thank you," she informed him. "From now on, I'm going to be like you. Cold," she explained. "Aloof. Thoroughly off-putting."

"Okay," he muttered.

"Totally closed off from society," she continued, "utterly incapable of meaningful human interaction - "

"That's enough," he told her, reaching a hand up to rub his temple in preemptive exhaustion.

* * *

 **Step 6:** _Abandon previous efforts. Kiss her._

* * *

"I don't understand what you're so upset about," he said, exasperated, and entirely at a loss. "You've been struggling with this case, so I thought I would _-_ "

"I didn't mean for you to step in and - and just - _take over_!" she said, waving the parchment in his face. "Can you imagine how it felt, coming in here this morning and having found out my coworker thinks I needed him to do my work _for_ me?" She stared down at the legal brief, sputtering her disbelief. "I mean, you would have had to stay over the weekend to get this done - "

He could not - for the _life_ of him - understand what she was angry about.

"You've had a lot of things on your plate, Granger," he began slowly, testing the waters, "and I only thought that it would be _helpful_ if I could just - "

"Helpful?" she scoffed. "Since when have you - "

"Oh, for fuck's sake," he yelled, throwing his hands up in the air. "Give me that," he added, wrenching the parchment from her hands and tossing it back on her desk.

"What are you doing?" she gasped. "Have you totally lost your - "

He took hold of her face and kissed her, pulling her into him, and he tried in that moment to tell her all the things he'd failed to say before - _I like you, Granger, I like the face you make when you're concentrating, I like when I can do things for you, I like when you_ let _me do things for you, I like when you ask me to make coffee because you want it the way I make it, I like when you laugh, I like when you smile, I even like when you cry because it means you might let me hold you -_

She broke free of him, staring at him.

"Since when?" she demanded, and he glared at her.

"Brightest witch of your age, my arse," he grumbled, and her lips quirked up in a smile.

* * *

 **Step 7:** _Go much too fast, much too soon._

* * *

"Here?" he managed breathlessly, suddenly recalling that he had her against a wall in the storage room of their office, and perhaps now wasn't the right time to ask.

"Yes," she said, panting against his mouth, "and _now_."

"But - " he protested, but then her lips were on his neck and he shoved his conscience aside and yanked her skirt up, slipping inside her and biting his lip as she moaned his name, pausing momentarily in his utter euphoria to wish - like a child; like a _fool_ \- that he might never live another day without fucking her.

No, not fucking her.

Loving her.

 _Fuck_ , he thought, suddenly rigid with fear.

* * *

 **Step 8:** _Be an unbearable prat._

* * *

She was avoiding him. It was unimaginable torture.

She came in early, left late; if he stayed for lunch, she went out. If he left, she stayed in. She ran to Potter's office periodically throughout the day and he was plagued in her absence by the thought of what she might be saying - _what was I thinking? how could I be so stupid? how could I have done_ that _with_ him _? -_ and it tore at the core of his being.

He thought about showing up at her house, knocking down her door, demanding an explanation - but he didn't. Instead he was sullen. Obnoxious.

He didn't blame her for not talking to him.

* * *

 **Step 9:** _Do something incomprehensibly petty._

* * *

"I want a transfer," Draco demanded. "As soon as possible."

"What?" Potter echoed, staring blankly at him. "But you and Hermione have the best case record out of anyone in the legal department."

"I know that," Draco replied testily, "but that does not serve to diminish the fact that I want a transfer, and I want one _now_."

"What happened?" Potter asked, and now his voice had an edge of concern to it. "Malfoy, if there's something wrong - "

"NOTHING HAPPENED," Draco roared, and Potter blinked.

"Okay then," he said. "I believe you, I guess."

* * *

 **Step 10:** _Miss her wildly. Miss her completely. Miss her so much you can't breathe._

* * *

Draco lay awake at night with the memory of her breath in his ear. Her perfume on his collar. Her fingers in his hair. After all this time, he still couldn't breathe at the thought of her. He couldn't stand to know what kind of dress she was wearing, or whether she was lying next to someone else. Whether there was a good reason she was gone, or if it just wasn't _him_ ; if it was someone else, someone who did things _right_ , someone who knew what she wanted -

 _Fuck_ , he thought, loving her completely and hating every spare inch of himself.

* * *

 **Step 11:** _Say nothing at all._

* * *

" . . . which leaves step eleven," Draco said moodily, "which is to say nothing at all, and suffer in silence."

"Silence being optional, I take it," Theo replied. "Why didn't you bring this up sooner?"

"Because I'm writing a book," Draco retorted sullenly. " _How to Lose Her,_ by Draco Fucking Malfoy."

"I'm glad you've summarized it so succinctly," Theo said, but seeing Draco's grim expression, he abandoned the would-be joke and sighed.

"We don't talk anymore," Draco offered simply. "I miss it. I miss her voice."

"She's not _dead_ , mate," Theo said, patting his shoulder. "It's not over til it's over."

"But," Draco began, "if she _really wanted -_ "

"Look," Theo cut in, "I know you're a Malfoy, and you're used to having the things you want handed to you. But unfortunately, _you_ , along with the rest of us peasants - "

"Says the inheritor of the Nott fortune," Draco grumbled.

" - are sometimes required to put the pieces in motion," Theo continued. "And considering the utter stupidity you have exhibited thus far - "

Draco opened his mouth to argue, but at Theo's stern glare, shut it again.

"Continue," he said tenuously, and Theo nodded.

"Considering your stupidity," Theo repeated, "I think the obvious next step is to apologize - "

"Ugh, fuck me," Draco groaned petulantly.

" - and hope that she'll listen. And," Theo added, "maybe it might do you some good to ask _her_ what went wrong."

"What is this, some kind of social experiment you are conducting on me?" Draco asked gruffly. "This sounds like some kind of new age psychological rubbish."

"It's called communication," Theo corrected, "and I am assured that it yields great success."

"Sounds like a trick," Draco muttered, but he decided he had nothing to lose.

He made his way to Granger's flat - he passed the hedge she'd had the drunken altercation with and barely suppressed a fond smile - and despite thinking about it for the entirety of his procession, arrived at her stoop with absolutely no concept of what to say.

Her eyes widened as she opened the door, then narrowed as he opened his mouth.

"Granger," he opened grandly, "the - " he coughed, still coming up empty. "The _thing_ is - "

But she seemed shaken with nerves, and frantic with withheld speech, and he cut himself off, furrowing his brow as he waited.

"Where have you been?" she suddenly burst out, the words erupting from her lips.

"Um," he began, but he needn't have bothered.

"I was _such_ an idiot," she told him, wringing her hands. "I don't know what came over me but I was just - I was scared," she confessed, and he, shocked into silence, merely stared.

"I realized that what I felt for you ran so much deeper than I thought," she admitted, her eyes cast down sheepishly, "and I didn't know what to do, and I had to analyze my every feeling to death, of course" - _of course,_ he thought silently, and then shoved aside the mad affection that bubbled up in his chest - "which was stupid, and horrible - and then when I finally realized what an awful twat I was being - "

He opened his mouth to argue, but figuring it best to let her continue, closed it again.

" - you were transferred and I didn't know what to say or do; I was just so nervous that you hadn't felt the same way and I was an _utter fool_ , Malfoy, but I can't stand it," she said, tearing at her lip in anxiety. "I can't stand another day like this, I can't stand not talking anymore - I miss you," she informed him, her eyes brimming with tears. "I was afraid you didn't want me, but now I'm just afraid I'll lose you. And I can't. I _can't_."

She gazed up at him and he down at her, and he realized there was one more step. One more thing to do; Step Twelve. Say something meaningful. Sweep her off her feet.

"Well," he opened stiffly. "For fuck's sake, Granger. You could have just _said_ so."

Or not.

She smiled tearfully at him. "Is that all?"

"No it's not all," he sniffed indignantly. "I love you, Granger."

Her eyes widened.

"Don't make a scene," he warned.

She shook her head. "Oh Draco," she sighed.

* * *

"Well," Theo said, "that's incredibly sad news."

"I know," Draco agreed. "I really thought I had an excellent product on my hands."

"It truly is unfortunate that _How to Lose Her_ is going to be such a colossal commercial failure," Theo lamented. "Particularly once they see how unsuccessful the author was in his endeavors."

"I know," Draco said. "Truly. It stings."

"It should," Theo determined, straightening his tie and patting Draco on the shoulder. "Ready, then?"

"Yes," Draco said, then stopped. "Of course, I could just change the title," he postulated. "Don't you think?"

" _How to Marry Her,_ " Theo said, then grinned. "Sounds like a bestseller."

They looked at each other.

"Nah," Draco said.

"It would literally never work twice," Theo agreed, erupting in laughter. "Can you imagine?"

"I cannot," Draco replied drily, waiting impatiently for him to collect himself.

"Okay," Theo said, wiping his eyes. "Right then. Let's go."

* * *

 **a/n:** For MereWhispers! Fluffier than I'd intended, but I hope it satisfies!


	28. Ride or Die

**Ride or Die**

 _Pairing:_ Dramione (Draco x Hermione)

 _Universe:_ American muggle AU

 _Rating:_ M for sex, violence, and language

 _Summary:_ Agnl9 asked for a Dramione based on the song _Secret Love Song_ by Little Mix, so the prompt is: _We keep behind closed doors / Every time I see you, I die a little more / Stolen moments that we steal as the curtain falls / It'll never be enough._

The Death Eaters are an outlaw motorcycle club run by Tom Riddle, a notoriously ruthless leader who is gradually working the brotherhood into higher stakes criminal activity after their previous leader dies unexpectedly. Draco Malfoy is practically heir to the throne, but his life abruptly changes when a near fatal injury lands him in the hands of a surgical intern who is about to get in way over her head.

* * *

"This is fucking insane," Theo muttered, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against the wall. "Dumbledore never had us do shit like this."

"Relax," Draco told him, looking up as a car drove by. _Not them._ "Dumbledore didn't exactly pay out, either."

"I'm not going to fucking _relax,_ " Theo countered roughly, raking a hand through his hair. The tattoo on his wrist was stark against his pale skin. "This is bullshit, Draco. Who the fuck are we meeting?"

"Theo," Draco warned, giving him a cautionary glance. It went unnoticed.

"Riddle's a fucking lunatic," Theo continued, scowling. "This is not our game," he growled, slamming his hand on the trunk of the Impala they rarely used. "Fucking guns and shit," he muttered under his breath. "I didn't fucking sign up to die today."

"Theo," Draco said coolly, shading his eyes from the afternoon sun. "Shut the fuck up."

Theo grunted his opposition to this idea, but did as he was bade. Hierarchy demanded it.

Besides, Draco was fucking _right_.

"There," Draco said, jutting his chin out to reference the approaching car; it was an XLR that looked more than a little out of place pulling behind a warehouse. "Fuckers," he added under his breath, shaking his head. " _Incognito_ apparently doesn't mean what it used to."

Theo said nothing, swallowing uneasily as the driver got out, strutting towards them. He was thoroughly bearded; fully overdressed. He offered a stiff nod, his grey hair slicked back from his face.

"Malfoy?" he called gruffly.

"Me," Draco replied, stepping forward. "Greyback?"

"Call me Fenrir," the other man said, bearing his teeth as he smiled. "My associates," he added, gesturing to the two heavily muscled men behind him. "Scabior," he said, nodding to the larger of the two, "and Smith."

"Pleasure," Draco offered smoothly, nodding to Theo. "This is Nott."

"Nott," Fenrir repeated, his eyes flashing. He glanced at Scabior, who made a face of unveiled skepticism. "Thought he was older."

"Nott Junior," Theo clarified. The muscle twitched around his jaw.

Fenrir raised an eyebrow, turning back to Draco. "I take it you are Malfoy Junior, then," he said, and Draco heard something in his tone; insult, he suspected.

"We're better company than our fathers," Draco supplied. "Tom did you a favor."

Fenrir considered him a moment, eyes narrowed; Draco refused to back down, staring back until the other man suddenly laughed, clapping his hands together in a bewildering expression of delight.

"Too true," Fenrir determined gravely. "So." He raised a hand, beckoning. "Show me what Tom has for me."

Draco glanced at Theo, who popped open the trunk.

"Take a look," Draco invited, stepping aside. "Sample only. Full shipment in a week, if you're interested."

"Naturally," Fenrir agreed, grinning wolfishly again. He sifted through the trunk's contents and picked up the M16, peering over the barrel.

"Hey, man," Theo muttered, garnering a stiff glance from Scabior and Smith. "Maybe don't fucking wave that shit around."

Fenrir glanced up, eyeing him. "This shit hot?" he asked suspiciously, turning to Draco. "This one looks scared," he added, using the rifle to gesture to Theo's stiff-shouldered form.

"That's just his face," Draco supplied indifferently, glaring at Theo the instant Fenrir turned back to the trunk. It was harder now to keep his cool; it hadn't occurred to him to ask Riddle if the guns they were selling happened to be stolen.

Theo was right. _Dumbledore never had us do shit like this._

He should've asked.

Fenrir looked up, gesturing for his two companions. They crowded around him on either side, and Theo slowly inched towards Draco.

"This doesn't look good," Theo whispered.

"I fucking know that," Draco hissed. "Fucking _calm down_."

Theo's frown deepened. "Maybe we should get them to move," he suggested, gesturing to Smith and Scabior. "I don't like this."

"Sure, Theo, just fucking _ask nicely_ ," Draco suggested sarcastically, imitating him. " _Please_ be so kind as to show us your goddamn hands - "

"Hey," Fenrir said, turning. He now held a pistol and was eyeing it closely; _too_ closely. Draco heard the telling clicks from either side of him as Scabior and Smith drew their weapons. "You got rules on sampling the merchandise?"

Draco swallowed, trying to remain calm. "Could grab some targets," he offered, feigning ignorance. "Nothing if not hospitable," he added, reaching slowly for the Glock tucked into his waistband.

"Don't fucking move," Scabior grunted. "We already know these guns work."

"Love a knowledgeable customer," Theo offered weakly, before Draco shot him a silencing glare.

"Ask us how we know," Fenrir suggested, beckoning. "Go on. Ask."

 _Fuck,_ Draco thought. _Fuck, fuck, fuck -_

"How do you know?" he gritted out, struggling to breathe.

Fenrir aimed the Beretta at him. "These guns are fucking stolen," he said. "Tell Riddle I want his head," he added with a laugh, right before he pulled the trigger.

* * *

Hermione Granger stepped outside the emergency room and sank to the ground, feeling a thorough throb of exhaustion course through her. She thought medical school had been hardest thing she'd ever done; she'd been so, _so_ tragically wrong. Her surgical internship was tougher than she'd ever imagined. She was used to being the smartest, the best in her class - but so were _they._ She'd never met anyone as intense and relentless as she was until she'd met the other interns, who seemed overjoyed to sacrifice food, sleep, and happiness in order to secure a residency.

She leaned her head against the wall, closing her eyes. Her shift was finally over, but she could barely bring herself to consider driving home. _Just five minutes_ , she told herself, _five minutes, and then you can get in your car and -_

She heard the familiar loud screech of tires coming to a desperate halt, followed by a door being slammed. She cracked one eye, wondering where it was coming from.

"Excuse me," someone grunted, the male voice low and vaguely intimate. She looked up in alarm, her breath caught by a set of stunning grey eyes.

"Um," she managed, before her gaze traveled to the copious amount of blood seeping from his left shoulder. She could see he was clutching it and grimacing in pain. "Holy shit!"

She scrambled to her feet. "Come with me," she said instantly, reaching for him. "The ER is right this way, and - "

"No," he gritted out, clearly struggling through the injury. "No, I can't, I - " he looked around anxiously. "I need _you_ to help me," he said, his voice still notably low. She couldn't quite work out how he was managing to be so calm; injuries like this usually came in with wailing and cursing.

"I can't," she said bluntly, blinking at him. "I'm not really a doctor," she added. "I'm - I'm only an intern - "

"You're surgery, though, right?" he asked, his knuckles white as he clutched his shoulder. "Green scrubs," he supplied, gesturing for explanation, and she looked down to check before kicking herself. _Obviously,_ she fumed. _Hermione, you idiot._

"I can't help you," she repeated apologetically, though her eyes slipped repeatedly between the blood seeping towards his chest and the piercing intensity of his eyes. "I'm sorry, but that's hospital policy. But the emergency room is right this way," she explained hopefully, trying to coax him, "and I'll help you with anything you need - "

"You don't understand," he told her, his face flushed; he was stunning, even covered in blood. Her eyes flicked momentarily over the tattoos that sloped over his neatly muscled arms. "I _can't_ go in there."

"Why not?" she asked vacantly. "Insurance or something? Worry about that later," she advised,  
"surely we can figure something out - "

His expression instantly contorted into such an intensive display of agony and frustration that it immediately silenced her.

"I've got a fucking bullet lodged in my shoulder," he growled, tearing at his lip in agitation. "And I can't have someone taking it out of me and putting it some kind of fucking _police file_ \- "

He cut off, swearing in pain. " _Fuck_ \- "

"Police file?" she repeated, stunned. "Who did this?"

He stared imploringly at her. "Just fucking _trust me_ ," he said, in a way that did not encourage any form of trust, "you really don't want to know - and it's either you help me," he added vehemently, "or I bleed out _right fucking now_ \- "

"You want me to break hospital policy _and_ the law?" Hermione interrupted, aghast. "You can't be serious, I could lose my license, I'd - I'd never get a job - "

"I won't fucking tell anyone," he gasped, staggering forward to grip her arm. "Please, _please -_ "

"You're insane," she insisted, trying not to pay attention to the way his skin was going sallow and pale, his color waning. "Even putting aside the trouble _I_ could get in, I could - I could _kill_ you, I could do something wrong - " she cut off frantically, flailing her hands in panic as he groaned loudly in pain. "I don't even have a _sterile environment_ \- "

"What's your name?" he interjected, his grasp on her arm uncomfortably tight.

"Hermione," she said, and then shook her head. "I mean Granger - _Doctor_ Granger - "

"Granger, I'm fucking begging you," he pleaded, "take this fucking bullet out of my shoulder and end the _worst fucking day of my life_ , or just inject me with something and put me out of my misery altogether - "

He broke off, squeezing his eyes shut and flinching, his shirt now soaked with blood.

"That's a little dramatic," she managed, appalled at the sound of her own whimper.

But she'd taken an oath, hadn't she? She'd gone to medical school to _save lives,_ hadn't she? To do some good in the world? She shifted from foot to foot, inexplicably torn.

They were outside a hospital. She could just _make_ him go to the ER. He was going to pass out any moment anyway, one yell would get an EMT out there; there was no reason she couldn't do things by the book, no matter what he said, or how desperate he looked - _god,_ he really did look like it was a matter of life or death -

She bit her lip, trying to focus. _Think of your career, Hermione, think of your life - you don't know what he's done -_

 _Does it matter?_ she scolded herself. _A life is a life, isn't it, Hermione?_

 _Even if this is the moral thing to do, are you even awake enough?_ she countered internally. _Fifteen hour shift and he wants you to slice open his shoulder -_

 _There are a million reasons not to_ , she reminded herself. She looked at his face, at the naked desperation etched into it, and tried to convince herself not to listen to what his grey eyes were telling her, tried to ignore the nagging feeling in her gut. _Don't do it, Hermione._

"Please," he whispered.

She sighed. "Let me grab some tools," she muttered, rubbing her eyes. "You stay here and pray I don't kill you."

* * *

Draco heard a car door slam outside his apartment and came curiously to the window; he saw the pretty doctor - Granger, she'd said her name was - get out of the same old Subaru that she'd stitched him up in, slinging a bag over her shoulder and tucking her hands into her well worn jeans. Her hair was pulled back in a loose braid; she looked like she must have recently got off work.

 _Fuck me,_ he swore, hoping there was a way he could pass off her visit without Riddle getting wind of it. Tom wasn't much for outsiders. He wouldn't take kindly to anything that appeared suspicious, and he was a man who found most things suspicious.

Draco rushed to the door, opening it before she could knock.

"How did you find me?" he demanded, glancing around. "Get in," he added, pulling her inside quickly.

"Um," she began hesitantly, stumbling through the doorway, "well, I see you're still alive."

"How did you find me?" he repeated, crossing his arms over his chest. She seemed vaguely put out by his hostility, though she didn't back down.

"Draco Malfoy isn't exactly a common name," she informed him, pursing her lips. "Wasn't that hard. And _shockingly_ ," she added, "surgery is slightly more complicated than a Google search."

"Why are you here?" he insisted, ignoring her comment and wondering if he should rush her out. Someone would have noticed her car by now.

"I have to remove your stitches," she said, teasing her shoulders back indignantly. She had a prim kind of stubbornness, a little taste of _don't fuck with me_ that he should have known was dangerous. "I didn't exactly get my hands on the high quality dissolving kind when I was MacGyvering you back to life in my car."

"Oh," he muttered, instinctively bringing his hand to his shoulder. MacGyvered or not, she'd done a solid enough job; it would scar, obviously, but not badly. "Fine."

"If you're busy, I can come back later," she offered, but he shook his head.

"No," he said sharply. "You shouldn't come back here. _Ever_ ," he added emphatically, hoping she would find that sufficient.

"Okay," she sighed, with a hint of snotty displeasure. "Or I could just go," she added, giving him a taunting look. "If you'd rather I not be here."

He fought a frustrated groan; she was a little exasperating, and more than a little enticing, which was just as much a problem. "It's not _you_ ," he said quickly, "it's - "

He cut himself off. She waited.

"Nevermind," he determined slowly, eyeing her. She was watching him curiously, chewing her lip as she waited; he tried not to let his gaze linger too long on her mouth. "Just - do what you have to do, then."

"How _gracious_ of you," she quipped sarcastically, but she put her bag on the kitchen table, pulling out a chair for him. "Sit," she instructed. "Shirt off," she added, her cheeks turning slightly pink.

"Are you sure this isn't a social visit?" he asked her, smirking as he dutifully removed the thin white t-shirt he wore. Her eyes went instantly to his chest, and she promptly reddened.

"Purely medical," she determined, recovering quickly. "So sit here, and - is that a _knife_?" she asked, sounding vaguely horrified as she eyed the handle that protruded from his waistband.

"It is," he confirmed indifferently, removing it and setting it on the table as he took a seat. "Can't be too careful."

"But you're in your _house_ ," she squeaked, her brow furrowed in confusion.

 _Ah, culture shock. Welcome to my world, Doc._

"Yeah," he agreed. "That's why it's a knife and not a Glock. Much more casual," he joked.

"Not a - " she trailed off, swallowing as she reached the word _Glock_. "Oh."

She stood still, suddenly uncertain. She looked small and lost, and for some reason, he almost smiled. _Am I making you nervous?_ he wanted to ask.

He hoped so.

"This is what you came for, right?" he prompted, gesturing to his shoulder. The thick black stitches were stark against the yellowed bruising of the skin.

"Right," she agreed, suddenly snapping out of her temporary stupor and pulling up a chair next to him, rifling for things in her bag and getting to work. She seemed subdued by the prospect of something she understood; he recognized the compulsion. It was the moment of stillness and focus right before the engine roared to life. "How are you feeling?"

"Stressed," he replied. "With a touch of despondency. You?"

He watched her lips twitch into a small smile. "I meant the whole bullet wound thing," she clarified, her brown eyes briefly meeting his.

"Ah, that," he replied, trying not to shrug and disrupt her work as she unwillingly dragged her attention back to the stitches. "You do great work, Granger. I'm perfectly healed."

"Really?" she asked dubiously, glancing at him again. Her eyes, normally wide and earnest, were glimmering with delicate skepticism.

"No," he grumbled. "It fucking _hurts_ , Granger, what do you want from me?" he asked, frowning. "Can't you just let me be a man?"

He was gratified to see her smile again. "Right," she said, nodding solemnly and ducking her head to hide a laugh. "Of course."

He watched her work, wondering if he wasn't secretly relieved to see her again. The first time had been tainted by the disaster of the day, of course; Fenrir knew what he was doing. He hadn't shot to kill. He'd shot to injure, to _inconvenience,_ and by the time Theo had his gun cocked the other three had practically laughed their way out, tires squealing as they left Draco behind to bleed all over Theo's car and face a raging Tom Riddle; to deliver the disappointing news that his stolen artillery was going to need a new fucking buyer, and Riddle himself was going to need better security.

His father had looked murderous. Lucius was a loyalist when it came to Tom; he'd been rewarded well for it, and he was a man who liked rewards. _Don't fuck up next time_ , Lucius had spat, leaving Draco behind to nurse his aching shoulder and wonder firstly whether he was still Tom's favorite, and secondly, whether or not that particular role was going to eventually get him killed.

The concept of Draco having a near death experience was lost on Lucius; his pride in his son was dependent on Draco continuing to be the golden boy, the assured leader of the next generation of Death Eaters. Not that Draco could blame him. It was a source of pride for Draco, too. Or it had been, in any case, though he didn't care much for bullet holes. The phrase _don't shoot the messenger_ suddenly hit far too close to home.

 _But this is a different day,_ he reminded himself, chasing the thought away as Granger's brown eyes met his again; she couldn't seem to help herself, and he found he wasn't opposed. Today, the pretty doctor was in his house, and he was already fucked by her presence, and her fingers were a little too inviting on his skin . . . not that it wouldn't be stupid, obviously. Completely idiotic.

But maybe - just _once_ -

"There," she said breathlessly, smoothing her hand over it; her touch was cool and captivating. "I can give you something for the scars, if you want - "

 _Fuck it._

He leaned forward, gripping the back of her head and pulling her lips to his, the kiss not rough enough to bruise but certainly firm enough for her to know he meant it. Enough to tell her what he wanted - _I want you_ \- and then he slipped his tongue along her bottom lip; a question. _Do you?_

She swayed toward him in a helpless way, like she was fighting it, but she kissed him back just as earnestly and then her hands were slipping down his stomach, resting tentatively on his hips; he wondered if she could feel the way he instinctively leaned in at her touch, the hairs rising on his arms as her fingers moved to linger on the waistband of his jeans. He pulled her head back, moving to scrape his teeth along her neck, feeling her shudder in response.

She pulled away, her eyes closed. "I really, really, really," she began slowly, " _honestly_ came to fix your stitches."

"But?" he prompted, his voice husky. _I want you._

She eyed him for a minute before speaking.

"I'm a surgical intern," she said, and he blinked, uncertain what direction she was taking. "I work terrible shifts and I barely have time for anything. _Anything_ ," she repeated adamantly, and he realized she was telling him something.

"You want me to fuck you," he supplied roughly, and though she seemed momentarily uncomfortable with the vulgarity of the phrasing, she nodded.

He fought a smirk. _Fine by me._

He yanked her to him again and she instantly put her hands on his chest; he smiled as she sighed into his mouth, her hands traveling hungrily over his curves and angles to prove what he'd suspected all along - _she'd been looking._ He pulled her sweater over her head, sliding his fingers along the cups of her bra, and she stood, shimmying hurriedly out of her jeans and carefully straddling him on the chair.

He slid his hands up her spine, unclasping her bra and tossing it aside, running a thumb over the hardened bead of her nipple and then taking it in his mouth, enjoying the sound of her breathy whimper and the feel of her grinding against him, wondering momentarily if it had been worth getting shot.

She reached down, unbuttoning his jeans and taking his cock in her hand; he slipped a finger against her slit and she moaned, already slick and as desperate as he was. He pushed her practical white cotton thong aside and slid inside her, swallowing a heady _fuck_ of satisfaction as he thrust up; he growled his frustration at the obstruction of the garment and reached for his knife, ignoring the panicked widening of her eyes as he slid the cool blade against the material and tore it away from her. She made an incoherent, strangled sound as he tossed the knife aside and shoved the items gracelessly off the table, lifting her up and laying her on top of it; the look of alarm that had crossed her face melted as he brought his hand to her clit, sliding his thumb against it as he drove into her, her back arched as she raised her hips to his.

As her face went blank with pleasure he knew for certain he was fucked. He closed his eyes as she called out his name, considering with vague amusement that the concept of _just once_ had been one of his finest delusions.

* * *

Hermione walked into her apartment and threw her bag on the ground, exhausted.

But not _too_ exhausted. She picked up her phone, typing in a text message.

 _Just got done at the hospital. Are you around?_

Okay, so it wasn't the romance of her dreams. It wasn't _not_ , either, but there were certainly concessions made on her part. He didn't like her coming over to his place, for one thing; he was extremely secretive, and she had no idea why, nor did she really have any idea what he did for a living. The bullet wound and the tattoos indicated that he was probably not an investment banker - _sorry, Mom_ \- but he was clearly intelligent, and certainly wealthy to at least some degree. From what she could see, anyway; they didn't go out much - or at all - but that worked for her. She only had enough time to have sex and sleep in between shifts, and he didn't mind. He seemed to prefer it.

He was also available during the random hours between leaving work and passing out completely before going back, so convenience-wise, it was about the best she could hope for.

In general, though, answers were a rarity. She'd asked about him getting shot; _trust me, you don't want to know._

She'd asked about why he didn't want her at his house; _am I married? Don't be fucking ridiculous. It's nothing like that._

Other than that, he didn't offer up much, and it wasn't until she'd finally learned what the tattoo on his wrist was - the snake inside the skull that she'd assumed he simply considered _badass_ or something - that she even came close to putting a finger on what he did all day.

"Are you a Death Eater?" she asked, her head on his chest as he played with her hair. She had about ten minutes before she promptly fell asleep, so he was usually willing to entertain her questions.

He looked down, squinting at her in confusion. "You didn't know that?"

"No," she admitted. "I didn't know that even meant anything until someone came in today with the same tattoo." She traced her thumb along the outline of his wrist. "I asked one of the other interns."

"I forget you're not from around here," he commented, which she found to be somewhat evasive. "Who came in?"

"An older guy," she offered. "Last name Mulciber, I think." It was easier to think of the patients in terms of their medical charts. "Stab wound."

She felt a strange lurch as she said it, trying not to recall the image of Draco setting his knife on the table; she still wasn't entirely accustomed to him pulling out a knife or a gun from his waistband before he undressed. He was discreet about it - he obviously sensed she wasn't entirely comfortable with the arsenal of weapons he seemed to need to carry around - but still, there was always an unwilling catch in her breath when she watched him do it.

"Fuck," Draco muttered under his breath, shaking his head. "Shit is getting really - " he cut himself off, his grey eyes flashing as he caught her curious look of concern. "Nevermind," he offered gruffly, clearly venturing back into _trust me, you don't want to know_ territory.

"What's the deal with the Death Eaters?" she asked instead, tracing the outline of the tattoo on his chest; _my family crest_ , he'd told her. _Sanctimonia Vincet Semper; Purity Always Conquers._ "What do you do?"

A blank look went over his face; predictably, he didn't want to talk about it. _Trust me, you don't want to know._

"It's a motorcycle club," he supplied slowly, and while she suspected that barely scratched the surface, she nodded, running her hand absentmindedly over his abs and grinning as his cock twitched receptively.

"I have just one more question," she ventured, and he smirked, inviting it. "What's the deal with the whole 'ride or die' thing?"

He chuckled, pulling her closer. "It's an old biker phrase," he offered, shrugging. "If you couldn't ride, you'd rather die. Means something a little different now. Ride together, or die trying." He kissed her forehead roughly. "Some Bonnie and Clyde shit."

"Huh," Hermione had remarked, having about a thousand more important questions she'd rather have asked, and deciding instead to be satisfied with receiving one true answer. "Good to know."

Her phone jerked her back to the present, buzzing in her hand.

 _I'll be there in ten minutes._

She smiled, about to set the phone down, when it went off again.

 _Be naked._

* * *

"Tell me there's a way out of this," Theo muttered, looking even more gaunt than usual.

"I'm thinking not," Draco sighed, rolling the exhaustion out his neck. "Though I am assured this time the artillery's legit."

"Assured by whom?" Theo scoffed. "Lucius?"

 _Obviously_.

Draco said nothing.

"You'd think he'd know better," Theo grumbled, "but apparently one measly pipe bomb strapped to his bike isn't enough to scare Tom Riddle straight."

"You'd think Greyback would've tried harder," Draco added, a hint of bitterness working its way into his tone. "Severe lack of creativity, if you ask me."

Theo huffed his agreement. "Anyway, I didn't just mean _this_ ," he said, his voice low and conspiratorial. "Not just tonight."

Draco looked up warily.

"There's got to be a way out of _all_ of this," Theo clarified, swallowing what Draco knew was a lifetime of fury.

"Not so long as Riddle's in charge," Draco muttered, hoping that would be that.

A pause passed between them; Draco could practically hear Theo's thoughts, but by the time Theo spoke the words out loud, he'd already forcefully shoved the possibility aside.

It was hushed, and rightfully so. "What if he weren't in charge?"

"Shut the fuck up," Draco said sharply, nodding to the approaching headlights. "They're coming."

* * *

She heard his motorcycle pull up and her eyes snapped open, checking her clock.

Three in the morning - that wasn't normal. She flew to the door, throwing it open as she heard his heavy footstep on the landing.

"Draco," she breathed, her chest tightening as his face came into the light. His eye was nearly swollen shut and his lip was bleeding, the purple bruising of new injuries already starting to show. "Draco, Jesus Christ, what happened?"

He didn't have to say anything. _Trust me, you don't want to know._

She took his hand and drew him inside, letting the door shut behind him and wrapping her arms tightly around his neck; he pulled her in close and she stretched out against him, pressing every inch of her body against some spare piece of his.

He was shaking a little and she led him to the couch, collapsing with him. She agonized for a moment - she was a medical professional, she knew perfectly well that his face needed attention - but she couldn't let go, couldn't imagine being anywhere else but in his arms. She held him until his breathing slowed and his tremors subsided, stroking his hair and whispering in his ear.

She reached around for where she knew he'd be keeping something in his waistband, a pistol or a knife; but there was nothing, and she felt a chill run through her, her entire body going numb as her mind sorted through countless possibilities. _If there had been a weapon there, had it been drawn? Had someone else fared worse tonight?_

For a moment she tried to care, but quickly found that she couldn't; she rooted around in her conscience for morality and compassion but only found a selfish breath of gladness, of _relief_ that he was here with her, whatever sacrifice that feat had taken.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, realizing she had been crying. "I can have sex in a minute, I just - "

She felt him swallow. "I didn't come for sex," he confessed, the anguish in his voice prompting a shiver up her spine. He burrowed his face in her shoulder, breathing in the smell of her hair.

"I just want to be with you," he told her, and she wondered how much it cost him to say it.

* * *

"What's her name?" Theo asked innocently, and Draco looked up, startled.

"What's whose name?" he asked, feeling his heart pound.

"Avery's been seeing your bike," Theo said slowly. " _Not_ somewhere it should be."

"I - " Draco began, cursing himself for his carelessness. He'd been with her every night that she wasn't working. "It's not - "

"Be careful," Theo warned. "She's a citizen, isn't she?" Draco knew what he meant: _she's not one of us._

Draco's mouth went dry. Theo wouldn't have brought it up unless he'd heard something dangerous. He didn't need to hear the words; _Riddle won't like that._

But still, it was Theo.

"She's a fucking surgeon," Draco choked out, suddenly finding the concept absolutely absurd. _She's a surgeon, and I'm a pawn on wheels._

"Fuuuuck," Theo exhaled slowly, taking a swig from his beer. "You'd think she'd know better than to get involved with trash like you."

They glanced at each other and grinned.

"Granger," Draco provided, savoring her name on his tongue as he reached for a sip of Theo's beer. "Dr. Hermione Granger," he enunciated slowly, feeling a strange surge of pride as he said it.

Theo nodded, taking the beer back and tossing back a long gulp.

"Don't get her killed," Theo muttered.

* * *

"Dr. Granger, we need you, there's nobody else - "

"What is it?" Hermione asked, turning to run after the orderly. She dodged a few other nurses and staff, chasing him through the ER as people continued to call out her name. It was a busy day; a large scale car crash had come in hours earlier, and the attendings were elsewhere -

"Dr. Granger, there you are - "

The nurses were scrambling around an unresponsive body; Hermione's heart lurched as a pale wrist came into view, a skull and a snake clearly visible as the hand draped over the side of the gurney.

 _It couldn't be -_

"Dr. Granger?"

She looked at the nurse, forcing herself to focus and swallowing her immediate urge to vomit.

"What happened?" she asked breathlessly, rubbing her clavicle; her pulse was racing and her brain was screaming, blood rushing in her ears. "What happened to him?"

"GSW to the chest," the arriving EMT called, "through-and-through - "

"Let me see," Hermione said desperately, half-shoving people out of her way. "Let me _see -_ "

She caught a glimpse of dark hair and felt a cruel moment of relief before remembering that this was her _job_ , rushing forward to see the injury. The blood loss was staggering and he was so similar to Draco, his build and height, and the tattoos; he had some of the same ones Draco did. She reached out, checking for a pulse.

Someone called for a code behind her. "Dr. Granger - "

"Granger?"

Her name had dribbled out of the Death Eater's mouth and she looked sharply at him, watching him try to slur something she thought she vaguely understood.

"Draco," he muttered. "Draco - "

She looked up frantically, gesturing to an orderly.

"Call Draco Malfoy," she begged. "Call him _now_ , please - "

She turned back to the dark haired Death Eater. "You're going to make it," she told him fiercely, something wretched twisting in her chest as his eyes drooped shut, slipping back out of consciousness. "I don't know how, but I'm going to save your fucking life."

* * *

Draco ran through the halls of the hospital.

"Theo," he panted, throwing himself at someone who appeared capable of operating a computer. "I'm looking for Theo Nott - "

"Draco."

He turned, seeing her. "Granger," he sighed, yanking her into his arms. "Fuck, Granger, what happened? Where is he?"

"Post-op," she supplied. She looked exhausted and pale, and there were dark spatterings of blood on her scrubs. "He's okay, he's in one of the rooms but it's - " she looked down, suddenly hesitant. "It's family only right now - "

"Fuck _that_ ," Draco gritted out in frustration. "That's my fucking _brother_ , Granger - "

She grabbed his hand, pulling him behind her with a surprising strength and dragging him into one of the on-call rooms. He followed, knowing better than to roar his displeasure, but wanting to anyway.

"Calm down," she told him, trying to coax him to sit on one of the cots. The patronizingly gentle tone of her voice was infuriating. "I know, I know how you must feel - "

"No you _don't_ ," he shouted back, raking a hand through his hair. "You have no _fucking clue,_ Granger - how could you fucking _know -_ "

"I know a half-dead Death Eater showed up in my ER and my heart nearly fucking _stopped_ ," she spat back, rising angrily to her feet. "I know that I was in your _exact_ position and I thought I was going to _lose my mind -_ "

"And what position was that, Granger?" Draco demanded. "What makes you think you fucking understand _anything_?"

"Because I thought someone I love was going to die, and for a minute, I wanted to, too!" she yelled, tears stinging mercilessly as she rounded on him. "Every time I see you, Draco, I swear, I die a little more, and _this_ " - she passed a hand between them, gesturing to the space that suddenly seemed to fill the room - "this, keeping behind closed doors, it won't be enough - it _can't_ be enough when I can never know if you're _safe -_ "

"I'm _never_ safe!" he erupted, stepping forward to grip her shoulders. "You don't understand, I'm not fucking _safe_ \- " he broke off, hearing his voice creak with unspoken torment. "I couldn't keep Theo safe, and _you're_ not safe - "

"What is this?" she begged. "Tell me, _please_ , just tell me - "

 _Don't,_ he wanted to beg her. _Don't do this. Trust me, you don't want to know -_

But he knew better. Nobody could live like that. He staggered forward, taking her face in his hands and feeling a toxic agony course through him.

"We can't do this," he told her, his voice breaking. "I can't - I'm not the one for you, you'll never fucking be safe with me - " he brought his hand to his temple, suffering a rush of self-loathing. "I can't give you the things you want - "

"I want _you_ ," she said tearfully, and she kissed him savagely, like she was daring the world to drag her away from him; for a moment he got lost in it - _fuck it, I want you -_

"It's never going to be a normal love," he said, breaking the kiss to look her in the eye and force himself to _stick to his fucking guns_. "I can't hold your hand in the street, I'll never - " he faltered, not knowing what normal people wanted. "I'll never fucking, I don't know, kiss you in public - "

"That's not what I need," she said, breathlessly pleading with him. "I want _you_ , and whatever stolen moments you can give me, but I - " she started crying, and if he'd hated himself before, it was nothing like what he'd known in that moment. "I just want to _know_ , I just _need_ to know you're not going to - to come in bleeding on my operating table someday - "

"I can't promise you that," he cut in, brushing a loose curl away from her cheek and cupping her face in his hands. "I can't, Granger - "

"Tell me what you can," she begged him, her eyes wide. It was torture, and he couldn't stand it anymore; he couldn't see that look on her face anymore.

And so against all odds - over the volume of _trust me, you don't want to know_ \- he told her.

He told her about Dumbledore; how his death had been clumsy turmoil and it left them in shambles and Tom Riddle had picked up the pieces, Tom Riddle who treated them like pawns and trapped them in his cycle of violence and greed. He told her about how it wasn't what he came for, it _wasn't_ what he wanted, but it was what he was fucking _born_ for; nothing else but _this_.

After he said it, he thought for sure she would run; she was smart, he reasoned, and she would know a lost cause when she saw one. She would recognize a bad thing - a bad person - and she'd know how to leave. But instead her brown eyes had gone focused and clear - _the moment of stillness and focus right before the engine roared to life_ \- and she'd kissed him like she'd never kissed him before, taking the breath from his lungs and tearing the clothes from his back, more than _hungry_ , more than _wanting_ \- a desperate, craving _need_ -

His fingers shook as he hastily untied her scrubs, her nails scratching against the stubble on his jaw. _Take it,_ he thought, _take me, take everything_ -

She pulled him back onto the bed and wrapped her legs around his hips and he fucked her with the kind of yearning he'd never let himself feel before, suddenly determined to leave everything behind him; her fingers dug into his back and he hoped she drew blood, hoped that she was taking something from him as selfishly as he took from her.

 _I love you,_ he didn't say.

They'd both be dead if she ever knew.

* * *

Hermione slipped inside the administrative office; she'd said something about needing to look at an autopsy report from a surgery she'd assisted. It had been a particularly flimsy lie - _I just wanted to see how procedure was recorded, sir, if you don't mind -_ but this wasn't a hospital that cared much about logistics; _those reports are mostly for lawyers_ , she'd gotten in response, _but fine, suit yourself._

She went straight for the file cabinet marked _A-D_ and dug around at the back, hunting for _Dumbledore, Albus._ Something Draco had said had stuck out; something felt slightly off in her highly organized mind, and she had to see it for herself. She hadn't mentioned anything to him, but it had been nagging at her. _He was in some kind of freak accident,_ Draco had said, _the gun went off and he died in surgery._

She picked up the file and opened it; it was particularly sparse, considering that based on Draco's description of what happened, it would surely have led to all kinds of administrative headaches, including an M&M conference, which were not such common occurrences as to have escaped her attention. She read the EMT's notes first, glancing carefully over the scrawled handwriting.

 _GSW to the chest. DOA._

She blinked in confusion; if he'd died on arrival, _how had_ -

She flipped to the coroner's notes; initially these seemed to match the EMT's assertion, but then the handwriting had changed, as if more had been added after the fact. The opening remarks were scribbled out, later replaced by a generic description of surgical error and a subsequent infection, signed and dated two days after the incident.

 _Impossible,_ she thought. This was fraud to the most inconceivable degree, or if not fraud, utter carelessness by administration -

 _Riddle is no one to toy with,_ Draco had told her, his voice low and edged with fear. _He's got more power over people than I've ever understood; he's never once run into trouble._

She glanced at the report again. _GSW to the chest. DOA._

Something wasn't right.

* * *

"You fucking killed him," Draco snarled, staring furiously into Riddle's remorseless blue eyes as he pointed the gun from across the room. " _You_ fucking killed Dumbledore, and you really thought nobody would ever figure it out?"

"Did your pretty doctor figure that out for you?" Riddle offered blandly, shrugging with indifference. "That's easily sorted out, you know." He looked skeptically at Draco. "I'd put that down, if I were you," he added, unfazed.

Draco swallowed, stunned at the mention of Granger. "I - " he started. "I have no idea what you think you're talking about," he lied, though he pointedly refused to lower the gun.

" _Sure_ you don't," Riddle agreed, feigning amicability. "But please," he added, with the air of someone who had never once felt threatened, " _do_ continue."

"Nobody will fucking stand for this," Draco told him venomously, trying to shake the thought of Fenrir being found dead and fighting not to picture Granger's face where Greyback's had been, blank and lifeless. "Not even my father - "

"Are you so sure about that?" Riddle cut in, blinking innocently. "You sound more confident than I would advise you to be, personally."

"You can pretend all you want," Draco snapped, "but there's _proof_ , and nobody will stand for it, not after knowing _you_ were the one behind this - "

"Are you so willing to gamble your life on this?" Riddle asked nonchalantly, raising one arched brow. "Are you really this happy to paint a target on _her_ back? Tell me, Draco," he added, rising from behind his desk and leaning forward in mock interest. "Did you check to make sure she was safe before this conversation began?"

Draco's heart thudded in his chest; he hadn't known Riddle knew about Granger. He cursed himself for his own idiocy, begging every unknown deity he could think of that she was at the hospital working, or at least not alone.

"You didn't, did you?" Riddle sighed, his lips curling up an a repulsive, heartless smile. "How truly unfortunate for both of you."

"Don't," Draco growled, "don't think you can fucking _threaten_ her - "

"Ah, have you remembered her now?" Riddle commented. "Convenient. But alas," he continued, taking a step towards Draco, "it's not a threat. I think you'll find I've got quite a bit more loyalty than you realize, young Mr Malfoy," Riddle added, "and it's the _kind_ of loyalty you're about to learn right now."

Draco's finger shook against the trigger of his Glock. "Don't," he repeated, his teeth gritted, but Riddle ignored him.

"Do you think Dumbledore is the first person I've killed?" At that, Riddle laughed; a jarring, maniacal laugh. "Or the _last_ , for that matter?"

"Stay away from her," Draco muttered, jabbing the gun at Riddle a second time. _Pull the trigger, Draco, do it_ -

"Oh, you can shoot me, if you want," Riddle offered generously. "If that would make you feel better. _But_ ," he added, and Draco felt a bead of sweat drip down his back, "if you _do_ , then who will tell Avery to stop watching her house?" He leaned back against his desk, eyeing his fingers. "Or advise Rowle to leave the hospital?"

"You're fucking bluffing," Draco growled, though he wasn't at all convinced. "You're just saying that."

"Maybe," Riddle agreed, shrugging. "Why don't you shoot me," he suggested, laughing again as though such a thing would only bring him joy, "and we can see which one of us is right?"

Draco's breathing was ragged, his vision swimming as he processed the words; it was only a game to Riddle, a fucking joke, but this was _Granger_ on the line, and Draco was dizzied by the choice, paralyzed with indecision.

It was only when he heard two loud shots ring out from behind him that he even realized there was someone else in the room.

* * *

"Sorry," Hermione said quietly, her ears ringing as she let the pistol fall to the ground with a loud clatter, the sound echoing in the room. "I, um - borrowed something."

Draco stared at her; she stared back at him, her breath caught by the feverish look in his grey eyes. She tried not to think about the particular puppet-like way that Tom Riddle had dropped limply to the ground, his blood quickly seeping into the gaudy carpet. She was a surgeon, after all, and an efficient one. She knew exactly where to aim, and she had very, _very_ reliable hand-eye coordination.

The best in her class, or so she'd been told.

"How would you feel about disappearing for a little while with me?" Draco asked breathlessly, and he was suddenly right in front of her, his arms tight around her, his fingers tangled in her hair. She nearly laughed in spite of herself, leaning in as he bent to kiss her neck.

"I love you," he murmured in her ear.

There had been no question. He'd never had to say the words.

"Ride or die," she whispered back.

* * *

 **a/n:** Disclaimer - I don't actually know anything about 1) guns 2) any medical professions 3) motorcycles 4) the show Sons of Anarchy . . . the list goes on. Apologies for any inaccuracies.

That being said, this is my take on Agnl9's forbidden love prompt, and I hope you liked it! THIS IS NOW A FULL BLOWN MULTI-CHAPTERED WIP AND CAN BE FOUND ON MY PROFILE. Hope you enjoy!


	29. Drunk Rewrite, Pt II: The Forest Again

**Drunk Rewrite, Pt II: The Forest Again**

 _Pairing:_ Canon pairings

 _Universe:_ Canon

 _Rating:_ M for language, loads of swears

 _Summary:_ This is going to serve as both _Drunk Rewrite_ and a _Marauders Doing Everyday Things, Episode II_. If you missed the _Drunk Epilogue Rewrite_ (Chapter 20), this is a thing I do because UnicornShenanigans once suggested I could have written a better epilogue than Joanne even if I'd been drunk, so that led to this sequence: me, quite drunk (QUITE drunk), rewriting the epilogue to Harry Potter, and then later, me rewriting the forest scene. I am posting now because it is already written and I owe you one, and also I just remembered it even exists thanks to lovely and hilarious user FlirtingWithDisaster on AO3.

It is an abridged version of the original _Live Drunk Rewrite Pt. II_ , because the beginning was mostly intolerable rambling; for the rewrite in its entirety, find me on tumblr (olivieblake).

* * *

"I am about to die," Harry whispered, and the metal shell broke open.

There was confetti inside.

Just kidding! dead people.

They were neither ghost nor truly flesh, he could see that; but they were all _much_ younger than they had been in the movies.

James was exactly the same height as Harry, which was probably why it took so long for Lily to take any interest in him. He was wearing the same clothes in which he died, and his hair was untidy and ruffled, bearing some fatherly markers despite being not even old enough to rent a car.

Sirius was tall and handsome. From afar, Hermione dampened slightly.

Lupin was younger too. Even Harry was sort of down, all things considered.

Lily's smile was widest of all.

"You've been so brave," she said. "My genes, I expect."

"Fucking - _what_ did you say, Evans?" James squawked, turning to face her. "I thought we agreed you wouldn't say shit like that to _my son_."

"Potter, you unbearable swine!" she yelled. "I am trying to have a _moment_!"

"Um," Harry managed. "Mum?"

"Oh, yes, hello darling," she said, shoving James away. "Get away, Potter, I'm quite busy, or did you not notice - "

"I fucking noticed!" James shouted. "Anyway, it's my turn - "

He nudged her aside, blocking her from view as he attempted to speak to Harry.

"Nearly there, son," he said, before Lily elbowed him in the ribs. "Evans, you brute!"

"Brute?" she echoed in disbelief, elbowing him a second time. "Come here and say that to my face, Potter, I dare you - "

"I will!" he roared, staring her down. "Don't you toy with me, woman, I am five seconds from putting you up against that tree - "

"Yes, hi," Remus interrupted, stepping smoothly between them. "Just a thought - Harry has a question?"

Lily squinted at him. "Oh yes," she said, remembering. "Do ask."

"Does it hurt?" Harry asked childishly.

James scoffed loudly, stepping in front of Lily to face Harry. "Listen, son - "

"How about Padfoot takes this one?" Remus cut in, gesturing for Sirius. "Sirius, what do _you_ think about this" - he paused, looking meaningfully at the other man - " _very sensitive_ question?"

"I have thoughts," Sirius announced definitively, and Remus nodded.

"Good," he said apprehensively. "Good start."

"So, in terms of metaphysical being, no," Sirius began, "but pain, of course, is classified in a number of different states, which is to not even begin to address the fucking inconvenience, obviously - "

There was a loud, collective groan.

"What he's saying is no," Remus yelled casually. "He's saying no. It's fine. Super easy."

"What, dying?" Harry asked, confused, having lost track of the matter at hand.

"Yes," Remus assured him. "Totally fine. Very normal."

"Moony, you fuck," James interrupted, nudging him aside to look at Harry. "Dying's a real bitch, son."

"Oh, _here_ we go," Lily announced, rolling her eyes. "James Potter, the fucking _expert_ in everything - "

"Evans, you have no idea the kind of epic railing you are about to receive later," James warned, glaring at her. "And anyway - " he turned back to Harry. "What was it you wanted again?"

"Just like … advice would be cool," Harry ventured. "Like, any tips, you know?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake, is it too late to suggest you don't trust Dumbledore?" James offered, and Lily sighed loudly.

"Don't listen to him," she cooed reassuringly. "It's fine, darling."

"Easier than falling asleep," Sirius added, and Remus threw his hands in the air.

"Where was that five minutes ago?" he demanded crossly.

Sirius shrugged. "I don't know, it just came to me."

Remus sighed. "It seems like - "

"Art takes time, Remus!" Sirius barked, crossing his arms over his chest and pouting.

"I think," James said slowly, "we may have gotten slightly off track."

"Brilliant, Potter," Lily mumbled. "Discovery of the century."

"I tell you what, son, I'm going to fuck your mum later," James informed Harry, his voice low in his ear. "Honestly, fatherly advice: this is just foreplay."

"Okay, excellent," Harry agreed warily, wondering if he had been wrong to wish he'd had parents all those years, "but in the meantime - "

"Oh, right," James realized, straightening. "You wanted advice."

"Yes," Remus sighed emphatically. "Yes!"

"Okay, cool, well - here's the thing," James ventured. "You are - how old are you?"

"I'm seventeen," Harry reminded him. "Sort of a big deal."

"Yeah, totes," James agreed. "So, just for reference, I'm twenty one."

Harry burst out laughing. "No you aren't!"

"No, we definitely are," Lily agreed, making a face. "I know. It's ludicrous."

"So," Harry said hesitantly, "like, in terms of what to do in this particular instance … "

"Honestly? I have no fucking idea," James supplied, shrugging. "I mean, we barely made it further than you did."

"We did make it further in school," Lily said hopefully. "Do you need help with homework?"

"No I don't need help with homework!" Harry exclaimed in disbelief. "Mum!"

"Yeah, okay, so," Remus interrupted, attempting to be productive, "back to the question of dying being painful - "

"Easier than falling asleep!" Sirius declared, now quite impressed with his own assessment. "Poetic as fuck, that is."

"Right," Remus sighed, "and Voldemort will want it quick, of course, because this has lasted far too many books at this point."

"So you're saying not to drag it out?" Harry asked. "Avoid forcing an additional decade of web commentary from the author?"

"Well, let's not be too hasty," Remus amended quickly.

"I didn't want you to die," Harry said, suddenly unable to prevent the words. "Any of you. Especially not you," he added, turning to Lupin. "Right after you had your son - "

"You know, honestly, seeing this whole exchange has me questioning whether I was even father material to begin with," Remus said, frowning. "I can't even get _these_ idiots in line."

"We can never be governed!" Sirius trumpeted.

"You see?" Remus offered, shrugging. "Anyway, I'm sorry I'll never know him, but maybe some other old dude can manipulate him in order to save the wizarding world. I mean, there's obviously a limited number of opportunities, but I think he could edge his way in."

"Oh, his personal statement will be fucking obliterating," Harry agreed. "Totally."

"I mean, not trying to get ahead of myself, obviously," Remus amended.

"Naturally," Harry said, nodding. "Understood."

"And anyway, I died for a reason." Remus looked around. "We all did. Right?"

"I'd like to remind everyone that I am twenty one and still an idiot," James announced. "In case there were some lingering questions."

"No, we've got it, Potter," Lily said briskly.

Harry, realizing that he had chosen perhaps the most ineffectual sources of advice he could have sought out - he watched his father eye fuck his mother and considered if even Snape would have been more helpful - determined that they would not tell him to go; it would have to be his decision.

"You'll stay with me?" he asked hopefully.

"Okay, did nobody explain this whole stone thing to him?" James asked loudly. "Moony, did Dumbledore not tell him - "

"Prongs," Remus sighed. "Please."

"FINE," James barked irritably. "Yes, sure, we'll be here."

"Are you sure?" Harry asked, frowning.

"Yes, yes, until the very end," James muttered. "Because again, that's how the fucking stone works, it's not like I can run off for tea while you've got me captive here, son - "

"And they won't be able to see you?" asked Harry.

Sirius and James exchanged a glance.

"Is he not listening, or- "

"No, no, it's a whole thing," Sirius assured him, shaking his head and patting his best friend's shoulder. "Don't take it personally."

Harry cleared his throat. "So - "

"Oh for the actual sake of fuck," James muttered. "You take this one, Pads."

"Again, in terms of the metaphysical - "

"PADFOOT!" Lily and Remus shouted in unison.

"Right," Sirius sighed. "We're, um. We are part of you," he informed Harry. "Invisible to anyone else."

Harry looked at his mother.

"They're idiots," she informed him gravely. "I'm aware."

"I'm just wondering," Harry broached carefully, "your taste in men - "

"Completely suspect," Lily agreed, nodding. "Solid hair genes, though."

"Right," Harry sighed. "So - "

"Hey man," James said, his voice oddly patient. "In terms of defeating evil wizards, you really have us beat."

"True," Sirius agreed. "Handily."

"I'm thinking you're probably best off taking your own advice," James continued, tilting his head in consideration. "Agreed, Moony?"

"Oh, agreed," Remus nodded. "Certainly. We are fools."

"Utter fools," Sirius said vehemently. "Moronic twats over here on the dead side."

"Oddly, that does help," Harry commented, nodding in surprise. "Thanks."

Sirius pumped a triumphant fist in the air. "Nailed it!"

"Any last minute advice?" James offered hopefully. "Transfiguration? I'm a fucking _whiz_ at transfiguration."

"Um, maybe later," Harry agreed, before turning to his mother. "Stay close to me," he added quietly, his last request reserved for her.

Lily tossed her head back, sighing petulantly. "Fine," she agreed, glaring at James. "This is _your_ fault, by the way."

James shrugged. " _You_ forgot the contraception charm."

She made a face. "Fuck, that's right." She smiled fondly at Harry. "Ah, well. I've done worse things."

"Yeah," Sirius agreed. "Like James."

All was well.

* * *

 **a/n:** Just posting this now while I continue to slave away on _Nocturnes_ and other one shots. Thanks as always for enduring my absurdity!


	30. Perchance to Dream

Due to its darker content, this story has been moved to the story collection _**Draught of Living Death**_ and can be found as Chapter 4: _Perchance to Dream_.


	31. Birds

Due to its darker content, this story has been moved to the story collection _**Draught of Living Death**_ and can be found as Chapter 6: _Birds_.


	32. Three Wishes

**Three Wishes**

 _Pairing:_ Krumione (Viktor Krum x Hermione Granger)

 _Universe:_ Hogwarts/Post-Hogwarts AU, EWE

 _Rating:_ M for sexual content

 _Summary:_ Eidyia1 requested a light fourth year Krumione based on the quote " _Nothing can cure the soul but the senses, just as nothing can cure the senses but the soul_ ," from _The Picture of Dorian Gray_ by Oscar Wilde. This is that, and then some.

* * *

 **Three Wishes  
** Or _, the Same Wish, Three Ways;  
_ Or _, Three Dances With Viktor._

* * *

Not even the mirror had made her feel as beautiful as Viktor did when he looked at her; and that was really saying something, as the mirror was enchanted to be supportive.

 _You look lovely dear,_ the mirror squeaked, and Hermione almost believed it, trying not to run her fingers too many times through the rarity of her silkily tamed curls. _You are a breathtaking marvel._

Viktor's eyes though, they flamed; _You look like how it feels to catch my breath,_ he might have been saying, though he was a man of remarkably few words.

"Hi," Hermione said, taking his arm. His lips turned up almost imperceptibly in greeting. _Hi,_ he said back, with the way he brushed his fingers comfortingly across hers.

He never said much if he could help it. She read to him, mostly, and not even really because he liked to read - or be read to, for that matter, as far as she could tell - but because he didn't much care to chat, she suspected. She could see from her position on the outside that his life was full of noise, and that it relieved him to be silent.

He was a physical being, really, and as strange as that was to say - as strange as it was to even _be around_ , because even if Harry and Ron rarely wanted to talk about things that interested her, they still constantly _talked_ \- she found right away that she liked spending time with someone who knew the value of a touch, or the meaning in a glance; or the particular fleeting enchantment of his hand meeting her waist, right before they took the first step.

They'd danced before this - and _thank god_ , too, or she'd never have managed to stand in front of so many people without collapsing - on a particularly cool day, when he'd somehow led her outside to the lake. She'd heard one too many not-so-subtle coughs of _quidditch groupie_ and _fame-chasing swot_ and on that particular day, when Viktor's furrowed glare hadn't been silencing enough, she'd reluctantly followed when he offered her his hand, her cheeks flaming as the others stared.

She thought she would have been used to it by now, the meaningless name-calling and hollow accusations that she associated herself with boys who were so far above her; but there was still a throb of loneliness somewhere in her chest, a piece of her who would have traded Viktor's attention just to be invited when Lavender and Parvati went shopping in Hogsmeade or studied together, whispering little jokes that Hermione would never understand.

She wished she even _liked_ quidditch; then, maybe, she could at least appreciate Viktor the way Ron and Harry did, and maybe she might have more to say - to all _three_ of them.

Luckily, Viktor didn't seem to mind, and so she learned to value him instead; the breath she took of cool autumn air that day had been as soothing as his presence, and she relaxed, looking up into his solemn, dark eyes.

"What are you reading," he'd asked gruffly, pointing at her book; she showed him the cover: _The Picture of Dorian Gray._

"Who?" he asked, his face betraying confusion, and she stifled a giggle.

"Here," she offered, "let me read you a page - "

And that's how it had begun.

"Lord Henry went out to the garden and found Dorian Gray burying his face in the great cool lilac-blossoms, feverishly drinking in their perfume as if it had been wine," she read, the wind nudging her wild hair from her shoulder. "He came close to him and put his hand upon his shoulder. 'You are quite right to do that,' he murmured. 'Nothing can cure the soul but the senses, just as nothing can cure the senses but the soul - '"

"The senses," Viktor had interrupted, his brow furrowed. "Vat senses?"

"The senses," Hermione repeated. "Sight, sound, smell - "

"Touch?" he asked tentatively, leaning back, and his fingers brushed hers.

She reddened, looking away. "Yes," she replied, and he got to his feet, reaching his hand out for hers.

He was surprisingly coordinated; although, perhaps she shouldn't have been surprised - he was an athlete, after all, and she'd seen the Wonky-Faint thing he'd done at the World Cup - but there was a lightness to his step that she wouldn't have predicted from a glance. She, by contrast, had felt awkward and clunky, somehow, like her limbs wouldn't move as she wished them to, and he had seen the growl in her frustration, tilting her chin up.

"You vill dance vith me, yes?" he asked. "At this . . . ball. You vill, von't you?"

"Me?" she'd echoed, aghast. "But - but look at me, I'm - "

He'd spun her then, twirled her out, and despite how silly she'd felt she had laughed, the cool air bursting in her lungs and whipping color into her cheeks. He pulled her back in, coiling her into his chest, and then lifted her in the _air_ -

And while she might have felt unsteady on a broom, she delighted in flying in his arms.

"You're qvite good," he assured her once he'd lowered her to the ground, and though she had to assume he was lying, she was too breathless to protest. "These are the senses, yes?"

The look in his eyes; the smell of him, freshly showered, clean and sharp; his voice, low and hopeful in her ear; his fingers gripping tightly to her waist.

"Yes _,_ " she had whispered back then, and for a moment, her soul had been cured.

"I'm nervous," she whispered to him now, her breath catching in her throat as she smoothed down the floaty chiffon of her periwinkle robes. He, normally not one to concern himself with his appearance, had clearly gone to some lengths, his hair neatly swept aside and his black robes impeccably pressed and fitted. He had a tendency to look a bit severe and while she might have guessed black robes would not have helped, he looked slightly relaxed; even glad.

"Not to vorry," he murmured back, covering her hand with his for a moment before sweeping her onto the brightly lit dance floor. "You are a vonderful dancer."

 _I'm not_ , she started to say, but then the music had started, and she considered to herself that maybe he was right, and maybe she _was_ a wonderful dancer; the colors and smells of the feast whirled around her, and she, always having been burdened by troubles, suddenly felt herself float on air.

She might have thought to question the stares she was getting but Viktor had a way of capturing her attention; and when she saw the trace of a smile on his lips she realized that for all his fame, for all his skill, he was still seeking a moment of freedom, and if she could be that - if she could only _let go_ \- perhaps they might have a moment's reprieve from the demands of their lives.

"Some air," he'd suggested, taking her hand like he'd done once before, and led her outside. They walked the courtyard of the castle, catching their breaths, and he seemed to grow younger in the moonlight, his cheeks warmed by the glow that came from inside the castle.

"The senses," he said, and she shivered, though it wasn't from cold. "Sight, smell, sound, touch, and - "

"Taste," she supplied instantly, and her breath caught, his eyes moving curiously to her mouth.

"This is vat cures the soul?" he asked, lifting her chin to look at her.

"According to Oscar Wilde," she agreed, swallowing. "But I suppose he's just a muggle as far as I can tell, so - "

Mercifully, he lifted her chin, his dark eyes searching hers before he lowered his head, brushing his lips against hers and silencing her. With Viktor, it was always a peaceful silence, and she lost herself in it, unfurling in his touch and immersing herself in his taste.

She'd read the books, she thought, as the lingering sweetness of the butterbeer they'd drunk fizzed on her lips; she'd read with fascination as Juliet had sacrificed her lips of prayer to Romeo's breath of trespass - the tiny sips of piety from Lolita - the heart-quake of Byron, between Haidee and Juan - the perishable breath between Gatsby and Daisy -

And yet she'd never imagined it would feel like this; like comfort, like home - like excitement and like her knees would shake, but she'd be held up by the breath between them, propped up by something that fluttered in her chest and lifted her to her toes, pressing her against him.

It seemed to Hermione an appropriate moment for a wish; and so she thought, in the cool breath of their parting, that she would make one.

 _I wish,_ she thought, _I could live this night over and over._

* * *

 **Three Years Later**

* * *

"Ronald, for the _last time_ ," Hermione said, fussing one last time with her hair, "you'll have to stop comparing yourself to a house elf, it's deeply insensitive - "

" _You're_ deeply insensitive," he muttered back, and she smirked at him.

"Clever," she said, rolling her eyes. "It's nearly three, there can't be much left for your mother to ask you to do - "

"If there is, I'm sure she'll find me," Ron grumbled, tousling his hair and pivoting to exit with an indignant grunt. "Anyway, Mione - "

"Yes?" she asked, turning to look at him. He paused, looking thoughtful, before walking over to join her, offering her free hand a squeeze.

"You look really nice," he offered, and she smiled, watching his eyes travel longingly to her lips.

 _Butterbeer,_ she thought, _and peaceful silence._

"I'll see you out there," she said quickly, blinking away the memory to squeeze his hand and nudge him toward the door. "Go, won't you?"

He gave her a tiny grin before nodding, loping out the doorframe and disappearing. She sighed, fixing her makeup one last time before stepping out of the Burrow, heading for the orchard.

It was hard not to feel a bit lonely at the wedding; for all that Ginny and Molly were hard on Fleur, Hermione found she quite envied the lovely blonde witch. The time she'd spent at the Burrow had allowed her to watch the way Bill and Fleur occupied each other's space so effortlessly; they seemed to knit together by some unseeable force, always pulled towards each other, and Hermione had both admired and envied them their closeness.

It reminded her of something she'd once had - or nearly had, as the case had been. Unfortunately, letters were not quite a replacement; particularly not when so much of what they'd had together relied so heavily on the unsaid.

She shook the thought of Viktor away, trying to focus. Ginny and Harry had had their moments, and it appeared Ron was seeming to make an effort of some sort - _though that hardly mattered_ , she reminded herself, reaching instinctively for her small beaded bag. They had to be ready, and she had to have her mind _focused,_ and free of distraction - just in case.

Not that anything could have prepared her focus for when she caught sight of a certain dark head coming towards her; _you look like how it feels to catch my breath,_ he seemed to tell her again, and she reveled in the look on his face, floating towards him - _part dream_ , she thought, _and part memory_.

"Viktor," she said breathlessly, but was interrupted as Ron appeared at her elbow.

"Mione," he urged, his gaze flicking impatiently at Viktor, "come on - "

And then she was pulled away, the slow smile on Viktor's face serving as a promise for later.

She sought him out again as soon as she was able, but it was no easy feat with Ron's narrowed eyes on her. She stood alone, keeping her distance, until dancing began at the reception and Bill and Fleur took the floor, the easy rhythm reminding Hermione of something she'd once had.

A touch that had once been on her waist, a lingering stare at her lips, the sound of his voice; the smell of him, clean and sharp -

"Her-my-on-ee," he pronounced slowly, and she smiled, turning to face him.

"You learned," she ventured brightly, and his lips turned up in a blissful expression of warmth.

"I learned," he agreed, offering her his hand. "A dance?"

She took his hand, her fingers sighing contentedly at his touch. "I might have forgotten the steps since I last saw you," she confessed, though she quickly found that her body knew differently. Her feet had known just where to step, and the curve of her waist kissed his hand with ease, like no time had parted them.

"Things are different," he murmured observationally, and she grew uneasy for a moment, wondering if he meant the war - or if, perhaps, he had just meant the improvement in his English, and the ease with which he seemed to speak. "Though some things remain, don't they?"

"Some things," she whispered, a question; and he leaned down, placing his lips near her ear.

"Nothing can cure the soul but the senses," he said quietly in answer, and he looked down, reaching to nudge a curl behind her ear.

"The senses," she repeated, sliding a hand to his chest. _Touch._

His eyes met hers, his tongue dragging slowly across his lip.

 _Taste,_ she thought, shivering.

He took her hand, pulling her out of reach from the marquee and the party, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm as they walked. She might have looked over her shoulder to see if Ron was watching - he was, she was quite sure - but there was something about Viktor's presence that always made her forget everything else.

 _Something that cured her soul_ , she thought, as he swept her into his arms, pulling her against his chest.

"I have missed you," he confessed, his eyes shutting as the admission left him; she reached up, running her fingers along the sharp angle of his jaw.

"I've missed you, too," she said, and he bent his head to hers.

It was different now, the kiss; there was an urgency now that hadn't been there before, back when the world had been ever so slightly simpler, and they thought they might have more time. His lips had been slow and gentle then, but now they were feverish, expressive, like he would tell her his secrets and pour out his truths into the waiting chasm of her breath. She, more lost this time - if such a thing were possible - and more fearful, clung to him in the darkness, rejoicing in a moment of escape.

He pressed her back against a large tree and she gasped, the kiss changing character; if it had started as _I miss you_ it evolved into _I want you,_ and she discovered with the softest of moans that perhaps she even meant _I need you,_ and _I need this_ , and _deliver me, if only for a moment -_

His fingers traveled slowly down the front of her lilac dress and she pressed her breasts against his hands, her heart pounding as he took her silent cue and run his thumbs over her nipples, caressing her through the thin fabric.

"Viktor," she choked out, and he looked up, his chest rising and falling in earnest as he looked at her.

"Sight," he said, and she held her breath, "sound, smell, touch, and - "

"Taste," she whispered, and he lowered himself to his knees, his hands slipping under her dress.

She fumbled for her wand, casting a hasty disillusionment charm as he gently nudged her legs apart, letting his fingers travel from the curve of her inner thigh to her slit, slipping a finger inside her and tearing a shallow sigh of longing from her lips as she closed her eyes. She felt him swallow, her hands near the pulse of his neck, as he brought his mouth to her clit, dragging his tongue against her opening as his fingers continued exploring her, her head falling back with a gasp.

She lost herself, her breath and her sanity, and let go of the stress of her world for the length of a moment; only one thought remained, she realized, and it was a wish.

 _I wish,_ she thought, _I could live this night over and over._

* * *

 **Three Years Later**

* * *

"Congratulations," Hermione said, giving Ginny a hug. "You're the perfect bride."

"Oh, shut up," Ginny sighed, kissing her cheek. "Are you having fun?"

"Of course," Hermione said quickly, and Ginny gave her a look.

"Not too bothered about Lavender, are you?" Ginny asked quietly, and Hermione forced a smile.

"He's perfectly at liberty to move on, you know," she said, and Ginny made a face.

"This isn't _Witch Weekly_ , Hermione," she sniffed. "I'm the _bride_ , and I demand truth."

Hermione sighed, knowing a losing battle when she saw one.

"It's . . . not my favorite thing," she conceded, biting her lip as she saw Lavender throw her head back, laughing at one of Ron's jokes. "But, better this way," she managed chipperly, giving Ginny's waist a squeeze. "He was never much of a dancer, anyway."

"Too true," Ginny agreed vehemently, shaking her head. "It's a _disaster_ to watch him try, truly, it's like watching him try to block all the hoops at once with just his _feet_ \- "

"I'm familiar," Hermione said with a smirk.

"I can't imagine the sex was much better," Ginny commented, and Hermione gave her a shove, promptly reddening.

" _Ginny,_ for heaven's sake - "

"I'll take that as confirmation," Ginny trumpeted, as Harry suddenly materialized behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist.

"Alright, Hermione?" he said, planting a kiss at the nape of his new wife's neck and grinning as she giggled.

"Oh, go dance, you two," Hermione sighed, smiling fondly at them. _They were still awfully young_ , she thought, _but stranger things had happened._ "No need to hang around with me."

"If you insist," Ginny agreed, taking Harry's hand and pulling him; he, however, paused, turning his head to mutter something in Hermione's ear.

"I do have one surprise for you," he said, and then gestured behind her.

Her heart flipped. "What did you - "

"Have a nice night, Hermione," Harry announced with a wink, and with that, he and Ginny were off, racing each other to the dance floor.

"They look happy," a voice behind her noted, and Hermione turned, coughing as she choked momentarily on a breath.

"Viktor," she managed, and he smiled at her, reaching out a hand for hers.

"Hermi-one," he said - _nearly perfect,_ she thought, taking it as a sign - and before she realized she had slipped her hand in his, he was leading her away from the corner. "Dance with me."

Luna would say she had been rid of Nargles, Hermione imagined as she followed him; she'd regained the floaty weightlessness she associated with his presence, her feet always familiar with the steps. He would lead her out to the dance floor, give her a moment of contentment, lure her and tempt her and adore her, and then something would part them; she knew the routine. She'd grown fond of it, despite the nights she'd ended up alone.

She wondered what would drag them apart this time; whether a Dark Lord might appear from the depths, if only just to torment her.

He spun her around on the floor, the steps quicker than she was used to, until she was flustered and pink, her hair come loose around her face, and he was laughing - a rarity in itself. _How was it always so easy?_ she marveled. _Like no time had ever passed._

By the time he had led her away, after dance upon dance that ended, as it always did, with _a walk,_ and his hand on her waist became a scream in her mind; by the time she found herself alone with him, the piece of her that longed for romance - for the enchantment of hearing Oscar Wilde on his lips - yielded gracelessly to the thudding in her chest, the racing of her pulse.

"Hermione," he began, and she cut him off -

" _Taste_ ," she begged, and she might have been embarrassed by the edge of pleading to her tone, but he - thankfully - lowered his mouth to hers with a growl, sparing her the anguish.

She scarcely knew how they made it to her room at the Three Broomsticks; all she knew was that this wasn't a time for _muffliato_ in the dark - she wanted passion, she wanted freedom, she wanted _liberation_ -

And she wanted space to move around _,_ she thought hazily, as he unzipped her dress and nudged it to the floor, letting it pool victoriously at her feet before lifting her around the waist and throwing her back on the bed.

 _Was it the thrill of it?_ she thought as he tore his shirt over his head, athleticism gleaming from the lines of his chest. _Was it the thrill of him?_ she corrected herself, wrapping her legs around his hips as he slid himself against her, pressing his lips to the base of her neck.

He was power uncoiled as he lifted her hands above her head, holding her wrists as he entered her; he was cool flames of control as he brought her to a first, breathless ripple of bliss, a crushing wave of delirium flooding her as her mind went luxuriously blank.

 _It's this_ , she realized, pausing to tangle her fingers in his hair; it was the feeling he gave her, the way he looked at her - _you look like how it feels to catch my breath -_ and even amidst wild exhilaration, against the rhythm of gasps and moans, he still brought a peaceful silence to her life, and she surrendered her trials in his arms.

 _Nothing cures the soul but the senses -_

The darkness of his hair, the artful craftsmanship of him; the smell, clean and sharp, with sweetness on his tongue - a second pulsing ache that had built inside her unfurled in a whorl of bitter rapture, leaving her lips in a breathless gasp -

 _Just as nothing cures the senses_ , she realized - pleasure and pain subsiding as he fell against her, his eyes full of nothing but her - _but the soul._

It had been his soul she wanted all along.

 _I wish,_ she thought, _I could live this night over and ov-_

"Hermione," he said, silencing her thoughts as she caught her breath, "stay with me."

"This is my room," she whispered back playfully, and he caught her hand, pressing a kiss to her fingers.

"No," he murmured, with a shake of his head. " _Stay_ with me."

It finally dawned on her, and she smiled.

 _I could live this night over and over,_ she realized, and she found euphoria in the thought.

"Yes," she whispered back. "I'll stay."

* * *

 **a/n:** Apologies for how long this took, but I hope this pleases you, Eidyia1! Also, hopefully this arrives in time to distract any of you from the election (if you need it). Lastly, I don't have to travel this weekend for once, so expect another _Amortentia_ , and keep an eye out for the expanded version of _Ride or Die_ , which should post tomorrow if all goes well with the end of _Youth_ . . .


	33. Better

**Better**

 _Pairing:_ Parkweasel (Pansy Parkinson x Percy Weasley)

 _Universe:_ Post-War AU

 _Rating:_ M for language, sex

 _Summary:_ So, I had an idea for a one shot based on the song _Heartbeat_ by Childish Gambino, and I knew it had to be Pansy Parkinson, but I hadn't decided who the pairing would be until I got an ask for Pansy x Percy and it dawned on me that he - strangely enough - was perfect. So here is this, based on this line: _I wish we never fucked and I mean that. But not really - you say the nastiest shit in bed and it's fucking awesome._

 **There's a LOT more explicit language/dirty talk in this than normal** ; please skip if that's not your thing!

* * *

"Susan fucking Bones, have you lost your fucking mind?" Pansy demanded, letting her head fall back as he ripped open the buttons of her thin white oxford. "I thought the point of breaking up was to choose someone who was actually _worth something -_ "

"Since when do you worry about my choices, Pansy?" he asked lazily, giving her a hard shove against the wall. "I thought the issue was that _you_ were the one who wanted someone more" - he paused, thrusting her chin up to nip at her throat - "suitable."

"Is that what I said?" she asked, smirking, and at his mocking chuckle, she gave him a playful shove. "Well," she purred, "it would at least lend you some fucking legitimacy if you didn't go for such an incomprehensibly boring" - she broke off, gasping as he shoved her on top of his dresser and pushed her knees apart - "mousy swot of a - "

"Watch your language, Miss Parkinson," he murmured in her ear, reaching under her dress to yank her panties down her legs and over her knees before kicking them aside. "That's my girlfriend you're talking about."

Pansy's chest tightened.

"Not yet, she's not," she muttered, swallowing a possessive growl as she reached down, fumbling to remove his belt. "Believe me," she added, rooting around for her sense of cool as she nudged his trousers down over his hips, "you should find someone better."

He laughed, sliding her hips forward to nudge his tip at her entrance. "Better than Susan?" he whispered in her ear. "Or better than you?"

She felt her breath catch in her throat. "If you could do better than me," she said slowly, running a thumb over his tip, "I wouldn't be here, would I?"

"Funny," he remarked, reaching up to tangle his fingers in her hair. "You say that like you want to be here."

He wasn't wrong; not that she appreciated it.

"Shut up and fuck me, Weasley," she determined brusquely, pulling his hands from around her face and placing them on her breasts.

"Are you sure you want me to stop talking?" he asked, peeling back the lace of her bra to run his thumbs over her nipples. "I seem to recall that you like hearing my thoughts on your pussy, Pansy."

At the word _pussy_ on his ever-so-proper, meticulously law-abiding, former-Head-Boy lips, she felt an instant rush of craving; she arched her back as he reached under her skirt, sliding a finger into her.

"Do I?" she prompted.

He, despite her prodding, merely smiled, biding his time. _Oh, fuck me,_ she thought furiously, completely incapable of understanding how this narrow-hipped ginger menace had invaded her so completely.

"I love how wet you get for me," he murmured, turning his head to whisper into her ear as she shut her eyes, swallowing a whimper. "I love how fucking soaked you get for me. Have you been waiting all day, Pansy?" He gave her clit a slow, lazy circle with his thumb. "Tell me," he added, his blue eyes unfocused as he pulled back to look at her. "You know I want to hear you say it."

"I - " she began, closing her eyes as he slipped two fingers into her, rotating them slowly. "I just want your cock, you fuckstick," she managed, fighting a moan; he lowered his head to her nipple, laughing as he flicked his tongue over it.

"You're upset about Susan," he commented offhandedly, his fingers still stroking her clit, "and yet you haven't mentioned anything about McLaggen."

"It was just three dates and he's a boring twat," Pansy hissed, her fingers tightening around the back of his neck. "And don't talk about him right now," she added venomously, "and especially not about _her_."

Susan fucking Bones. _Unbelievable_ , she thought with a grimace. It was enough to make her want to turn and walk out the door - only she couldn't possibly stop. He was too damn good to walk out on unsatisfied.

"I changed my wards for you, as you may recall," he reminded her before suddenly pulling her forward, picking her up. "I haven't for her," he said quietly, and Pansy instinctively tightened her legs around him.

He always knew what to say.

"Just fuck me, dickhead," she sighed in resignation, and he laughed, throwing her back on his bed and slipping out of his trousers. He was impossibly catlike, she realized, and while she might have thought herself drawn to someone more muscular, she'd come to appreciate that he had an undeniable elegance to him; a strange, entrancing aloofness to him that he must have developed after years of _yes sirs_ and _no ma'ams_ before he finally grasped at power for himself.

It was the same concentrated sureness that he used to whisper jolting impossibilities in her ear; the same incongruous _control_ over her that he seemed to have, whether she wanted it or not.

"What do you want first?" he asked, his blue eyes traveling the length of her, skirt twisted around her waist and shirt torn open. "My mouth?" He crawled over her, nudging her chin back to scrape his teeth along her neck. "Should I lick your pretty cunt, Pansy?"

"Fuck," she muttered, reaching down to take his cock in her hand. " _Yes - "_

"Pretty Pansy," he whispered, sliding two fingers on either side of her clit. "You're so fucking wet," he said again, and she shuddered. "You always taste so fucking sweet, Pansy."

At her wordless groan he reached back to unzip her skirt, yanking it away from her before lowering himself to press his lips to the curve of her thigh.

"I'm going to make you come," he informed her casually, with the same ease that he might employ while laying out a presentation for the Wizengamot. "I'm going to make your pussy throb for me - "

She moaned. "Oh, _fuck -_ "

"And then I'm going to fuck you," he added, dragging his tongue along her entrance, "up against that wall."

 _How does he manage this?_ she thought, writhing as he made good on his promise, ghosting a hot breath against her inner thigh as he closed his mouth around her clit, sucking lightly before reaching his hand between her legs to slide his fingers in and out. She'd had plenty of good head before - she silently gave Draco his credit, as he would be deeply upset to know he'd been upstaged by any Weasley, much less this particular one - but _fuck_ , there was something about this straight-laced, slender know-it-all and the way he talked about her pussy like it was fucking _art._

She came quickly; he knew what she liked. And when he'd let her ride out the convulsions, her hips lifting off the bed as she moaned her aching satisfaction, he yanked her up, carrying her again and angling himself at her slit as he pressed her against the wall.

"Tell me what you want," he said, panting now; he was impossibly hard, and however little his face betrayed, that much he could never quite hide. "Say it, Pansy - tell me what you want me to do to you - "

"I want you fuck me," she said breathlessly, "until I can't feel my legs - "

"Done," he said, sliding his tip inside her. His patience was _extraordinary_ , she thought, squeezing her legs around him to lure him inside her, but he was far too calculated to allow her to break his concentration. "I'm going to fuck you until you scream my name," he added mercilessly, biting softly on her clavicle. "I want to hear you say it when you come."

"You have a fucking _stupid_ name, Weasley," she argued, gritting her teeth. "I'm not doing it."

"Fine," he said, pulling out slightly, and she let out a frustrated groan, coiling her legs tighter around him.

"Fucking hell, I'll say whatever you want," she amended, nearly shouting in desperation, "just would you _please_ \- "

He, to her intense relief, chose that particular breath of exasperation to relieve her suffering, and the moment he slid his cock inside her she felt her mind go euphorically blank, knowing she really _would_ say whatever he wanted; she doubted she'd even know what she was saying by the time he brought her there. He angled one leg higher, positioning himself against her clit as he thrusted into her, and she threw her head back, groaning.

"You feel so fucking good," he panted in her ear, "you're so wet for me, Pansy, your cunt's so fucking _tight -_ "

 _Oh for fuck's sake,_ she thought, her heart thudding as he bent his head down to her breasts. _How is he so good at this?_

"Tell me you love this," he said. "Tell me how much you like my cock inside you - "

" _Fuck_ , yes, I - I love it - your cock is fucking _perfect -_ "

"Do you want to come, Pansy?" he asked gruffly, his voice muffled against her skin. "Say my name, Pansy - say my name when I make you come - "

"Oh fuck" - _oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck_ \- "Percy _,_ " she choked out, his name escaping like a sob as she felt the ache inside her build to oblivion, finally going limp in his arms.

He came as soon as she did, holding her up just long enough to ride out the pulsing of his cock inside her before lowering her to the floor, settling her head against his chest as they lay back against the cold wood, spent.

"Her aunt was the head of Magical Law Enforcement," he murmured eventually, stroking her hair. "Susan, I mean." He paused. "She's well connected."

Pansy swallowed, saying nothing.

"Cormac seems right up your alley," he continued, and she looked up, glaring at him. "Oh, you play coy, but I know you, Miss Parkinson," he reminded her, giving her a knowing smirk. "You forget, Pansy, that I know _exactly_ what you like."

 _He really does,_ she thought murderously, digging her nails into his chest; _mine,_ she thought helplessly, and she instantly regretted it.

"I hate your name," she burst out, as soon as she could speak.

He shook his head, chuckling. "You just don't like other people playing with your toys," he corrected, as though the two thoughts were somehow related.

"That's irrelevant," she snapped, but he pulled his arms around her, holding her closer.

"Fine," he conceded softly, pressing his lips to her forehead. "No Susan, then."

"No Susan," she agreed, slipping her leg between his. "Someone better. Someone _else,_ " she added. "Not me. But someone else."

He looked down at her, expressionless, before turning his head to the side, his heart skipping a beat below her ear.

"I should really get carpet installed in here," he remarked thoughtfully, closing his eyes and sighing.

* * *

She knew the moment that she laid eyes on him that Percy fucking Weasley was going to be a goddamn thorn in her side, though she had no idea then that it was going to be _this_ out of hand; if she had, maybe she wouldn't have taken the job.

The event planning business that she and Daphne had started with Narcissa's help had been off to a slow start, so she liked to think she had simply been unusually vulnerable at the time; it was hard to break right into weddings and galas, so they'd had to settle for Ministry conferences at first - which was how she ended up speaking to the world's most unlikable man in the first place.

He was reserved, a rigid stickler for rules - _for fuck's sake_ , she'd never had to do so much paperwork in her _life_ \- and looked like he'd never had a moment of relaxation during the course of his entire existence, much less at any point over the span of the three-day Wizengamot conference about Ministry procedures that she'd been hired to arrange for him. She didn't think him much of a threat - he'd somehow failed to notice that she referred to him exclusively on a rotating cycle of _dipshit, fuckstick,_ and _thundertwat_ behind his back _,_ or so she'd thought - until she'd been alone with him the first time, setting up the coat check for the dinner that was to take place that evening.

They'd argued about something; some protocol detail she was sure nobody would care about - but, of course, _he did_ \- and then suddenly he had her on her back, her dress torn up the side as he fucked her into mindless confusion.

 _You certainly talk a big game, Miss Parkinson,_ he'd said, dripping with skepticism as he pressed her back against the wall, and for a girl who always had a clever retort, she was shocked to find she struggled to speak.

 _Watch out,_ she managed furiously, _my bite's worse than my bark._

He'd leaned in, his breath teasing across the side of her nose, and threw out two effortless words that made her knees buckle: _Prove it._

It had been euphoric - or, at least, as euphoric as floor sex could be, she supposed.

He'd had the last word afterwards, too - the arsehole. _After dinner,_ he'd said, tucking his shirt back into his trousers, _I'll spread you out on the donors' table and fuck you until you scream._

 _God,_ she'd thought, rolling her eyes, _he's even got protocol for my orgasms -_ but it had been the best lay of her entire life, and she'd made sure to do it again - and again, and again - as many times as possible for the next three weeks; right up until realizing that she couldn't admit to Daphne who she was seeing.

 _Percy Weasley,_ she'd attempted to say, feeling instantly uneasy. Percy motherfucking _Weasley._ The worst family, and the least likable of the bunch; and so, rather than admit to her sins, she'd simply broken it off, sick to her stomach - though not before he made her come three times on all fours atop his desk.

That had been three months ago. And it had only happened twice - _no_ , she thought with a sigh, _three times_ \- since then; so really, it could be worse.

She was looking for someone better; unfortunately the more she dated, the less she was sure what _better_ actually meant. More socially acceptable, she supposed. Arm candy, she thought fancifully, for when she inevitably _did_ start hosting galas for the privileged and moneyed. Which was surely any moment, she was convinced.

"Really, investment opportunities in the Wizarding World could not be better," Michael Corner was saying. It was their second date, and likely to be their last; Pansy, bored to tears, had said next to nothing the entire dinner, and they had already finished their entrees. "Commercial activity is at a generational high, I'm telling you."

"Mm," Pansy agreed faintly, glancing around. _Ugh,_ she thought firmly, watching the hostess seat Hermione Granger at a table near the bar. She was alone; meeting someone, Pansy guessed, though she secretly hoped they wouldn't show.

"I keep telling everyone, Knockturn Alley will be the new Diagon Alley as soon as the Ministry approves our permits," Michael said, and Pansy couldn't fight a quiet scoff of disagreement.

"Unlikely," she remarked, taking a sip of wine and responding without much thought. "The Ministry's taken an anti-development stance since petty thefts increased in Diagon. Foolish, I think," she added, straightening, "since I don't think _development_ is the problem - "

She stopped as Michael blinked in confusion.

"What?" he asked blankly. "Who told you that?"

"Who _told_ me?" she asked, somewhat indignantly. "I'm an informed citizen - "

"You're a party planner," he corrected skeptically, and while the slight upturn of his lips indicated that he meant to be playful, she experienced a deep surge of loathing.

The truth was that she'd already had this conversation before, though not nearly so obnoxiously. Percy had drafted some of the early legislation on development permits in the Wizarding World's high street retail, and he'd invited her thoughts on the matter before fucking her twice in the shower. They'd disagreed, but in the end they came.

 _To an agreement_ , she corrected herself, giving herself an internal shake.

"I specialize in event planning, yes," she said, forcing patience as she took another sip, "but I consider myself fairly educated on local business issues."

"Well, you're wrong," he said crisply, as she fought the urge to kick him resolutely in the midpoint of his shin, "but I think my point will be proven once the contracts go through."

"Mm," she said again, fuming into her glass and banishing her gaze elsewhere, just in time to catch Granger's date arrive.

Pansy choked on her swallow of wine. She'd know that particular loping gait anywhere.

"That cocksucker!" she exclaimed, slamming a fist on the table, and Michael - along with several people seated at tables around her - jumped in alarm. "Sorry," she mumbled, catching Percy's eye as he sat down across from Granger, facing her.

He, unsurprisingly, did not react to her eye contact; he looked at her very intently, unblinking, for the span of a moment before returning his attention to Granger, smiling politely in greeting.

"That was . . . something," Michael remarked, pursing his lips in disapproval, and Pansy forced a laugh, reaching forward to place her hand on his forearm.

"Oh Michael, you're so funny," she exclaimed loudly, and at the sound of her voice, Percy glanced up again, smirking slightly and raising an eyebrow. _Nice try,_ he seemed to say, and then turned back to Granger, his blue eyes fixed on her.

 _Fuck,_ Pansy swore, frowning; he knew her too well for that to work.

"What exactly is happening?" Michael asked, glancing over his shoulder. "What are you - "

"Nothing," Pansy sighed irritably, suddenly desiring to escape. "Bathroom," she offered by way of explanation, tossing a careless "be right back" over her shoulder before hurrying to the ladies' room, eager to break something, even if it was just her own heart.

She opened the door and fell back against it as it closed, leaning her head back.

 _What the fuck are you doing,_ she demanded from her reflection. _He's not yours, and he's at perfect liberty to do whatever he likes -_

There was a knock at the door and she groaned. "Occupied!" she shouted, shutting her eyes. "Give me a goddamn minute, would you?"

"Pansy," came the voice on the other side. "Open the door."

 _Fuck,_ he really knew her.

She turned, yanking the door open, and stepped back as Percy entered, leaning back against it as she had done moments before. She could see from the mirror that her eyes were wide and her makeup ever so slightly smeared from wiping furiously at them, but he only glanced slowly up and down the shape of her before giving her the world's most subtle smile.

"I like the dress," he commented. "You look pretty."

 _Pretty Pansy,_ she heard him say, and shivered.

"Prettier than Granger?" she asked hoarsely, and his smile broadened. On anyone else it might have been mocking, she knew, but he had a particular way of reading her.

" _Colloportus,_ " he muttered, locking the door, and she felt her heart wrench with longing, the twist of it seeping into her bones. "Do you want me to fuck you now," he asked, walking up to her and reaching out to caress her cheek, "or would you rather I simply be at the bar when your glass is empty?"

She swallowed. "Both," she whispered, and he laughed.

"Not Susan Bones, not Hermione Granger, not any of the women I've dated over the past three months," he mused offhandedly. "But not you, either, it seems."

"No," she said, shutting her eyes and trying to force some mettle into her tone. "Not me."

"Because you're ashamed of me, is it?" he asked, nudging her back and lifting her onto the lip of the sink. "Worried what your friends will think?" he pressed, sliding the back of his hand down the front of her cleavage, caressing the line of her clavicle.

"We don't make sense," she reminded him. "We're just - "

"Friends?" he prompted, slipping his hands under her dress. "Best friends," he added, a laughing glint in his eye as she widened the gap between her knees, pulling his hips towards her.

It was a joke - or his version of one - but she couldn't laugh. "We're just fucking," she whispered. "That's all."

"You could fuck Michael Corner if you wanted," he reminded her, slipping the straps of her dress from her shoulders to let the material slip from her breasts. "McLaggen was better looking than Corner," he remarked, and she wanted to hex him in the fucking _face_ just for letting their horrifying inferiority touch his lips.

"I don't want them," she muttered indistinctly, and she knew it was a misstep when he looked her in the eye, a startling sense of triumph suddenly appearing on his face and filling her with the need to stomp furiously all over his heart.

"I wish we never fucked," she erupted bitterly, trying to save her pride even as she slid her hips towards him, digging her fingers into the shallow crevices of his ribs. "And I mean that."

"Do you?" he prompted, his lips against her neck. He let his hands travel covetously down the length of her thighs, his touch as light and inviting as ever, and despite her fervent wish to be cruel, she sighed.

"No," she confessed, hating herself and him in a stunning, breathless gasp of resignation. "You say the nastiest shit in bed and it's fucking aweso- "

He promptly cut her off, the words trapping against his lips as he kissed her, and brought his hands up to place them on either side of her face; he held her between his hands like he would worship her and she felt a strange sense of calm, washing over her like she might come clean. His tongue slipped along her lip and she sighed, an odd, girlish sigh of contentment - one that she might have ordinarily resented herself for - that made Percy kiss her more fervently, his fingers tangling themselves in her hair.

They broke apart and she was breathless, and for some odd reason, when she met his eyes, she thought she might cry.

A few deep breaths, she told herself, a matter of heartbeats; _it'll pass._

It did not.

"I think we've been gone long enough," Percy commented eventually, clearing his throat as he glanced down at his watch, and for a moment Pansy experienced a lurch of fear. He seemed to catch it, bringing his thumb up to brush reassuringly against her cheek. "I'm just meeting Hermione as a friend, by the way," he added nonchalantly. "Ministry things to discuss."

"Oh," Pansy agreed, clearing her throat and letting out a breath of relief. "Not that you have to explain yourself to me. You know," she added weakly, "since we're not . . . anything."

He didn't smile this time; he didn't move.

"If you _did_ want something," he began slowly, "I might have some relevant information for you to consider."

As it often happened with Percy Weasley, half of her wanted to grimace - he was always so fucking _formal_ \- and the other half fought the onslaught of a smile.

"What's that?" she invited, aiming for neutrality.

"I'm going to fuck you in about an hour," he told her, and she felt the familiar twist of longing that never failed. "When you've made your excuses to Corner and I've finished meeting with Hermione, I'll be at your house, and I will fuck you until you forget your name. And then," he continued, his tone never shifting from its cool objectivity, "I will love you."

That was new; she coughed suddenly, not sure what to do with the air she'd just inhaled.

"I will love you the same way I do everything that matters," he explained. "Fiercely, and with devotion. And you will let me," he added, "because being loved matters more to you than your fear of introducing me to your friends."

"Big words, Weasley," she managed roughly, and he lifted her chin, meeting her eye.

"There is no witch on this planet that you'd approve for me," he reminded her, "nor do I wish you with another wizard. Thus," he finished, "your foundational theory that someone better exists is inherently flawed."

It was, she knew; not that she was in any hurry to admit that, so instead she shook her head, sighing in feigned exasperation.

"This is precisely why I can't take you anywhere," she informed him primly, giving his shoulder a light shove. "You're an unbearable swot, not to mention - "

He leaned forward, kissing her quickly as he banished the end of her pointless sentence with a contented sigh against her lips. "Perhaps you should tell Mr Corner that you are otherwise occupied for the evening," he suggested softly, and she slumped forward in his arms, resting her cheek against his shoulder in resignation.

 _Fine,_ she thought, _you win -_

But really, she didn't feel much like a loser.

"I still hate your name," she reminded him, and he shook his head, chuckling. "But," she added, glancing up to meet his eye. "I will love you."

His gaze swept searchingly over her face. "You're certain?"

"Yes," she confirmed. "There's nobody better."

 _And besides,_ she thought, as he took her hand, _I already do._

* * *

 **a/n:** OH, CORNY ENDINGS. It's been a rough week, forgive me my sap. For the anon request; I have had Pansy inexplicably in my head, so I needed to get her out. Apparently this is how I decided it needed to be done.

Technically, only one more _Amortentia_ one shot remains, and then this collection will go on hiatus. Which is not to say that I will not update - the D/Hr Advent OS will go in here, as will my Quills and Parchment OS Comp once the authors are announced - but there won't be any regularly scheduled programming, as I will soon begin expansion on _Chaotic Good_ (in here as chapter 22; it will be retitled for the full fic as _Nobility_ ).

For those of you that follow my other work, _Nocturnes_ will update this weekend (sorry for the delay, but the Voldemort Wins AU hit a bit close to home this week), and also, _Ride or Die_ has officially begun its expansion. Lastly, for those of you who read _Clean_ and _Marked_ , _Youth_ , the prequel, is now complete, which rounds out the series. Hope you enjoy, and many thanks for reading!


	34. The Fairer Sex

**The Fairer Sex**

 _Pairing:_ I'll leave it a surprise for you. More fun that way.

 _Universe:_ Canon-ish

 _Rating:_ M for language, sexual situations

 _Summary:_ This was submitted to the Quills  & Parchment Scandal One Shot Competition and was awarded Overall Winner, Judges' Favorite, Fan Favorite, Best Character Development, Best Relationship Development, Best Humor, and Best Stand Alone One Shot. I'm honored, of course - I didn't expect this pairing to be nearly as appreciated as it was! If at all, honestly. So this was a wonderful, truly pleasant surprise.

Thanks ever so much to the judges and all who voted, and special thanks to Mr. Oblivionbaby, who dared me to write this pairing (with great skepticism - as though I wouldn't make it work, she scoffs) and who receives a brief cameo in the story!

Without further ado . . .

* * *

 **THE FAIRER SEX**

* * *

"Ladies and gentleman, witches and wizards, it gives me great pleasure to be the one to present this year's Author of the Year award to what will surely be a familiar face to everyone in the room," Abraxas Malfoy proclaimed, gesturing to the table at his right. "Wizards wish to be him, witches wish to be _with_ him, and we all count ourselves lucky to be in the presence of such a brilliant, captivating literary mind."

There was a rousing spattering of applause and Gilderoy smiled, pretending not to know that such effusive praise could not possibly apply to any other man in the room. He winked at Kennilworthy Whisp, raising his goblet in mock salute, and was filled with an unspeakable rush of satisfaction as the other man glowered sulkily, crossing his arms over his chest.

 _Better luck next year, you hulking buffoon,_ Gilderoy thought smugly, taking a hearty sip of mead from his monogrammed goblet. _This is my year, and you know it._

 _Twat,_ Kennilworthy clearly mouthed back to him, but Gilderoy gleefully ignored him, fixing his gaze instead on the pretty witch holding the trophy that would soon grace the mantle of his London townhome. She smiled discreetly at him and he sat up slightly, recognizing promise in the pert curve of her lips. He watched curiously as the young brunette tossed her hair around her shoulders, emphasizing the window of silk that draped against her neatly framed breasts and asserting the kind of deliberation that Gilderoy was loath to disregard.

 _Ahh_ , he thought with certainty, downing the remainder of his glass as he watched the witch's face. He would be getting his cock sucked within - he paused, checking his watch - twenty minutes or less, he determined, the window of exactitude depending entirely on whether or not Abraxas, the owner of the Wizarding Press (among several other Malfoy commercial ventures) would fucking _get on with it._

" . . . and so it is an honor and a pleasure to present this award to my most profitable writer," Abraxas continued, "the greatly esteemed, effortlessly charming, truly _inimitable_ man about town - Gilderoy Lockhart!"

Gilderoy stood, letting his best _who, me?_ expression paint itself gratuitously across his lips before tossing a smirk at Kennilworthy and rising to his feet, the deafening sound of applause ricocheting around the room. He strutted handsomely to the stage, shaking Abraxas' hand and noting a surreptitious slip of the witch's fingers, depositing something in his pocket as he accepted his trophy.

"Well," Gilderoy said, facing the crowd. "I'm not one for speeches of course - I'm a writer," he explained with a wink, "I let my quill do the magic - but in this instance, I must thank my publisher, Abraxas," he gestured, and Abraxas nodded his head, "and the many men here today who have helped further my career." He paused, jauntily raising an eyebrow as the crowd leaned in for the punchline. "Or else their wives," he added with a smirk, "who helped make it palatable."

"Oh Gilderoy, you dog!" Abraxas laughed heartily.

Gilderoy smiled, a gentleman's smile, and a thousand shutters clicked.

"Another round of applause for Gilderoy, please!" the announcer suggested, gesturing, and the men and women at every table rose, showering him with boisterous shouts of congratulations.

"Oh please," Gilderoy said humbly, gesturing for them to sit. "Nonsense, friends, I must protest."

Across the room, Kennilworthy threw his napkin down on the table and walked out, the double doors swinging shut behind him. Gilderoy cheerfully returned to his seat, unfolding the slip of parchment in his pocket to reveal the presenting witch's name and address. He looked up and smiled, a smile of satisfaction.

In that moment, all things considered, Gilderoy Lockhart might have confused himself for God.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy wandered through the halls of the manor home which his father Abraxas, thankfully, was finally vacating. Once his parents had settled themselves elsewhere, he assumed, Narcissa might finally consent to actually _wed_ him rather than continue to drag her feet in purposeless hesitation.

 _Speaking of Narcissa,_ he thought, frowning as he eyed the clock, _she's late._

Being her fiancé, Lucius reasoned that he would be permitted at least the right to collect her from her home, and so he approached the Floo, tucking his elbows in purposefully and enunciating the name of the Black family's northern estate. He stepped out, his heels sticking soddenly against the eroding wooden floors that had not seen renovation for centuries, seeking out his future bride.

"I don't know about this," she was saying, and he could hear the frown in her voice. "Lucius and I are only engaged, you know, and I'm not sure I'm really in a position to ask any favors of his family yet, considering the concessions they've made on my dowry - "

"Oh Narcissa, surely you've not forgotten," the other voice said, a mix of girlish sweetness and careful cunning that Lucius guessed was one of her friends from school, "that you owe _me_ a favor? I'm referring, of course, to the time that Bellatrix and I caught you with your hands down the trousers of a certain - "

"Yes, yes, I remember," Narcissa said hurriedly, her poised, authoritarian voice squeaking slightly, and Lucius frowned, glancing down at his own trousers with disappointment. "I haven't forgotten that I owe you, of course - I'm merely questioning why _this_ , of all things, would be the payment!"

"I want it," the other woman replied, her tone even. "What's it to you why I do?"

"A book, though," Narcissa remarked, sounding skeptical. "About - what, again?"

"It's called _The Fairer Sex,_ " the other woman supplied, "and it's important to me. A pet project." She paused, and there was a rustle of skirts as she must have stepped closer to Narcissa. "I believe there will be a great payout in its publication."

"Well," Narcissa ventured hesitantly, "I suppose I _can_ vouch for your writing talent."

"You certainly can!" the other woman sniffed. "And surely _you_ , with that face and _that_ figure, should have no trouble getting whatever you wish out of Malfoy's father," she added, in a tone that struck Lucius as a challenge of sorts.

"I suppose," Narcissa confirmed, sighing. "Fine, then. I'll speak to him this afternoon after I meet Lucius at Malfoy Manor for tea."

"Oh, Cissy, darling," the woman proclaimed warmly, "you absolute _treasure_ \- "

"No promises," Narcissa warned quickly. "And I'm sure there will have to be some concessions on my part, which I do not thank you for."

"What kind of concessions?" the other woman asked curiously. A bit _too_ curiously, in Lucius' mind. " _Surely_ not - "

"No, not like that," Narcissa said hurriedly. "Just - I assume he'll want me to go forward with the wedding."

"Which you are planning already, are you not?"

"In pieces," Narcissa ambiguously agreed. "I suppose I'm not quite in a hurry to tie myself down, though I'm realizing that's probably foolish. What with an _engagement_ and all that."

"Not foolish at all," the other woman cooed reassuringly. "Though it _is_ inevitable, don't you think?"

"True," Narcissa conceded. "So if that will move things along for your book, then so be it. Oh," she added, as though something were just occurring to her, "are you publishing under your real name?"

"No, I plan to use a pseudonym," the other woman said. "No need to drag the details of my identity into my work, don't you think?"

"I suppose not," Narcissa agreed. "What name will you use, then?"

"I hadn't decided," the other woman said. "I had a lovely cat named Rita once. Had these adorable markings around her eyes, like spectacles. That's a bit charming, isn't it?"

"Rita," Narcissa replied thoughtfully. "Hmm. What about . . . Rita Skeeter?"

"That's an absolutely _dreadful_ name," the other woman said with a violent shudder, then paused. "Narcissa, darling, it's just perfect."

There was a shuffle in the kitchen as the two women prepared to exit and Lucius tiptoed quickly back to the Floo, sending himself home and heading straight for Abraxas' office.

"Father," Lucius barked, bursting into the room. "Narcissa is going to ask you something, and you _must_ agree to her request."

Abraxas looked up, a look of dubious boredom passing across his wrinkled features.

"Fine," he muttered, glancing back down at his newspaper.

* * *

 _ **Six Months Later**_

* * *

"I'm so sorry," Anna - or Adeline? No, Aurora, he was quite certain it was Aurora - whimpered imploringly, hiccuping through her incoherent speech of apology. "Mr Lockhart, I'm so, _so_ sorry, surely there is something I can do - "

He sighed in exasperation. "Aurora," he began, "you have to understand - "

"It's Marjorie," she wailed.

"Right, as I said, Marjorie," he continued, a bit perturbed by her cheek, "this is really one mistake that simply cannot be undone." He stepped forward, patting her shoulder. "Really, love, I don't think there's a need for all this fuss - "

"But Mr Lockhart," she sobbed, making him increasingly uncomfortable with her hysteria, "I really _need_ this job, and I know you're very particular with your staff - "

"I am," he agreed. "And that, my dear Marlene, is why - "

"Marjorie," she sniffed, dabbing her eyes with her handkerchief.

"Yes, fine," he sighed, "that, my dear, is why I _must_ let you go. I'm very choosy about my pomades, you know," he said, gesturing to his expertly coiffed hair. "My look is my brand, you see, and I can't have my brand being tainted by careless mistakes by my employees. You've very nearly destroyed me, Miranda, and I - "

"Please," she sputtered, reaching out to press herself against him. "Please, Mr Lockhart, if you would only just give me another chance - "

He glanced down at where her body was flush against his and willed himself not to give into the same mistakes he'd made the previous week. They were _so_ _hard_ to get rid of after he'd fucked them, and it was truly a burden to deal with an unending river of tears.

"I have to run, Aurora, you understand," he said, patting her head and pulling away. "Very important things to attend to, being who I am." He disentangled himself from her grasp, slipping out the door. "I wish you the best of luck, darling," he added, flashing her his most beatific smile. "Oh, and before you go" - he gestured around his office - "pick up a bit, won't you?"

She hiccuped again, nodding slowly.

"That's my girl," he said with a wink, and then slipped out the door, apparating to Malfoy Manor for Abraxas' latest to-do.

Fuck, what he wouldn't give for a decent shag, Gilderoy lamented, appearing within the front hall and striding purposefully through the foyer. The guests were mostly youthful and attractive women this evening, he noted immediately, pleased that this was clearly not another gathering to celebrate one of Kennilworthy's latest catastrophically dull homo-erotic quidditch narratives.

"Hello, gorgeous," Gilderoy said, slipping over to a woman in a set of alluringly fitted ivory robes and placing his hand amicably on her waist. "Have you seen - "

"Excuse me," she demanded, slapping his hand away. "How dare you?"

"Oh, come on, love," he tsked, bowing low. "Apologies if I've managed somehow to offend - "

" _Managed_ to _offend_?" she repeated, scowling. "If your hands are so eager for a place to rest, I'd suggest you go home," she sniffed, "and put them on your - "

"Ah, Gilderoy!" Abraxas barked, suddenly materializing to grab him by the arm and pull him firmly away. "So lovely to see you!"

"And you," Gilderoy returned, slightly bemused. " _That_ woman was not exactly - "

"Hush," Abraxas said instantly, clapping a hand over his mouth. "Did you read the book like I told you to?"

"Which book?" Gilderoy asked, frowning as he tried to remember. He smiled at a lovely witch in turquoise robes and she - quite rudely, in his estimation - made a point of turning her back on him and raising her nose in the air.

" _The Fairer Sex_ ," Abraxas reminded him. "You know, the book that this release party is _for_."

"Ah, right, that," Gilderoy said vacantly, offering a wink at a witch in marigold. She glared at him, crossing her arms over her chest. "Merlin's bollocks," he determined, feeling as though he had stepped through another dimension to a world where he was somehow less handsome. "Is my hair out of place or something?"

"You didn't read it, did you?" Abraxas hissed, yanking Gilderoy off to the side and fuming in his silent, slightly comical way.

"Don't be ridiculous, Abraxas," Gilderoy sniffed, grabbing a glass of elf-wine from a levitating tray. "People read _my_ books, not the other way around."

"This is an _exception_ ," Abraxas snapped in agitation. "I specifically told you not to attend this party without having read it, did I not?"

"Abraxas," Gilderoy said, giving him a look, "I'm your most celebrated author. You can give me a synopsis." He took a sip of his wine, thinking. " _The Fairer Sex,_ you said?" he recalled. "Is it some kind of silly romance novel?"

"Worse," Abraxas determined, lips pursed. "It's some kind of feminine empowerment manifesto."

Gilderoy laughed, a gentleman's laugh. "Oh, how kind of you to humor them," he said, shaking his head. "I'm sure it will still sell its twenty copies, whether or not I've read it."

"That's the problem," Abraxas growled. "Every woman at this party purchased an advanced copy. My _wife_ bought a copy," he added, "and she loves it. She's promoted it to all her friends, to all my daughter-in-law's friends - and I tell you what," he sighed wearily, "it's been hell on earth since."

"Have _you_ read it?" Gilderoy asked, feeling a sullen pout creep over what he knew to be his impeccable set of lips. "You can't possibly think - "

"I have," Abraxas confirmed, "and I have to say, the author is quite a skilled wordsmith. I'm hardly her demographic, of course - "

"Of course," Gilderoy snorted.

" - but I can't deny, she's got style."

"What is she, some fifty year old spinster?" Gilderoy asked, making a face. "All alone, and aiming to bring other women down with her?"

"Not quite that, Mr Lockhart," a pert, feminine voice said from behind him. "Aiming to bring other women _up_ with me, as it were."

"Gilderoy," Abraxas said quickly, glaring at him, "this is the author, Ms Rita Skeeter."

Gilderoy stiffened, preparing himself to be revolted as he turned to face her. "Lovely to meet you," he said, with a forced, unpleasant sneer, "and I'm ever so - "

He paused, gaping at the witch before him. She was far younger than he would have ever expected, scarcely over some twenty years old, her extraordinarily lithe figure wrapped appealingly in stunning emerald robes that served to emphasize both the iridescent green of her eyes as well as the honey-blonde sheen of her hair. She lifted her hand, politely offering it to him, and he accepted, his eyes caught on the elegance of her crimson-polished nails.

"Ever so?" she prompted, her scarlet lips twisting into a mirthful smirk. "Have words managed to escape you, Mr Lockhart?"

"It appears so," he managed, making a questionable recovery from the blow of laying eyes on her. "A rarity indeed, Ms Skeeter."

She smiled. "Then I've certainly done a service for womankind."

"Oh, you hardly need to flatter me, Ms Skeeter, I - wait." He blinked, taking a moment to register the insult. "What?"

"Sorry, I'll have to limit my wit for present company, it seems," Rita determined, looking far more pleased than a woman should for not having his face between her legs. "I expect you've not sampled my work yet, then?"

"Haven't had the pleasure," Gilderoy mumbled, and then to his relief, he glanced up to catch a familiar eye, the same lovely blues of the witch who had presented his Author of the Year trophy six months prior. "Oh, excuse me, Ms Skeeter," he said, gesturing gallantly, "but I really must greet my friend, er" - he looked down at her, fighting to recall - "Amelia - "

"I believe you mean my assistant, Felicity?" Rita said, gesturing for the witch to join them. "She did mention that you two had met previously."

"More than met," Gilderoy purred, reaching for her hand and brushing his lips against it. "We had quite a memorable evening, didn't we, love?"

"Did you?" Rita said, cutting in before Felicity could speak. "Tell us, Mr Lockhart, whatever did you do?"

"Well," Gilderoy replied, stiffening in irritation, "we had a lovely dinner at one of my favorite chateaus," he began, guessing wildly, "and spent a long, pleasurable evening in my hotel suite." He smiled at her. "An evening I'll never forget."

Rita glanced sideways at her. "Well?" she prompted. "What does the book say?"

Felicity sighed, meeting Gilderoy's eyes with reluctance. "That I have to be honest with myself about my experiences and demand the respect I deserve," she said, appearing a bit sulky.

"And?" Rita prompted, in a way that simultaneously terrified Gilderoy and also prompted an ill-timed twitch of his cock.

"And the story Gild- _Mr Lockhart_ just told was likely of some other conquest, and I must recognize my error and make a solemn promise to myself not to repeat my past indiscretions," Felicity sighed dutifully.

"Oh, come now, Felicia," Gilderoy said, reaching out to wrap an arm comfortingly around her waist. "I'm sure I was just describing our _next_ date, seeing as our first one was so supremely satisfying."

Rita glanced dubiously at Felicity. "Was it?"

Felicity lifted her chin. "Not for me," she determined, and Gilderoy laughed.

"Surely you are mistaken, love," he informed her, his hand slipping to her lower back.

Rita, obnoxiously, raised one eyebrow, looking expectantly at her assistant; to his utter displeasure, Gilderoy shortly found himself covered in wine, having had the beverage tossed in his face by the rapidly retreating form of his last shaggable hope that evening.

"Good girl," Rita said, turning to follow her, and then paused, beaming over her shoulder at where Abraxas and Gilderoy stood, dumbfounded in disbelief. "Oh, and do enjoy the party, Mr Lockhart," she said softly, batting her lashes and then walking away, cursing them with the enticing sway of her hips.

"I hate her," Gilderoy determined, sputtering with loathing as he watched her disappear.

"Ah, I'm sure you won't have to see her again," Abraxas said, patting him reassuringly on the shoulder.

* * *

"What did you just say?" Gilderoy demanded, slamming a fist down on Abraxas' desk. " _How_ many copies has she sold?"

"Well over ten thousand in her first month," Abraxas said, drumming his fingers listlessly. "Which means she's sold more copies than - "

"Don't say it!" Gilderoy shouted. "Don't you _dare_ say it, Abraxas, for the ever-living sake of fuck - "

" _More copies than you_ ," Abraxas continued irritably. "Your last book sold perhaps a thousand fewer copies in the same time period and stagnated shortly after, which means I must now shift my focus to - "

"No!" Gilderoy yelped. "No, no, no - "

"To _her_ ," Abraxas sighed. "I'm a businessman, Gilderoy," he explained helplessly, leaning back in his chair. "I'd thought publication was my least profitable enterprise, but suddenly here she is, sending witches everywhere into an utter commercial frenzy - "

"I can do that, too!" Gilderoy exclaimed. "I am _made_ of frenzy-whipping material, Abraxas, unless you've managed to forget - "

"Things have been different over the past few months, unless _you've_ managed to forget," Abraxas reminded him. "Or are you going to dispute that?"

Gilderoy promptly shut his mouth. He was practically a social pariah, cast out of his favorite social clubs because the wives of his sponsors disapproved of his _womanizing_ , disinvited to society events because Rita Skeeter and her hoard of harpies considered him _damaging to their gender._

Ludicrous. As though he had ever been anything but a lover of women!

"Give me a new project," Gilderoy suggested, leaning forward. "Anything. A biography, even, some horrible tross you'd normally give to a waste of space like Kennilworthy - "

"She likes him, you know," Abraxas said, reclining in his chair. "Whisp. Reviewed his last piece as 'not terrible,' and now he's outselling you."

"Balls!" Gilderoy erupted.

"Those are out of fashion now," Abraxas quipped, looking pleased with his joke.

"Give me _something_ ," Gilderoy demanded breathlessly, pacing about the room. "You must, Abraxas, as surely you'd rather _I_ succeed than that - " he paused, making a face, "that horrible _shrew_ \- "

"She has something at the moment that I suppose you can collaborate on," Abraxas remarked thoughtfully. "A piece on Armando Dippet that I'm sure would fantastically bore you."

"I'm bored just thinking about it!" Gilderoy groaned, throwing his hands in the air. "And you want me to _collaborate_ with her?"

"I imagine it might help your reputation," Abraxas mused. "Perhaps you might win her over, don't you think? You're charming, Gilderoy. You're only a little" - he paused - " _rough_ around the edges, I think, considering the sensitivity of the times."

"What if I don't _want_ to win her over?" Gilderoy asked stiffly.

"Then you must consent to disappear into obscurity," Abraxas determined matter-of-factly. "Times only move forward, Gilderoy, not backwards, and you're a relic of a more antiquated past."

"But it's _me_!" Gilderoy reminded him pleadingly. "Gilderoy Lockhart, Man About Town!"

"You'll have to be a Man About something else," Abraxas sighed. "Perhaps prose?"

"You're a monster," Gilderoy growled, crossing his arms peevishly over his chest.

* * *

"Anything?" Gilderoy asked desperately. "She seems intent on destroying me, Tim; of lessening me to nothing." He slunk down in his chair, sulking. "Tell me you have _something_ on her. "

"Unfortunately not, sir," his P.I. responded sullenly. "Rita Skeeter appears not to have even existed before a year ago, and nobody seems to know who she was before that."

"Balls!" Gilderoy shouted, launching himself up from his chair. "Testes, dicks, and balls!"

"Those are out of fashion now," Tim informed him apologetically, ducking as Gilderoy promptly threw a quill at his head.

* * *

She arrived in a set of lovely magenta robes, looking more like an angel than any woman he'd ever seen. He immediately choked on a compulsion to kiss her or light her on fire, either option seeming equally stimulating upon sight.

"Mr Lockhart," she said sweetly, placing her crocodile-skinned purse on his desk. "Would you prefer to start right away, or shall we get familiar first?"

"Get familiar?" he echoed, smirking. "Well, I'm certainly not opposed to - wait." He paused, frowning. "That's a trap, isn't it?"

"Ah, not as slow as you look," she determined with a smile. "Lovely."

"I hate you," he muttered under his breath. "You know," he added, louder, "if we're going to be working together this extensively, perhaps we should venture into informality. I'm Gilderoy," he offered. "And you are?"

"Rita," she said primly, "as you know."

"No nicknames?" he pressed curiously. "No pet names you might prefer? To add to your comfort, of course," he added, shoving desire from his bones as he eyed the cut of her robes. "My office is your office."

"Rita will do," she said, a knowing smirk twitching at her lips. "Shall we start?" she prompted, pulling a quill and parchment from her handbag and taking a seat across from him. "I thought it might be practical to begin by splitting up responsibility for the events of Dippet's life."

"Fine," Gilderoy sighed, falling into his chair. "You can do his early life, and all the other insufferable details. And I," he thought carefully, "can cover his political career, including his scandals before becoming Headmaster of Hogwarts - "

"Gilderoy, please, I would hardly entrust the task of writing scandal to _you_ ," Rita scoffed, pursing her crimson lips. "Surely we'd like to _sell_ these books, wouldn't we?"

"Are you implying that I can't write a scandal?" Gilderoy demanded, letting his palm slap audibly against the wood of his desk. "How _dare_ you, madam - "

"It is certainly _not_ an implication, it is fact," she sniffed. "I, clearly, would be _far_ better suited for covering his indiscretions. Consider, for example, his seduction of the French Minister for Magic's wife - "

"You dare offend me with skepticism at my ability to write a _sex_ scandal?" Gilderoy asked, insulted to the very core of his being. "I assure you, Rita Skeeter, you have crossed a line!"

"Let's see then, shall we?" she said, a metallic glimmer flashing in her green eyes. "Get ready," she snapped at her charmed quill. "Armando Dippet was little more than twenty-six when he first encountered the lovely Gabrielle Moreau, as a special guest at her husband's home - "

Gilderoy waved his wand furiously, conjuring his quill and prompting it across the page. "Armando Dippet, whose roguish good looks at twenty-six years old drew the attention of the voluptuous temptress Gabrielle Moreau - "

"It is said that over dinner," Rita said loudly, "the two were never able to remove their gazes from one another, nor was Gabrielle ever said to leave Armando's line of sight all evening - "

"Gabrielle swung her hips lasciviously for the entirety of the state dinner at the French ministry, her lips plum-red and full, her figure set off impeccably by the haze of expensive champagne that both had drunk, their eyes locked in a battle of seduction - "

"The moment her husband's back was turned," Rita continued, her voice half a shout, "Gabrielle pursued Armando, drawing him into the dim light of her quarters and letting him run his hand along her bare thigh in the silvery gleam of moonlight, drawing him close to her breast - "

"Her breasts, which were full and heaving as she panted Armando's name," Gilderoy yelled, "glowed temptingly, her breathy moans filling Armando's ears as she brought her lips to his - "

" - their tongues dueling for dominance," Rita belted hoarsely, "tangled and tormenting, the carnal vibrations coursing through them as their hips ground in a synchronized dance of desire - "

" - he grasped the swelling piston of his manhood in his hand, springing free from his fashionably tight trousers and leaking his damnable craving, demanding its heady release - "

" - the explosive tingling of her thighs, the slick quivering of her quim as she lowered herself to her knees, hungering for a taste of his engorged, thirsting member - "

" - abandoning sanity in pursuit of the THROBBING PULSE OF HER SEX AGAINST HIM - "

" - STRUMMING THE CHORDS OF HER BODY, THE PRECIOUS TANGLE OF NERVES SWELLING EUPHORICALLY BENEATH HIS FINGERS - "

" - LONGING FOR HIM TO SPILL INTO HER SOAKING WETNESS - "

" - SHE SCREAMED HIS NAME, CONVULSING IN ECSTASY AS SHE ABANDONED ALL CONCEPT OF SPACE AND TIME - "

" - HE CONTINUED HIS RELENTLESS ASSAULT OF PLEASURE AGAINST THE BUD OF HER CLITORIS - "

" - UNTIL NEITHER COULD BREATHE, SOAKED IN SWEAT, SEED, AND PASSION-FUELED SEX-FIRE - "

He gasped, realizing he had somehow come across the desk, yanking Rita against him; their bodies were tangled together, their breaths short and panting, and he had backed her against a wall, both enchanted quills continuing to scribble along behind them as they stared at each other, a horrible realization striking him as he longed desperately to lower his head, to brush his lips against hers, to hold her against him -

" _You_ write it," he managed after a moment, releasing her and backing to his desk, trying to cover his incredibly inconvenient and thoroughly unsurprising erection. "Just - write it and send me the pages, and then we can - "

"Collaborate later, yes, I agree," she said hurriedly, reaching behind her for the office door. "Yes, good plan Mr Gilderoy, Sir Lockhart, well spotted - "

When the door shut behind her, he unzipped his trousers, sighing with relief.

"Hello, old friend," he said, reaching a practiced hand to the swelling piston of his manhood and picturing the curve of her lips, her name traipsing off his tongue like a secret.

* * *

"Should we talk about yesterday?"

"No. Absolutely not."

"Fine."

"New pages?"

"Yes. 5,000 words on Dippet's trip to Liberia."

"Great. Excellent."

"Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow."

* * *

"How's it going?" Abraxas asked, glancing up at Gilderoy from his desk. "Has she grown on you?"

He swallowed. "A bit," he confessed, trying not to mention the way her curves begged every day to be touched, and he was growing weaker every minute to deny them; or worse - _much_ worse, as it meant a single fucking couldn't suffice to satisfy his want - that even the most innocuous morsel of conversation with her had become the highlight of his day.

"She's a smart broad," Abraxas muttered gruffly. "Can't deny her that, unfortunately."

"She's - " Gilderoy licked his lips, trying to conjure moisture to the dryness of his mouth. _Beautiful. Independent. Spirited. Feisty. Confident._

 _Perfect._

"She's fine," he offered evasively, wishing instantly to melt into the floorboards.

* * *

"Rita!" Gilderoy shouted, brushing dust from his shoulders as he stomped into her office. "Rita, I was expecting more pages today on Dippet's early Hogwarts years and you, irresponsibly, have shirked your duty to me, to our entire publication, to _history itself -_ "

"Ah, Gilderoy," she sighed, appearing in the doorframe. "Apologies, but I was entertaining a guest." She gestured inside. "You know Kennilworthy, don't you?"

Gilderoy's eyes traveled slowly from the man who sat at her desk to the open bottle of elf-wine and the two glasses, one which featured a signature crimson stain.

"I do," Gilderoy said, narrowing his eyes. "Ken."

"You know I hate diminutives, _Gil_ ," Kennilworthy replied, nostrils flaring in distaste. "Looks like you'll have to come back."

"Like hell I will!" Gilderoy snarled. "Work comes first, Whisp, so scurry off and - "

"Rita wants _me_ here, and you'd better - "

"Boys, boys," Rita said coolly, stepping between them. "While I do enjoy this devolution to your more primal selves, I'm afraid I'll have to side with Gilderoy on this one. I do have new pages to share, and I suppose we" - she leaned forward, kissing Kennilworthy on the cheek in a way that drove Gilderoy to madness - "will have to take a raincheck on this lovely bottle of wine." She smiled at him, a smile full of meaning. "You understand, don't you?"

Kennilworthy stood, glaring at Gilderoy. "Fine," he spat. "But you'll owl me tomorrow?"

"I'm sure I will," Rita said, gesturing to the Floo, and Kennilworthy stomped out. "Now," she said, turning to Gilderoy, "as for the new pages - "

"What is this?" Gilderoy demanded, gesturing to the glasses and the wine. "Is this some kind of . . . clandestine fraternization?"

"Ah, aren't you such a writer," Rita determined with a chuckle. "It's a _date_ , Gilderoy. Call it what it is."

"It isn't," he informed her. "I won't let it."

"You won't let it be a date?" she repeated, quizzically lifting a pale brow. "My apologies, did I ask you for help with semantics?"

"No, you didn't, and don't think I'm thrilled about that either!" Gilderoy shouted, knowing he was being childish but determining that he didn't care. "You _can't_ date him, Rita - "

"And why not?" Rita asked, perching daintily on her desk. "He's an attractive enough man, an excellent author, he treats women with respect - "

"I - " Gilderoy began, immediately floundering. " _I'm_ attractive!"

"That you are," Rita agreed. "And you're also a terrible human being."

"So?" Gilderoy squawked. " _You're_ a menace! And maybe I made mistakes in my past," he added, "but I can change, and I - "

He hesitated, not wanting to meet her eye.

"You what, Gilderoy?" she prompted.

"I would treat you with respect," he muttered. "I would treat you like the goddess that you are."

There was a pause as the implications settled around their shoulders, dusting them both in a regrettable sprinkle of his sincerity.

"Well aren't you poetry in prose," Rita mused eventually, crossing her legs at the ankles.

"Don't mock me," he snapped. "I may be terrible, but you don't have to be cruel."

He barely realized she had moved until she was standing before him, the smell of her perfume breezing gloriously through his senses.

"No," she agreed. "I don't. It's only that I'm so good at it."

"You are," he croaked. "You are, and I'm only - "

He cut off as she wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her lips to his, the kiss better than he could have dreamt it, the taste of wine and victory joining up to slip euphorically into his lungs. She was fire on his tongue, scalding him to his soul, and he backed her against her desk, lifting her on top of it.

"You're a man who enjoys accolades, aren't you, Gilderoy?" she murmured hazily, nudging his chin up to press her scarlet lips to his throat. "Perhaps you'd like to earn one now?"

"I perform well with praise," he admitted, his heart thudding mercilessly against his chest.

"Good," she said, shoving his head down to her lap and smiling. "Be a good boy and make me come."

* * *

"I think I'm in love with you," he panted, shoving her back against the wall and thrusting firmly as she moaned, scraping her crimson nails against the bare skin of his back.

"I'm quite certain you are," she replied, before sinking her teeth into his shoulder, biting his name into muscle and bone.

"And you?" he asked, sweeping her desk clean and laying her on top of it, pushing her back to rub against her clit as he slammed into her. "Do you love me?"

There was a glimmer in her eye, and she opened her mouth to answer -

And then she was gasping his name as he fucked her to breathless satisfaction, and he saw stars as he came.

* * *

Rita Skeeter stepped through the Floo in her fireplace, colliding with her assistant within the span of three steps.

"Oh, sorry Felicity," Rita said, helping the other witch straighten. "Are you quite alright?"

"Mm," the other woman replied evasively, her eyes darting away.

"Felicity," Rita repeated, trying to catch her eye. "Is everything alright?"

Felicity sighed, a burdensome sigh, full of things unsaid.

"Tell me," Rita demanded, sitting her down; part mother, part employer, all brusque authority. "Whatever it is, tell me."

Felicity looked far away, dragging her mind back to the present. "Are you sleeping with Mr Lockhart?" she asked, tentatively biting her lip. "I know it's not any of my business," she added, though it was an empty gesture, as her eyes clearly called for an answer.

"I'm fucking Gilderoy, yes," Rita confirmed, choosing her words with utmost care. "As a utilitarian matter of efficiency and logistical ease."

"Do you think," Felicity began, then closed her mouth, thinking better of it.

"Out with it," Rita commanded, and Felicity sighed, relenting.

"I just wonder if it's really such a good idea," Felicity mused. "I thought you had something to prove."

"I do," Rita agreed, though Felicity could not have known the half of the matter. "His cock has nothing to do with what I showed up to prove."

"No, I suppose not," Felicity said thoughtfully. "But I thought better of you," she said, casting her eyes to the ground, and Rita felt a stirring of stinging remorse. "For all that you've done for women, I would have thought you might - "

"I might not choose a misogynistic fool?" Rita supplied, and the other witch nodded. "Yes, that is always the hope," she muttered in agreement. "I suppose I may have lost track of the broader scope of things when he changed his attitude about me personally."

"It's just that we - _I_ \- look up to you so much," Felicity said hopefully, lifting her chin. "I want to see you succeed, and not to share your success with anyone." She made a face. "Least of all him."

"He _is_ better," Rita sighed. "But I do see your point."

"It's your year, you know," Felicity informed her, smiling wanly. "Author of the Year belongs to you, and I hate to see everything you worked for become a farce when held up to your romantic life."

 _Balls,_ Rita thought fiercely, acknowledging the salience of the other witch's point; though, truly, the phrase was well out of fashion now.

"You're right," Rita agreed, rising to her feet. "Owl him for me, will you?" she asked, straightening her lilac robes - _his favorite color,_ she thought with a pang of guilt - and heading to her desk. "And then owl Abraxas." She paused, running her fingers over the manuscript that sat atop her desk. "Tell him I'll finish Dippet's biography on my own."

Felicity smiled her approval. "I'm proud of you, Rita."

Rita forced an endearing smile, a liar's smile, kicking one of Gilderoy's ties back under the desk. "This is what I live for, darling."

* * *

" . . . and so it is an honor and a pleasure to present this award to my most profitable writer," Abraxas continued, "the greatly esteemed, effortlessly charming, truly _inimitable_ lady about town - Rita Skeeter!"

The room erupted in applause and she stood, bowing her head gracefully as she took the stage to shake Abraxas' hand and accept her trophy.

"Congratulations, Ms Skeeter," the young presenting witch told her brightly. "Because of you, I plan to be an author myself, if I can!"

"Good for you, dear," Rita said, smiling serenely and turning to the podium.

"Well," Rita began, "I'll make this quick. A thank you to those who failed to believe in me," she said, "because without you, I would never have written a book. And a thank you to those who didn't know who I was," she added, "because now, you'll always know my name." She glanced around the room, catching Gilderoy's eye. He looked sad but was smiling, a lost lover's smile, and when he met her gaze, he seemed sincere.

"To my publisher, of course," Rita added, glancing at Abraxas, "and most importantly, to us." She raised her trophy, blessing them all with her unfailing smile. "The fairer sex."

The applause was tumultuous. She'd always loved an accolade.

* * *

"So," Narcissa said, sipping her tea. "Are you satisfied?"

"It's the most successful book in a generation," Rita reminded her. "I'm a celebrated author."

"I know these things," Narcissa said, flashing her a look of patrician irritation. "I asked if you were _satisfied_."

"I suppose," Rita lied, stirring a little lemon into her cup.

"You never did tell me the purpose of the book," Narcissa reminded her. "Not that I mind," she added. "It was quite a good idea, marrying Lucius," she decided, tapping an expensive shoe against the rare marble of her floor, "and clearly your book was a success."

"It certainly was," Rita agreed. _In nearly every way, as planned._

"Even the name is starting to suit you," Narcissa commented, taking another placid sip. "I've nearly forgotten you aren't a Rita."

"I have to get glasses soon," Rita informed her, making a face. "I'm becoming more Rita by the day, I'm afraid."

"Ah, well, nothing wrong with that, is there?" Narcissa countered, though she softened, warmed by the thought of their history. "Of course, I liked you just fine when you were - "

"Nobody," Rita supplied quickly. "But yes, you did, and for that I'm grateful."

Narcissa nodded, surveying the landscape of her elaborate manor home.

"So, one more time," she ventured, careful not to let her voice betray the telling curve of her lips. "Are you satisfied?"

Rita, who was not a Rita at all, sighed, a storyteller's sigh.

"Not like I thought," she replied, and Narcissa reached over, squeezing her hand.

* * *

There was a knock at her door, and she turned to glimpse his tall frame, his foolishly moussed hair, his ridiculously snug trousers.

"Gilderoy Lockhart," she pronounced, smiling at him.

"Helena Burke," he replied, and she froze, dropping a pot of ink and watching it seep into the floor.

"How did you," she began, choking on the sentence. "Why - "

"I hired a private investigator to look into your background when we first started working together," Gilderoy explained, meeting her eye with his jaunty smirk. "You were intent on damaging my reputation, and I felt some leverage would someday be necessary."

"And he just figured it out?" Rita asked, confused.

"Oh, balls, no," Gilderoy sniffed, waving the thought away. "No, then I learned from you that one should never hire a man to do a woman's job. I found another one," he explained. "Took her less than three days to come back with a name."

"Oh," Rita - who was really Helena - said, lost and uncertain without the shield of her persona.

"I know who you are," Gilderoy added, and Helena crossed her arms.

"Clearly," she remarked. "You've just said my name."

"No," he corrected, "I know who you _are_." He looked sorrowfully at her face. "We went to school together, didn't we?"

"Yes," Helena confirmed, shifting uncomfortably. "I was - "

"In Slytherin," he asserted with a nod. "You lent me a quill once in Transfiguration, and I never returned it."

 _Neither that, nor my feelings,_ she thought morosely, though she shoved her pesky sentiments aside.

"No," she agreed briskly. "You did not."

He took a tentative step towards her. "Why didn't you tell me the truth?" he asked.

"You'd have used it to destroy me," Helena pointed out. "Isn't that precisely why you hired the P.I. to begin with?"

"Well, true," Gilderoy acknowledged, shrugging. "But why do any of it?" he asked, and he reached out, taking her hand. "Why be someone you weren't?"

"To get my quill back," she snapped, and he smiled, a lover's smile, but didn't relent.

"Why?"

She sighed. "So that you would see me," she explained, glancing at her feet. "For once."

"I see you now," he said, lifting her chin. "Fool that I am. I see you now."

"Only because I'm exceedingly clever," she told him, "and have the foresight to play a long game."

"True," he agreed, nodding, his eyes traveling over her face. "But you chose poorly, and if you can't forgive me now, what more can I do?"

"Do you _want_ me to forgive you?" Helena asked, flashing him a look of practiced skepticism. "Seems you'd be better off revealing my identity to the world. Write a book on it," she suggested. " _Scandal: The Life and Lies of Rita Skeeter._ "

"It does have the ring of a bestseller," he agreed, "but truly, you'd do a better job of it. You'd leave the reader with a _much_ more vivid experience with regard to the engorged state of my thirsting manhood - "

"I really would," she confirmed. "I may not have been a star pupil and Prefect, but I do spin a good yarn."

"You do," he said firmly, sweeping her up in his arms. "And if you want to keep this private, so be it." He brushed his lips against hers, whispering against her mouth. "I'd be happy enough with Helena that Rita can go on destroying me."

"She will," Helena told him, fairly certain that was a promise. "You're an easy target."

"Balls," he murmured, closing his eyes.

"Those are - "

" - out of fashion, I know," he concluded grumpily, wrapping his arms around her waist. "But I concede."

"As well you should," she said indifferently, but when she buried her face in the crook of his neck, she smiled.

It was a smile of satisfaction.

* * *

 **a/n:** Thanks again to everyone! In other _Amortentia_ news, there's a Harmony in the works for this week (hopefully, ugh, being sick last week really threw me off), and then I am beginning, by request, what is essentially Bachelorette 2.0 - _**The Real World: Hogwarts**_. I will be posting short (probably less than 1,000 word updates) once a day from Dec 1st to 25th.

It will be nuts.


	35. The Real World: Hogwarts, Ep I

**The Real World: Hogwarts  
** **Episode I**

 _Pairing:_ None. Ish. None yet.

 _Universe:_ Hogwarts, Year 6

 _Rating:_ M for language

 _Summary:_ Some people (cough, Shayalonnie and oblivionbaby) wanted to watch a reality show of just Hogwarts 24/7 and they roped me into it. If you enjoyed Bachelorette, then you sort of know what we're getting into now, except with even less substance. There will be a short post every day from now until Christmas, a gift from me to you.

Disclaimer: I've never actually seen any of the Real Worlds, or any reality show really except for Bachelor(ette) and Ink Master (which I love, talk Ink Master with me anytime) so this will have close to zero accuracy.

And now . . . have you missed Lee Jordan?

* * *

 _[Camera pans the Headmaster's office and shakes into place unsteadily, slowly zeroing in on where Albus Dumbledore sits expectantly at his desk. He is nursing his right hand and looking intently at something in front of him when Minerva McGonagall enters.]_

Minerva: _[sits down, props feet on Albus' desk, and leans back, a listless expression on her face as she reaches into the pocket of her robe and produces a Muggle cigar.]_ "Fawkes, give me a light, would you?" _[The withered phoenix floats over and coughs up a few sparks, and she takes a slow puff, blowing a practiced ring of smoke into the air as Albus watches, vacantly amused.]_ "Albus." _[She glances skeptically around the room.]_ "What the fuck is this?"

Albus: _[smiles slowly, the familiar twinkle appearing in his eye]_ "Minerva, you do realize you're on camera." _[He gestures behind her to where the camera jostles into place, as though the person holding it has finally managed to levitate it properly.]_

Minerva: _[looks into the camera and purses her lips in matronly disapproval before taking a long, deliberate pull from her cigar.]_ "Albus, you cocksucking whore - " _[she coughs out a puff of smoke]_ " - what have you done now?"

Albus: _[chuckles]_ "Lee, if you would, please?"

 _[A loud cough, and then Lee Jordan steps tentatively into camera view.]_

Lee: "Er, hello, and welcome to - " _[He looks up, gesturing to someone off screen]_ "We're rolling, right?"

 _[An incoherent response rumbles from off screen.]_

Lee: "Right." _[Clears his throat and then glances behind him; Minerva makes a face before transfiguring her still-lit cigar into a small insect, which Fawkes snatches from the air and eats, emitting a warbled crow of triumph.]_ "Sorry, Professor - "

Minerva: _[lazily, flicking a speck of ash from her robe]_ "Jordan, just get to it, would you?"

Lee: _[muttering to himself]_ "Right." _[He straightens and someone passes him a mic from off screen, which he accepts, nudging his tie into place as he opens his monologue.]_ "This is the true story of the students and teachers who live at Hogwarts, and who have agreed to have their lives taped to find out what happens when people stop being polite … and start getting _real._ "

Minerva: _[interrupts, mouth open in disbelief]_ "What the _fuck_ , Albus - "

Albus: _[innocently]_ "What?"

Lee: _[turns to face them; the camera zooms past him to focus on the two professors.]_ "Uh, guys - "

Minerva: "What has possibly possessed you to think this is a good idea, Albus?"

Albus: "Look, Minnie." _[He shifts in his chair]_ "Here's the thing. There's some shit going down this year, okay, and I can't have you up my arse about everything I do this time - "

Minerva: _[shrilly]_ " _This_ time? Albus, you have literally _never_ listened to me - "

Albus: _[trumpeting loudly]_ "And like I always say, EVERYTHING IS TOTALLY FINE!"

Minerva: "Totally _fine_?" _[She blinks at him in disbelief.]_ Albus Dumbledore, you _unbelievable_ cockwarbler - "

Lee: _[steps towards them carefully]_ "Again, Professors, just as a reminder - "

Minerva: "Quiet, Jordan, or I'll take ten points - "

Lee: _[indignant]_ "Professor, I graduated last year!"

Albus: _[to Minerva]_ "Minnie, no offense, but surely you've gathered at this point that I am the architect of a much grander scheme that could not possibly register in your teeny tiny mortal mind - "

Minerva: "Oh you son of a cunting - "

Albus: _[continuing unfazed]_ "Look, I _said_ no offense - "

Minerva: "That's not a _thing,_ Albus, you can't just _say that -_ "

Albus: "I don't mean _you personally_ have a teeny tiny mind, just that _all people_ who _aren't me_ have teeny tiny minds - "

Minerva: "HOW VERY DARE YOU, ALBUS - "

Lee: _[whispering to himself]_ "Holy _balls -_ "

Minerva: " - I WILL FIGHT YOU, ALBUS, RIGHT NOW - "

Albus: _[mumbling]_ " - don't understand why you're _so sensitive,_ I feel like this is _obvious_ \- " _[looks around]_ "Where's Severus, he'll get it - "

Minerva: _[furious]_ "Oh no you don't!" _[She clambers onto the desk and Fawkes screeches encouragingly from his perch, rowdily delighted.]_ "You tell me what's going on, Albus, or so help me - "

 _[Minerva reaches across to take Albus by the shoulders, shaking him and muttering "full offense" and "for the actual sake of fuck" as she struggles to throttle him.]_

Lee: _[steps in front of the camera, shouting]_ "Let's go meet the rest of the cast, shall we?"

 _[Camera cuts out; reopens on an interview scene as Harry Potter takes a seat in a chair, looking around.]_

Harry: _[confused]_ "Lee, what exactly - "

Lee, off screen: "You're doing great, Harry!"

Harry: "Oh, um, hi." _[He looks into the camera and smiles awkwardly, as if he's been instructed to do so.]_ "I'm Harry."

Interviewer: "Your full name, please."

Harry: "Oh, sorry." _[Flushes earnestly]_ "Harry Potter."

 _[Camera cuts to Draco interview.]_

Draco: "Did he really forget to say his full name?" _[scoffs]_ "What an idiot." _[Looks confidently into the camera]_ "I'm Draco Malfoy."

Interviewer: "And your house?"

Draco: "Oh, I see, so you're pretending people don't know who I am, then?"

 _[Camera cuts to Hermione interview.]_

Hermione: _[brightly]_ "Hello, I'm Hermione Granger, I'm a Gryffindor Prefect and a sixth year, I'm really quite interested in arithmancy and ancient runes, though I'm also taking potions, astronomy, transfiguration - "

Interviewer: _[hurriedly interrupts]_ "Yes, yes, okay - "

 _[Camera cuts to Seamus and Dean interview.]_

Seamus: "Yeah, we'd really just prefer to do our interviews together."

Dean: "No reason."

Interviewer: "Okay, well, um - "

Seamus: "Listen, here's the thing, I think we all want to know if Potter's gay, right?"

Dean: "And Malfoy."

Interviewer: _[hesitantly]_ "Well, let's not - "

Seamus: "And Weasley. And Corner. And Longbottom. And Goyle - "

Dean: _[interrupts]_ "Do you think everyone is gay?"

Seamus: "Pretty much. Except me, obviously."

Dean: "Well, obviously."

Seamus: "I just feel like it would be more interesting if everyone were gay."

Dean: "Except you."

Seamus: "Right, I said that."

Dean: "Yes, right. Cool."

 _[Camera cuts to Pansy interview.]_

Pansy: "Listen, how many times can I say fuck?"

Interviewer: "We'd prefer none."

Pansy: "Cunt?"

Interviewer: "Please don't."

Pansy: "Pussy. Twat."

Interviewer: "Really, if you could just stop, that'd be - "

Pansy: "I'm just listing by category but I feel I'm an equal opportunity swearer. Like - cock, surely cock's okay, you know, within the rigid confines of the patriarchy? Or dick?"

Interviewer: "Miss Parkinson - "

Pansy: "What about shitpouch?"

Interviewer: "No."

Pansy: "Thundercunt."

Interviewer: "Now you're just mixing words together."

Pansy: "Am I, though?"

 _[Cuts to Theo interview]_

Theo: "So, can I say - "

Lee, off screen: "NO, NOTT, YOU FUCKING _CANNOT_ \- "

Theo: _[sulking]_ "Ugh, balls."

 _[Cuts to Ron interview]_

Ron: "Yeah, hi, I'm Ron Weasley - "

 _[Severus Snape enters the screen to walk through the corridor and does a double-take, pausing before taking a few steps back to scowl imperiously into the camera.]_

Severus: "Weasley." _[Narrows his eyes skeptically]_ "What is the meaning of this?"

Ron: _[Glances nervously at the camera]_ "Er, I um - don't really know, sir."

Severus: "Get to class." [ _Scowls again]_ "And take five points from Gryffindor."

Ron: _[in disbelief]_ "WHAT - Professor Snape! That's not - "

Severus: "Scamper off, Weasley, or it'll be another five."

Ron: _[looks helplessly at the interviewer]_ "Aren't you going to do something?"

Interviewer: "Nah."

 _[Cuts to Luna interview.]_

Luna: "Is this a documentary about finally revealing the truth about Nargles?"

Interviewer: "No."

Luna: _[quietly]_ "Balls."

 _[Cuts to Blaise interview.]_

Blaise: _[Looks up as Draco sits down beside him]_ "What are you doing here?"

Draco: "Making your interview more interesting."

Blaise: "Debatable."

Draco: "Why, what were you going to say? 'I'm Blaise Zabini and I'm a Slytherin whose mummy is a husband-murdering, opera-singing tart'?"

Blaise: "Kind of."

Draco: "Oh. Carry on, then."

 _[Cuts to Ginny interview.]_

Ginny: "Have you seen Dean?"

Interviewer: "He was with Seamus."

Ginny: "Fuck, I suspected that." _[Tilts her head]_ "Harry's straight, right?"

Interviewer: "I really can't comment."

Ginny: "Eh, we'll circle back later."

 _[Cuts to Parvati and Lavender interview.]_

Lavender: "I heard Ron got in trouble for doing this show. He's so _interesting._ "

Parvati: "Ugh, Lavender, really?"

Lavender: "Like, not Harry Potter interesting, you know, but that's like - _too much_ , you know what I mean?"

Parvati: "Stop."

Lavender: "Like, in terms of actual humor and substance - "

Parvati: "For the love of god, _stop."_

 _[Cuts to Draco interview.]_

Draco: "Have you seen Granger? No reason. Did she say something about how she's a muggleborn?" _[mutters to himself]_ "Stupid Granger with her stupid brain and hair and face."

Lee, off screen: "For fuck's sake, Malfoy, will you _get out -_ "

 _[Cuts to Daphne and Pansy interview.]_

Pansy: "You should give Daph extra screen time. She's got great tits."

Daphne: "Aw, Pans!" _[gives her a playful shove]_ "You're sweet."

Pansy: "Oh, so I can say tits, then? Excellent."

Theo, off screen: "If _she_ can say tits, then _I'm_ saying tits - "

Lee, off screen: "Nott, I will fucking _murder you dead_ \- "

 _[Cuts to Vincent and Gregory interview.]_

Vincent: "I'm Crabbe."

Gregory: "I'm Goyle."

Lee, off screen: "NEXT!"

 _[Cuts to Harry interview.]_

Harry: "Has Malfoy been acting strangely to you?"

Interviewer: "I literally just met him."

Harry: "Yeah, but, there's a vibe there. Like a weird, something's _off_ vibe, you know?"

Interviewer: "Okay - "

Harry: "A deathy, evil kind of vibe."

Interviewer: "I'm really not - "

Harry: "I'm saying I think Malfoy's a Death Eater."

 _[Cuts to Hermione interview.]_

Hermione: "Harry said _what?_ _[rolls her eyes]_ "Ridiculous. As if Malfoy would ever - " _[she pauses, looking lost in thought.]_ "Would he?"

Interviewer: "I don't know?"

Hermione: _[shaking herself of the thought]_ "Anyway, as I was saying about S.P.E.W. - "

Lee, off screen: "Who the fuck let Granger back in?!"

 _[Cuts to Luna interview.]_

Luna: "I think it's going to be a very interesting year." _[she smiles and whispers]_ "We're going to burn this place to the ground."

Interviewer: "What?"

Luna: "What?"

 _[Cuts to Harry interview.]_

Harry: "He's just like, doing this thing with his wrist, you know? And he was in Knockturn Alley, which - sketchy, right?"

Lee: _[enters the screen, stomping over to Harry]_ "Merlin's ballsack, Harry, _please -_ "

Harry: "Okay, but did I tell you about his weird thing with his wrist though?"

 _[Cuts to Albus interview.]_

Albus: "What am I planning?" _[smiles absently]_ "Oh, nothing. As I always say, it's the unknown we fear, when we - "

Minerva: _[yelling offscreen]_ "Albus!"

Albus: _[turns pale]_ "Shut it off. Hide. NOW."

 _[Camera jostles and the screen goes black.]_

* * *

 **a/n:** Happy December 1st, it's more of this shit every day til Christmas. Joy to the world!


	36. The Real World: Hogwarts, Ep II

**The Real World: Hogwarts  
** **Episode II**

 _Summary:_ The Real World, continued. Olivie Advent Day 2.

* * *

 _[Scene opens with an interview with Neville.]_

Neville: _[openly nervous]_ "I really just came down here looking for my - "

Interviewer: "I'm told Harry Potter was late to the welcome feast this year. Care to comment?"

Neville: "Er, I mean, it wasn't the first time Harry missed it - "

Interviewer: _[interrupts]_ "Would you say Harry receives any favoritism from the school administration?"

Neville: "Well, I don't think that I can - "

Interviewer: "From Dumbledore, specifically?"

 _[There is a long pause.]_

Neville: "Pass."

Interviewer: "You can't pass."

Neville: "Well, I'm doing it. Pass."

Interviewer: "That's essentially a tacit agreement, then."

Neville: _[Thinks, and then nods to himself.]_ "Trick question. Pass again."

Interviewer: "Listen - "

Neville: "I SAID PASS."

 _[Severus Snape appears in the corridor once more, his nose wrinkling distastefully as he catches sight of Neville.]_

Severus: _[Tsking]_ "Mr. Longbottom, given the state of your performance in my class, I would recommend spending more time studying and less time preening for the camera." _[He pauses as Neville looks sheepish.]_ "5 points from Gryffindor."

Neville: _[tentatively]_ "But Professor, I - "

Severus: "But nothing, or I'll make it ten."

Neville: "Perhaps Professor Dumbledore didn't explain - " _[he turns red, ducking his head and mumbling]_ " - we're supposed to be doing this for a reality show - I'm _supposed_ to be doing this interview - "

Severus: _[coldly]_ "I've never heard such a thing. Fifteen points."

 _[Cuts to Severus interview.]_

Severus: "I know exactly what's happening. I'm not an idiot. I'm incredibly informed."

Albus: _[gently]_ "Then perhaps you might consider, you know, _not_ taking points away from the students you don't like - "

Severus: _[interrupts]_ "I find that demoralizing others stabilizes my otherwise crippling lack of self-esteem and my generally unbending state of misery with regard to my life and my choices."

Albus: _[Pauses in horror, and then laughs awkwardly]_ "He's - the thing is, he's joking."

Severus: _[stone-faced]_ "I'm not."

Albus: _[laughs again]_ "He is. Trust me. He's hilarious."

Severus: "I'm not."

Albus: _[nudges him]_ "Life of the party, this one - "

Severus: "I'd sooner eat my stockings than attend a party."

Albus: _[continues, unfazed]_ " - social butterfly, he is, as you can see - "

Severus: "I was invited to a party once. That person no longer possesses full functionality of his right testicle."

Albus: _[frantically]_ " - TRULY UNPARALLELED SENSE OF HUMOR - "

Severus: "I told one joke in March of 1987. The recipient of the punchline died three days later."

Albus: " - SELF-DEPRECATION IS SO EN VOGUE THESE DAYS - "

Severus: "I sometimes fantasize about lighting small fires in order to fall asleep."

 _[Camera pans out to reveal that Luna is sitting on Severus' right.]_

Luna: _[whispers]_ "Burn it down."

Albus: _[looks over Severus to see her, startled]_ "Miss Lovegood, how on earth did you get here?"

Luna: "It's probably best if you never assume I'm not everywhere at any given time, Professor."

Severus: _[looking impressed in spite of himself]_ "That is absolutely terrifying."

Luna: _[kindly]_ "Thank you."

Severus: "You're welcome."

Albus: _[sighing]_ "God, I need to lie down."

Minerva, off screen: "Albus!"

Albus: _[leaps up]_ "Oh, for fuck's sake."

 _[Cuts to Draco interview with Theo and Blaise.]_

Draco: "You know who I hate?"

Theo: "Potter."

Blaise: "Potter."

Draco: " - _Potter_. He's intolerable. An idiot. And I'm so sick of his - "

Theo: "Hero antics."

Blaise: "Hero antics."

Draco: " - _hero antics,_ you know? Just because he's Dumbledore's favorite - "

Theo: "He thinks he can just strut around - "

Blaise: " - utterly immune to consequences."

Draco: " - he thinks he can just _strut around,_ utterly _immune to consequences -_ "

Theo: "We know."

Blaise: "Seriously. We know."

Draco: "You know who else I hate?"

Theo: "Granger."

Blaise: "Granger."

Lee, off screen: "Hermione!"

Draco: " _Granger_. She's disgusting. Her hair's so big. Her skin's so soft. It's infuriating. I want to murder her with my mouth."

Blaise: "Like, eat her?"

Lee, off screen: "Don't, you signed a waiver!"

Theo: _[shaking his head]_ "You have your emotions confused."

 _[Cuts to a hidden camera in the library where Ron, Hermione, and Harry are whispering in a corner.]_

Hermione: _[looking nervous]_ "I mean, surely he didn't think we'd continue his class in a _N.E.W.T._ year, of all years!"

Harry: "I'm pretty sure that's exactly what Hagrid thinks."

Ron: _[in a slow exhale]_ "Fuuuuuck thaaaaaat."

Hermione: _[biting her lip]_ "You know, I hate to agree with Ron, but - yes, that."

Harry: _[shrugging his disinterest]_ "Let's talk about something more important. Like what Malfoy's up to."

Hermione: "He's literally right there, Harry. He's studying."

Harry: _[sniffs skeptically]_ "I don't like it. Looks fishy."

Ron: "He's got his textbook open. He's taking notes."

Harry: "Voldemort takes notes."

Hermione: "I'm not sure that's relevant - "

Harry: "You know what else Voldemort does? Murder."

Ron: "I don't know where this is going _at all._ "

Hermione: _[glances at him, exasperated]_ "Do you really not?"

Harry: "I'm saying Malfoy's a Death Eater."

Ron: "Oh, I guess I did know, then."

Hermione: "Are you just trying that out on everyone to see if it sticks?"

Harry: "Is it sticking?"

Ron: "No."

Harry: "Fuck, I feel like I've got a solid argument here - look, remember the wrist thing?"

Ron: "Yes."

Harry: "The wrist thing!"

Ron: "I've got it."

Hermione: "We've definitely got it."

Harry: "Okay but I feel like you're not hearing me."

Ron: "I hear you."

Harry: "But like - hear me out, though - "

Ron: "His wrist."

Harry: " - his _wrist -_ "

Ron: "Knockturn Alley."

Harry: " - and _Knockturn Alley_!"

 _[From the left side of the camera view Pansy and Daphne appear from the other side of the bookshelf where the Golden Trio are talking; Daphne wipes smudged lipstick from Pansy's neck and Pansy reaches out to nudge the corner of Daphne's skirt, which is folded up awkwardly, the corner of it caught in her lacy black knickers.]_

Hermione: _[looking over her class notes]_ "I feel like we're missing something."

Harry: "About Malfoy?"

Hermione: _[sighs]_ "I can't."

 _[Cuts to Seamus and Dean interview.]_

Seamus: "You know who I think is gay?"

Dean: "Who?"

Seamus: "Snape."

Dean: "Ooh, good one."

Seamus: "And Flitwick."

Dean: "Yep."

Seamus: "And Binns."

Dean: "The ghost?"

Seamus: "Ghosts can be gay."

Dean: "What about Dumbledore?"

Seamus: _[pauses]_ "Nah."

* * *

 **a/n:** Happy December 2nd! I know some of you said this coincides with your birthdays. Tumblr me/leave a review with the date and I'll include a shoutout in the endnotes.


	37. The Real World: Hogwarts, Ep III

**The Real World: Hogwarts  
** **Episode III**

 _Summary:_ The Real World, continued. Olivie Advent Day 3. A little late today, but still counts!

* * *

 _[Camera footage opens on Harry, Hermione, and Ron walking through a busy castle corridor.]_

Ron: "What are the chances we actually get free time this year?"

Harry: _[thinks, then nods decisively]_ "Real fucking low."

Ron: "But we've got all these free periods, though - "

Hermione: _[exasperated]_ "Those are for _studying_ \- "

Harry: "Or for stalking Malfoy."

Ron: "No."

Harry: "Oh, come on."

Ron: "Let me rephrase - "

Harry: "Sure - "

Ron: "No thank you."

Neville, walking by: "PASS!"

Harry: _[sighs]_ "Okay, but hear me out - "

Hermione: _[interrupts]_ "For the hundredth time, those free periods are for studying!"

Ron: "Studying _what_ , though?"

Hermione: _[with a grimace]_ "Honestly, I'm sure something will come up. This all seems too convenient." _[She gets distracted, seeing a first year with a Fanged Frisbee.]_ "Excuse me, these are banned!"

Ron: _[gesturing]_ "Gimme." _[under his breath to Hermione and Harry]_ "Been wanting one of these."

 _[Nearby, Lavender laughs uproariously. Camera cuts to Lavender interview.]_

Lavender: _[shrugging]_ "What? He's funny."

Parvati: _[arms crossed]_ "No. He isn't."

Lavender: "Okay, but - "

Parvati: "Stop."

Lavender: "I really don't think that you're - "

Parvati: "No."

Lavender: "If you would just - "

Parvati: _[flips desk]_ "NO!"

 _[Cuts to interview with Albus.]_

Albus: "Look, so, I _know_ Slughorn's not that great a potions instructor - "

Minerva: _[looks startled at this]_ "What the fuck? Albus, you bollocky cockswallop - "

Albus: _[continues, unfazed]_ " - and I _know_ , technically, that he's at least partially to blame for Voldemort - "

Minerva: "Do you even hear yourself when you talk?"

Albus: _[indignantly]_ "Minnie, am I _really_ supposed to disqualify people simply because they _may_ or _may not_ have contributed to an evil wizard's meteoric rise to power?"

Minerva: _[arms crossed and fuming, says nothing.]_

Albus: "Who would even be _left_ at that point _-_ "

Minerva: _[erupts]_ "You can't possibly be _serious -_ "

Albus: _[interrupts loudly]_ "But as I was saying, it's a small thing, really, in the grander scheme of forcing Harry to take potions." _[clears throat]_ "For reasons that I have not yet made clear."

 _[There is a pause.]_

Minerva: "Well?" _[glares]_ "Do you plan to make them clear?"

Albus: "Yes."

 _[Another pause; Minerva waits expectantly.]_

Albus: _[looking surprised]_ "Oh, were you wanting to know _now_?"

Minerva: "That was sort of the idea, you twatwarbler."

Albus: "Well I can't now. I'm busy now. Oh, look, Harry!"

 _[Albus disappears. Minerva sighs and turns to face an incoming Harry and Ron.]_

Minerva: "Potter, you'll have to take Potions."

Harry: _[taken aback]_ "Why?"

Minerva: _[bellows]_ "Don't argue with me, Potter - YOU COME INTO _MY HOUSE -_ "

Harry: _[frantically]_ "Okay, fuck, fine - I'm taking potions."

 _[Cuts to scene from Potions classroom; Harry is awarded the Felix Felicis.]_

Hermione: _[muttering to herself]_ "Oh _fuck_ no."

Harry: _[earnestly]_ "WHAT A SURPRISE! FORTUNE HATH SMILED UPON ME AND MY HUMBLE SOUL THIS DAY! MAGICAL MAPS AND CLOAKS OF INVISIBILITY AND BOOKS WITH ALL THE ANSWERS ALMOST NEVER SIMPLY FALL INTO MY LAP, UNBIDDEN - "

Theo: _[sighs, rubbing his temple]_ "Yeah, this seems about right."

 _[Cuts to interview with Draco.]_

Draco: _[haughtily]_ "Oh, big surprise, despite years of absolute fucking incompetence Harry ball-gargling Potter is suddenly some kind of potions ingenue - "

Hermione: _[bursts in]_ "LEE!"

Lee, off screen: "What the fuck now?"

Draco: _[brings a hand to his chest in a show of aristocratic, falsely horrified dismay]_ "Granger, I beg your fucking pardon - "

Hermione: _[ignoring him]_ "Did you see it? Did the camera get it?"

Lee, off screen: "Get what?"

Draco: _[aghast]_ "Granger, do I look like a piece of furniture to you? Here I am, innocently attempting to wax poetic about Potter's failings in _peace_ \- "

Hermione: "He's _cheating_ , Lee - that son of a - "

Draco: [ _interrupts]_ "GRANGER, MY VIRGIN EARS - "

Hermione: _[steps in front of the camera speaking to Lee, who is somewhere behind it]_ "I just want to see if the world is actually seeing the _truth_ , here - which is that despite the fact that I would literally die for Harry - "

Draco: _[peeking out from behind her]_ "Just curious, where do I fall on the spectrum of people you would die for? No reason." _[He pauses, laughing nervously]_ "Ah, not relevant, carry on - "

Hermione: " - he is _cheating,_ he is abusing the _system_ , he is taking instruction from a _book -_ "

Lee, off screen: "Hermione, what the fuck do you want me to do about it?"

Hermione: _[shouting back]_ "I want justice, Lee!"

Draco: "Do you want me to fight him? I'll do it. Not _for_ you, obviously, seeing as you're a disgusting, perfect, loathsome ivory-skinned monster, but - "

Hermione: "What is the _purpose_ of a show about _real life_ if not to EXPOSE THE TRUTH - "

Lee, off screen: "Hermione, I really don't think you understand what we do here."

Hermione: _[shouting back_ ] "I UNDERSTAND EVERYTHING!"

 _[She storms out; Draco looks sympathetically at the camera.]_

Draco: "Ugh, isn't she the absolute _worst_? Isn't she absolutely the most disgusting, horrible, angel-faced disgrace of a human being you've ever seen?"

 _[Camera pans out to reveal Luna sitting on his right.]_

Luna: "I don't think you mean that."

Draco: _[jumps out of his seat]_ "How the fuck did you get here?"

Luna: "Hm? Me?"

Draco: _[blinks, glances at the camera in confusion, and then looks back at her.]_ "Yes, you!"

Luna: "Oh, I thought you meant him."

 _[Camera pans out further to reveal Severus on Draco's left.]_

Draco: _[looks, then recoils in dismay]_ "Why?!"

Severus: "Hm?"

Luna: _[vacantly]_ "Oh look, wrackspurts."

 _[Cuts to Pansy and Daphne interview.]_

Daphne: "Marry Potter, fuck Granger, and kill Weasley." _[Thinks]_ "Right?"

Pansy: _[shrugs]_ "I say kill all three of them."

Daphne: _[tsks disapprovingly]_ "Pans." _[nudges her]_ "Come on."

Pansy: "Fine." _[sighs in resignation]_ "Maybe fuck Weasley." _[Straightens]_ I feel like he'd go down on you for like, fucking - _hours_ , you know? Because he'd just be _so grateful_ he'd just set up camp down there with some kind of breathing charm and just, fucking - _go to town,_ you know?"

Daphne: "Ooh. That's true."

Interviewer: _[interrupts gently]_ "Er, just as a reminder, the question was what your response was to Harry Potter's performance in Potions today."

Daphne: "Oh, we know."

Pansy: "We made it better."

* * *

 **a/n:** Might be a bit late tomorrow as well or very early, depends. Absurdity continues.


	38. The Real World: Hogwarts, Ep IV

**The Real World: Hogwarts  
** **Episode IV**

 _Summary:_ The Real World, continued. Olivie Advent Day 4.

* * *

 _[Opens with interview with Harry and Hermione.]_

Hermione: _[tentatively, as though she is apprehensive about being overheard]_ "Ron's been very nervous about quidditch tryouts."

Harry: "Yes. Obsessively so."

Hermione: _[looks imploringly at him]_ "Well, it's a bit understandable, isn't it?"

Harry: "Hardly. I swear, every time I bring up Malfoy, Ron interrupts to talk about these tryouts."

Hermione: _[sighs, then turns back to the camera.]_ "In any case, we've been having to be especially sensitive and encouraging, which comes more naturally to some of us than others."

 _[Cuts to a clip of several Gryffindors over breakfast.]_

Hermione: _[coaxingly]_ "You'll be _fine_ , Ron - "

Ginny: "Yes. All you have to do is not suck."

Seamus: "It's easy. Just _be_ better."

Dean: "I agree with Seamus."

Neville: _[earnestly]_ "Plus, if you don't end up getting on the team, we can always talk about plants."

Ron: _[slams his head into the table.]_ "I want to die."

 _[Cuts back to Harry and Hermione interview.]_

Harry: "But the truth is, it's really not that hard for _us_ to motivate Ron."

Hermione: _[blushes]_ "Yeah, we've, um . . . perfected a method over the years."

 _[Cuts to Harry and Hermione talking to Ron.]_

Harry: "You just have to use the Force, Ron."

Hermione: "Do or do not, there is no try."

Ron: "What?"

Harry: "Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it."

Hermione: "Life is _also_ like a box of chocolates. Because you never know what you're going to get."

Ron: _[thoughtfully]_ "That's true."

Harry: "Hakuna matata!"

Hermione: "It means no worries - "

Harry: " - for the rest of your days!"

Ron: _[nodding approvingly]_ "That sounds good. But how does that - "

Harry: "Look in the mirror, Ron, and tell me what you see."

Ron: _[looks around, confused]_ "What mirror?"

Hermione: "I see pride - "

Harry: _[interrupts]_ "I see power!"

Hermione: "I see a bad ass mother - "

Harry: " - who don't take no crap off of nobody!"

Ron: _[impressed]_ "Really? You guys see that?"

Harry: "Ron, I'm just a boy, standing in front of another boy, asking him to believe in himself."

Hermione: "Don't you understand? When you give up on your dream, you die."

Ron: "I guess that's true."

Harry: "Fight and you may die, Ron. Run, and you'll live . . . at least a while."

Ron: _[startled]_ "Wait, what do you mean I'll _live_? Was there a possibility I'd _die_?!"

Hermione: "And dying in your bed, many years from now, would you be willing to trade all the days, from this day to that, for one chance - "

Harry: " - just _one chance_ , to come back here and tell our enemies - "

Ron: "Our enemies?" [ _huffs in irritation]_ "For fuck's sake, Harry, is this about Malfoy again?"

Hermione: " - that they may take our lives - "

Harry: _[erupting dramatically]_ " - but they'll never take . . . OUR FREEDOM!"

 _[There is a pause. Harry has clambered onto the table to deliver the final line, and Hermione is breathless, her fist raised.]_

Ron: _[lets out a low whistle]_ "Wow." _[He smiles cheerfully.]_ "You guys always know what to say."

 _[Cuts back to Harry and Hermione interview.]_

Harry: "So, um, yeah. There are some benefits to having grown up in the Muggle world."

Hermione: _[sheepishly]_ "We'll tell him someday."

Harry: "No we won't."

Hermione: _[sighs]_ "No, we really won't."

 _[Cuts to Theo interview.]_

Theo: "Yeah, I mean, school's fine."

Interviewer: "Do you have a favorite class?"

Theo: "Um, well. I guess if I had to choose one - "

 _[Pansy and Daphne come storming into the corridor. Theo sighs in relief.]_

Theo: "Oh thank god. I thought I'd have to talk about fucking . . . _school_ for a minute there."

Interviewer: "Personally, I came close to setting a small controlled fire."

Theo: "Ooh, smart."

Pansy: "What the fuck is this?" _[She storms over to the interviewer, shoving something in his face.]_ "Are you responsible for this?"

Lee, off screen: "Oh, for the love of Godric's teeth - "

Interviewer: "I - Miss Parkinson, I can't see it while you're shoving it in my face - "

Daphne: "It had to have been one of you, right? One of your pervy show people?"

Lee, off screen: "PERVY? First of all, _how_ fucking _dare you -_ "

Theo: _[peering over Pansy's shoulder]_ "Pans, what the fuck does it say?"

Pansy: "Something disgusting and unforgivable, that's what!"

Theo: "Is it more of Draco's poetry? His freeform work is improving but the sonnets are still utter fucking garbage as far as I can tell - I mean really, if I hear him ask 'what rhymes with bushy' one more time, I'm just going to - "

 _[Lee stomps into view, cutting him off.]_

Lee: "Alright you twatting harpies, what are you - " _[He pauses.]_ "What the fuck is this?"

Pansy: _[shoves the parchment in his face]_ "Who did this?"

Lee: _[draws a hand to his chest in outrage, knocking her hand away]_ "You had better not be accusing _me_ of something, you horrible brute!"

 _[Lee grabs the parchment she's waving and reads it; his face contorts into a grimace.]_

Theo: _[straining to read from afar]_ "Well? What the fuck does it say?"

Lee: _[hesitant to say]_ "Er, it um - it says - "

Pansy: _[reciting the note]_ "What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet - "

Daphne: " - but for Pansy, thy rose shall be called Daphne - "

Theo: _[interrupts]_ "That's not Draco's work. His poems have a certain . . . gravitas." _[grimaces]_ "Also, they're usually about Granger."

Pansy: "It ends with 'I know your dirty little secret - "

Daphne: " - and it's signed, of all things, 'xoxo' - "

Lee: _[scoffs]_ "This is hardly a hugs and kisses occasion."

Theo: _[nodding]_ "Agreed. Inappropriate." _[pauses]_ "Wait, but what does it mean?"

Pansy: "It _means_ somebody's been mucking about in _our_ business!"

Lee: "And what does that have to do with _me_?!"

Daphne: "Who else is around school following people's every move other than _you_? And who the hell is 'Gossip Girl'?"

 _[Albus runs into the corridor, panting and out of breath.]_

Lee: _[relieved]_ "Oh good, Professor, perhaps you can help us - "

 _[Albus shushes them urgently and they fall silent; heeled footsteps echo the halls as someone turns down an alternate corridor.]_

Albus: "Excellent, she's gone." _[looks up]_ "What's the problem?"

Lee: "Well, it seems Pansy and Daphne have received - "

Albus: _[interrupts_ ] "Just kidding, don't care. Bye!"

 _[Albus disapparates. Everyone turns to look at the camera.]_

Lee: "Um." _[He is physically uncomfortable with the situation and looks very much like he would like to leave as well.]_ Well, I suppose, I, um - "

Theo: _[blurts out]_ "My favorite class is Transfiguration."

 _[Everyone turns to look at him.]_

Theo: "I don't know, I panicked!"

 _[Cuts to Seamus and Dean.]_

Seamus: "Hagrid. Gay."

Dean: "Oh, come on."

Seamus: "One hundred percent. I'd stake my life on it."

Dean: "I wouldn't advise it."

Seamus: "Also gay? Salazar Slytherin."

Dean: "How do you figure?"

Seamus: "The whole snake thing. Dodgy."

Dean: "So snakes are gay, but not lions?"

Seamus: _[Thinks]_ "No, lions too."

Dean: "So Gryffindor _and_ Slytherin - "

Seamus: "Gay."

Dean: _[muttering to himself]_ "The only possible way this is acceptable is if _he_ turns out to be gay, right? I mean, is this incredibly insensitive material to include in any sort of publicized footage?"

Seamus: "What did you say?"

Dean: _[loudly]_ "I said I agree. Totally gay."

* * *

 **a/n:** Additional layer of plot to what is already a nearly unbearable level of antics. Imaginary Olivie Points if you can identify the movie quotes.


	39. The Real World: Hogwarts, Ep V

**The Real World: Hogwarts  
** **Episode V**

 _Summary:_ The Real World, continued. Olivie Advent Day 5.

* * *

 _[Scene opens on several professors and Lee having a discussion in the Headmaster's office.]_

Minerva: "Mr Jordan, what exactly is the problem here?"

Lee: "Er, well, it seems someone has sent Miss Parkinson and Miss Greengrass of Slytherin a, um, mildly threatening note."

Filius: _[skeptically]_ " _Mildly_ threatening?"

Pomona: "Is there such a thing as a 'mild threat,' Mr Jordan?"

Albus: _[buoyantly]_ "Sure there is. A man with the soul of an evil megalomaniac hidden in his turban, for example."

Minerva: _[turns her head sharply, glaring]_ "Did you just reference Quirinius Quirrell as a _mild threat_?"

Albus: _[obnoxiously]_ "Would you have preferred I use the werewolf as an example? Or the good-looking unqualified one who tried to abandon two children to their inevitable demise?"

Minerva: "Under the circumstances, yes!"

Albus: "Hush, Minnie, don't be rude. Lee is talking."

 _[He looks expectantly at Lee, who swallows comically.]_

Lee: "Er, well, I say mildly in that no _actual_ threats were made, really - "

Filius: "No blackmail?"

Pomona: "No inclusion of bodily harm?"

Lee: "No. There was an ill-timed expression of hugs and kisses, but - "

Severus: _[shudders]_ "Revolting."

Lee: " - other than that, nothing."

Albus: _[cheerily]_ "Well then - no harm, no foul!"

Minerva: _[glaring]_ "Albus, you cunting baboon - "

Albus: "Look, it's a rule. If there's no impending murder, then we're fine."

Filius: _[alarmed]_ "Dear god, is that really the only rule?"

Albus: "Look, this is just like that time we had that Death Eater here dressed up as someone we all knew and loved for many years and nobody noticed was actually a member of a villainous mob of murder enthusiasts." _[He shrugs]_ "Totally fine."

Minerva: "Albus, you buffet of blithering cockmongery, _someone died_ that year!"

Albus: "Did they?" _[cocks his head, thinking]_ "Ah, I always forget that one." _[Pauses dejectedly, then brightens.]_ "Ah, well, as I always say, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great advent- "

Minerva: "I'm going to kill him. I'm going to do it this time. Severus, hold me back!"

Severus: _[inspecting his fingernails]_ "No. Shan't."

 _[A ruckus erupts as Minerva lunges for Albus; Pomona and Filius both attempt to hold her back but fail, each one grabbing onto an ankle as she drags them, one foot at a time, towards Albus, who sits indignantly at his desk.]_

Albus: "Minnie, really - I think you're overreacting a bit, it's only a bit of casual murder between friends, isn't it?"

Minerva: "ALBUS, COME HERE AND LET ME PUNCH YOU - "

 _[Lee has now grabbed on to Minerva and the camera is jostled, indicating that at least one of the camera crew members has joined in.]_

Lee: "THIS - IS - UNSEEMLY - "

Albus: "Honestly, Minnie, one mistake and it's like I'm a social piranha - "

Severus: _[takes a seat in a large, clawed armchair and peruses a copy of the Daily Prophet, licking a finger as he turns a page.]_ "It's pariah."

Albus: _[pauses thoughtfully]_ "I always thought the fish reference was off; but then I thought - who _likes_ fish?"

 _[Minerva is finally dragged down as Aurora Sinistra takes a flying leap, tackling her from afar. Horace Slughorn enters as the other teachers collapse with a groan.]_

Horace: "What did I miss?"

Severus: _[still reading the newspaper]_ "Not much."

Albus: _[thinking]_ "Something something, blackmail, mild peril, something else - then Minerva tried to fight me."

Horace: _[spiritedly]_ "Right-ho then, gents, carry on. Ah, and Albus, I'm using the same lesson plans from fifteen years ago."

Albus: "What else would you do? Teach something new?"

 _[Both laugh uproariously. Camera cuts to Draco interview.]_

Draco: "Yes, I've heard about the note Pansy and Daphne got."

Interviewer: "Any idea who sent it?"

Draco: "I hope it was Potter, but really, he's far too oblivious. And it's a girl, isn't it? 'Gossip Girl'? So not him anyway." _[He perks up]_ "Maybe it's Granger!"

Interviewer: "Is that a good thing?"

Draco: "I really don't know. Please don't ask me about her."

Interviewer: "I feel like I should."

Draco: "I don't know what you want me to say. She's got brown hair that glints in the light, with these rays of sun that catch in her soft curls whenever she turns her head."

Interviewer: "Oh boy."

Draco: "And brown eyes like the way the forest looks when the sun goes down, all warm and comforting but also mysterious and deep, like they contain the very secrets of life within them."

Interviewer: "Mhmm."

Draco: "She's the perfect height for me to rest my chin on top of her head - "

Interviewer: "Have you tried?"

Draco: "I've estimated."

Interviewer: "Okay."

Draco: "You know. Normal stuff. Nothing weird."

Interviewer: "Nothing weird?"

Draco: "That's what I said, isn't it?"

Interviewer: "Right. So, anyway. Tell me more about the Room of Requirement."

Draco: "Ah, right. So really, I got the idea from horrible, disgusting Granger - "

Interviewer: _[rubs temples]_ "For _fuck's sake_ \- "

Draco: " - whose cheeks are as perfectly tinted as the first bloom of spring - "

Interviewer: _[interrupts]_ "So how does it work?"

Draco: "Summoning charm, basically, within the sentient castle. It requires some subtlety." _[Pauses, thinking.]_ "It's like a woman, sort of."

Interviewer: "How so?"

Draco: "You have to ask it for what you want, you know? And preen for it a bit. You can't just bang on the door and shout for it to let you in."

 _[Scene cuts to Harry standing outside the Room of Requirement, maniacally pounding his fists against the wall.]_

Harry: "SHOW ME WHAT MALFOY IS HIDING!"

 _[Cuts to Harry interview.]_

Harry: "In my experience women are confusing."

 _[Cuts to Ron interview.]_

Ron: "Yes, so, I think Harry and Hermione might have mentioned how I'm a bit nervous about quidditch tryouts."

Interviewer: "They did. Care to comment?"

Ron: "I'm nervous."

Interviewer: "I'd gathered."

Ron: "It's not like I'm not good at quidditch, obviously - "

Interviewer: "I wouldn't have guessed that, but keep going."

Ron: " - it's just that - it'll be so bloody disappointing if I don't make it."

Luna: "Is it because everyone always forgets about you?"

Ron: _[jumps out of his seat]_ "Fucking - Godric's _balls_ , Luna!"

Luna: "I wouldn't worry about it."

Ron: "You wouldn't worry about what?!"

Luna: "Oh, a variety of things. Nargles, Snorkacks, Plimpies, Squirtles, Charmanders, Bulbasours - "

Ron: _[staring at her]_ "You've got to be making these things up."

Luna: "Oddly, no." _[whispers]_ "Gotta catch them all."

Ron: "What?"

Luna: "What?"

Interviewer: "What?!"

* * *

 **a/n:** Imaginary Olivie Points to Gaeleria, Redbeardswoman, and bonkaiqueen!


	40. The Real World: Hogwarts, Ep VI

**The Real World: Hogwarts  
** **Episode VI**

 _Summary:_ The Real World, continued. Olivie Advent Day 6.

* * *

 _[Scene opens on the Slytherin common room.]_

Blaise: "Marry McGonagall, fuck Pomfrey, kill Hooch."

Daphne: "I'd fuck McGonagall over Pomfrey _for sure_. Have you lost your mind?"

Blaise: "Have _you_?!"

Draco: _[sitting at a table behind them]_ "Guys, what rhymes with 'lioness'?"

Theo: _[shouting back to him]_ "Wine list."

Draco: "Not really the vibe I'm going for."

Theo: "Then be more specific!"

Daphne: _[ignoring them]_ "I just think McGonagall's got to be one of those, like, secret freaks, you know?"

Pansy: "I'm with Daph. Definitely. McGonagall's a closeted perv, for sure."

Blaise: "You know who's probably dirty as hell? Snape."

Daphne: "Oooh, _yes._ "

Draco: "What would you call the precise brown that looks a bit golden? You know, with a bit of a sheen to it? Like, if it were crystalline in some way, but then also opalescent?"

Theo: "Fucking hell, Draco - what the fuck?"

Draco: "You said to be more specific."

Blaise: _[to Theo]_ "He's not wrong."

Theo: _[sighs, then yells back]_ "Topaz?"

Draco: _[sniffs disapprovingly]_ "I don't know. Seems pretentious."

Theo: "Amber, then."

Draco: "Huh." _[Thinks, then scribbles something down.]_ "Not bad."

Daphne: "Alright, new round - the secret freaks. McGonagall, Snape, and - "

Pansy: "Granger."

Draco: _[perks up]_ "What?"

Daphne: "Granger, a secret freak? You think?"

Pansy: _[emphatically]_ "For sure. She's so tightly wound."

Blaise: "I agree."

Draco: _[loudly]_ "What's that about Granger? That she's a horrible monster? I agree."

Daphne: "Okay, fine, so - "

Pansy: "Marry McGonagall, fuck Snape, kill Granger."

Theo: "So basically you just added her to the list so that you could kill her in your weird, disturbing hypothetical?"

Pansy: "Pretty much, yeah."

Daphne: [ _shrugging]_ "I'd fuck Granger."

Theo: "Same. Easily."

Draco: _[peering over at them from across the room]_ "Wait, _who_ is fucking Granger?"

Blaise: "I think I'd marry Granger in that scenario. I might actually consider fucking Snape - I'm _that_ curious."

Draco: _[still shouting]_ "Fucking Granger as in ' _I hate_ that fucking Granger'? Because, yeah, me too. Totally."

Theo: "No, Draco - fucking Granger as in _intercourse_."

Luna: "Yes, or congress. Specifically, sexual congress."

Theo: _[nods]_ "Right, that's what I - " _[jumps back]_ "Fucking hell, how did _you_ get here?"

Luna: "Your passwords are really unimaginative."

Blaise: "She's not wrong."

Theo: _[aghast]_ "Still - "

Draco: _[poring over his parchment]_ "What rhymes with 'unbearably curly hair'?"

Luna: _[effortlessly]_ "Unbeatable savoir faire."

Draco: "Oooh, that's a good - " _[looks up]_ "How the fuck did you get in here?"

Luna: "Same as you, I imagine." _[Turns to the others.]_ "I'd marry Snape, I think. He seems like he'll age well."

Daphne: _[tilts her head thoughtfully]_ "An interesting additional layer of consideration to the game - _longevity_."

Blaise: _[agreeably]_ "She's not wrong."

Luna: "And I think I'd fuck Hermione."

Draco: _[looks up]_ "What? Who? That beastly Mudblood? Disgusting." _[looks down]_ "Does 'enchanting forbidden danger' rhyme with 'spellbinding face of Grang-' you know what, nevermind." _[scribbles furiously]_

Pansy: "You'd pass on McGonagall? But what if she's, you know, really into - "

Luna: "She's not. I've seen."

Theo: "Exactly _how much_ have you seen?"

Luna: _[shrugs]_ "Enough."

Pansy: "You're terrifying."

Luna: "Oh, thank you."

Pansy: "You're welcome." _[pauses]_ "And in a bizarre twist, I mean that."

Luna: "You're sweet."

Theo: _[dumbfounded]_ "What the _fuuuuuu-_ "

 _[Cuts to interview with Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, the Grey Lady, the Fat Friar, the Bloody Baron, and Peeves.]_

Nick: "Look, we ghosts take serious issue with our lack of inclusion in the show."

Grey Lady: "We are residents here too, you know. Isn't that right, Peeves?"

 _[Peeves, emboldened by her attention, instantly tries to steal the camera, grabbing onto the lens and cackling; the Bloody Baron stares at him and he slowly puts it back, blowing a quiet raspberry to express his disappointment.]_

Peeves: _[mumbles]_ "What she said."

Nick: "I'm _already_ not invited to the Headless Hunt - " _[mutters to himself]_ "Forty-five times with a blunt axe and these cocksucking motherfuckers can't even - "

Grey Lady: _[interrupting]_ "What Nick is _trying_ to say is that it's very difficult to not be included in the activities of the living simply because we are, you know - dead."

Interviewer: "Isn't that . . . sort of the idea, though?"

Fat Friar: "How dare!"

Nick: "All lives matter!"

Grey Lady: _[nodding her agreement]_ "Even dead ones."

Peeves: " _Especially_ dead ones!" _[He produces a large stack of books and drops it, releasing a cloud of dust into the room as he swoops around, whooping loudly.]_

Nick: _[coughing]_ "Why was Peeves included in this?"

Grey Lady: "So the Friar wouldn't be the dumbest ghost in the room."

Fat Friar: "Again, HOW DARE!"

Nick: _[grumbling to himself]_ "I wouldn't even _have_ to participate in any of your ridiculous schemes if I didn't have a measly _half an inch_ of skin on my - "

Grey Lady: "Nicholas, you wart, I'll _tell you_ what you've got a measly half-inch of if you don't _shove it_ back down your improperly decapitated throat!"

Nick: "LISTEN HERE, YOU WOMAN - "

Peeves: _[at the top of his lungs]_ "FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!"

 _[Argus Filch runs into the corridor, followed by Pomona Sprout.]_

Argus: "STUDENTS IN THE CORRIDOR - STUDENTS OUT OF BED - "

Pomona: "Filch, you bollocking wastebasket, it's _noon_!" _[she looks around, seeking out Peeves.]_ "Peeves, have you made off with the textbooks I had piled in the back greenhouse?"

Peeves: _[holding a book titled 'Flesh-Eating Trees of the World']_ "No."

Pomona: _[sternly]_ "Peeves."

Peeves: "No."

Pomona: "Peeves!"

Peeves: "No."

Pomona: "PEEVES!"

Peeves: "Only a little."

Pomona: _[growls in frustration]_ "Minerva!"

 _[Minerva apparates in, smoking a cigar. She looks around, nodding amicably to the Bloody Baron, who nods back, approvingly smug. She settles down beside him, leaning back in her chair as she blows out an expertly crafted smoke ring.]_

Minerva: "What's up?"

Pomona: _[sulkily]_ "Peeves stole my textbooks again."

Minerva: _[takes a long drag, considering her before turning her attention to Peeves]_ "Peeves. Peevesy. Peevesmeister."

Peeves: _[loudly, in obvious denial]_ "WHAT?"

Minerva: "I can't. Do you understand me?" [ _She lets out a long exhale of smoke.]_ "I simply _cannot_."

Peeves: _[muttering]_ "Fine, take your books." _[He looks up, a devilish flicker appearing in his eye.]_ "Because I'VE GOT YOUR - "

Minerva: _[sharply]_ "Do _not_ grab Professor Sprout's nose, Peeves."

 _[Peeves, looking dejected, deflates slightly before disappearing, a loud thud coming from directly above their heads and shaking the walls around them.]_

Minerva: "Better get that, Filch."

 _[Argus groans, muttering something that sounds suspiciously like 'fuck my fucking life' before turning to leave, as Pomona gathers the books and levitates them out. Minerva stands, giving the Bloody Baron another nod before striding out past them, the cigar still lit between her fingers.]_

Lee, off screen: "What the fuck was that?"

Nick: _[loudly, addressing the camera]_ "So, you'll include the ghosts?"

Interviewer: _[uncomfortably]_ "Uh - "

Lee, off screen: "Fuck no!"

Interviewer: " - sure."

Nick: _[pumping a translucent fist]_ "Victory!"

 _[There is a pause.]_

Lee, off screen: "You absolute trash pile of scrotums."

* * *

 **a/n:** Curiouser and curiouser. _Nocturnes_ to update tomorrow, _Ride or Die_ shortly after.


	41. The Real World: Hogwarts, Ep VII

**The Real World: Hogwarts  
** **Episode VII**

 _Summary:_ The Real World, continued. Olivie Advent Day 7.

* * *

 _[Scene opens as Ron and Harry head to the quidditch pitch.]_

Harry: "Look, it's going to be fine. It's not as if Malfoy being a Death Eater is going to affect your quidditch performance."

Ron: "Harry, again, that's really not the issue."

Harry: "I mean, understandably you're worried about the copious amounts of evil Malfoy is probably attempting at any given moment, this one included - "

Ron: "No, that's really not it."

Harry: "Heck, you might even be worried about whether Malfoy is targeting _you_ as his first mission, which could make for a very stressful tryout."

Ron: "I'm not, actually, because as it turns out, it's the quidditch bit I'm finding stressful."

Harry: "Oh." [ _pauses, confused]_ "Is it because Malfoy plays quidditch, and then he ended up a Death Eater?"

Ron: "Harry, I'm starting to worry you're not hearing yourself when you talk."

Harry: "Why, you think Malfoy did something to me?"

Ron: _[sighs loudly]_ "I really, really don't."

 _[Nearby, Lavender giggles shrilly; Parvati backhands her shoulder and she stops, but not before Ron looks up, catching her eye. Scene cuts to Ron interview.]_

Ron: "I think something's wrong with Lavender. Whenever she sees me, she laughs at my jokes. And she's sort of always looking at me in a vaguely predatory way."

Interviewer: "What do you think is wrong?"

Ron: "I don't know. Maybe she's sick?"

Interviewer: "You think she's laughing at you because she's sick?"

Ron: "That's a thing girls do, right?"

Interviewer: "Isn't one of your best friends a girl?"

Ron: "Who? Hermione?"

Interviewer: "Yes."

Ron: "Is she?"

Interviewer: "A girl?"

Ron: "Yes."

Interviewer: "Yes?"

Ron: "Do you think she knows if Lavender is sick?"

 _[Cuts to Hermione and Harry interview.]_

Hermione: _[arms and legs crossed, bouncing one ankle irritably]_ "Oh, Lavender's sick, alright. You know who else is sick? Me. As in _they_ , Ron and Lavender collectively, are making me sick."

Harry: _[thoughtfully]_ "You seem upset."

Hermione: _[mockingly]_ "Oh, do I?"

Harry: "Yes."

Hermione: "Well, I am." _[She looks up, spotting someone across the pitch.]_ "Ugh, and it gets worse, of course."

 _[Camera zeroes in on Romilda Vane from afar, who is waving manically at Harry.]_

Harry: "Is she waving at me?

Hermione: "Yes."

Harry: "Do you think Malfoy told her to?"

Hermione: "No."

Harry: "So she probably has whatever Lavender has, then."

Hermione: "Yes - idiocy." _[She looks directly into the camera, pursing her lips.]_ "It's contagious."

Harry: "Huh. Cool."

 _[Cuts to Cormac McLaggen interview.]_

Cormac: "Am I going to be on the Gryffindor team? Yes. Am I going to make sure we take the cup this year? Yes. Am I going to snog Granger's crazy hair straight? Definitely. Am I going to perfect my recipe for breakfast protein shakes? Without a doubt. Is the term 'quidbitch' finally going to catch on? Fucking _hell yeah._ Am I going to get a modeling contract from this show and end up famous?"

 _[There is a pause.]_

Cormac: "No, really, I'm asking."

Interviewer: "Oh, I was confused, because I literally was just sitting here until you showed up asking rhetorical questions."

Cormac: "Well, is it a yes or no?"

Interviewer: _[calling off screen]_ "Lee?"

Lee, off screen: " _Hell_ to the _no_ , fuckbiscuit!"

Interviewer: "He says no."

Cormac: "Bummer."

Interviewer: "Word."

Cormac: "Well, in any event, I've torn the sleeves off my practice jersey."

Interviewer: "Why would you - "

Cormac: _[throws his broom down like a mic drop]_ "Quidbitch, son!"

 _[Cuts back to quidditch pitch.]_

Ron: "What's Cormac's deal?"

Cormac: _[after saving a goal]_ "Quidbitch, son!"

Harry: "I think there's a word for him that hasn't been invented yet."

 _[Camera cuts to Hermione.]_

Hermione: "The word is fuckboy."

 _[Camera cuts back to quidditch pitch.]_

Harry: "Alright, Ron, I'm pretty sure Malfoy's otherwise occupied, so you should be fine."

Ron: "Thanks, I guess."

 _[Cormac saves four goals out of five. Ron saves all five. Camera cuts to Hermione's interview.]_

Interviewer: "What did you think of Ron's tryout?"

Hermione: "I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING. I AM INNOCENT OF ALL THINGS."

Interviewer: "Okay - "

Hermione: "I HAVE NEVER LOCKED A HUMAN BEING IN A JAR - "

Interviewer: "Wh- wait, come again?"

Hermione: " - I HAVE NEVER INTERVENED IN ANY ORGANIZED SPORTING EVENTS - "

 _[Draco wanders into the corridor and pauses, frowning at her.]_

Draco: "Granger, why on earth are you yelling?"

Hermione: " - I HAVE NEVER SLAPPED ANOTHER STUDENT - "

Draco: "Well _that_ is just a boldfaced lie, Granger, how dare you - "

Hermione: "You didn't let me finish. I've never slapped another student who didn't fully deserve it."

Draco: _[indignantly]_ "You're horrible."

Hermione: " _You're_ horrible!"

Draco: "Why don't you come over here and say that to my face!"

Hermione: "I _am_ saying it to your face!"

Draco: "Say it closer in my face!"

Hermione: "How close to your face do you want me?!"

Draco: "JUST LAY IT ON MY MOUTH, GRANGER!"

Lee, off screen: "Excuse me, what the fuck is this?"

Hermione: _[backing away hurriedly]_ "Like I said, I definitely didn't use the _Confundus_ charm on Cormac McLaggen."

Draco: "Wait, _what_ didn't you do?!"

 _[Harry appears, skidding around the corner.]_

Harry: "It's Malfoy! He's there!"

Hermione: _[sighs]_ "I see him, Harry - we _all_ see him."

Harry: "SHOW ME WHAT YOU'RE HIDING!"

Draco: _[sniffing impatiently]_ "Ugh, this room is full of detestable human rubbish bins. And Granger."

 _[He leaves.]_

Harry: "He's gone! Malfoy's gone!"

Hermione: "I know, Harry, we _saw -_ "

Harry: _[somberly]_ "Listen, I think Malfoy's a Death Eater."

Hermione: _[burying her face in her hands]_ "This can't be my real life."

 _[Cuts to Lavender interview.]_

Lavender: _[sneezes]_ "Excuse me."

Ron, walking by: "I knew she was sick!"

 _[Lavender giggles; Parvati slams her head into the desk.]_

Interviewer: "Is she okay?"

Lavender: "She's fine. She does this sometimes."

Interviewer: "Oh. You were saying you got a note?"

Lavender: "Oh, right. Yes." _[She pulls a slip of parchment out of her pocket.]_ "It says 'Roses are red, violets are blue, I know you like Ron Weasley, and secrets don't make friends' - which is odd, because then it's signed 'xoxo' and if secrets _don't_ make friends - "

Interviewer: _[interrupts]_ "Is it signed Gossip Girl?"

Lavender: "Yes! Isn't that bizarre? At first I thought it was Parvati playing a little joke on me - "

Parvati: _[her voice muffled into the desk]_ "Only it wasn't, because her obsession with Weasley makes me want to die."

Lavender: " - but she insists it wasn't her, so I really have no idea."

Interviewer: "Any guesses?"

Lavender: _[shrugs]_ "I don't know - Granger, maybe? She seems nosy and bad with rhymes."

 _[Draco walks by.]_

Draco: "What's that about Granger? That she's bad at rhymes and a revolting rosy-cheeked blossom of filth?"

Lavender: "What?"

Draco: _[continues walking]_ "Nothing!"

 _[Cuts to Slug Club meeting.]_

Blaise: "Guys, it's a really easy game."

Cormac: "I'll go first."

Blaise: "Sure."

Cormac: "Fuck me, marry me, murder everyone else."

Blaise: "No." _[shakes head]_ "Not even close."

Ginny: "Who were the three again?"

Blaise: "Patil twins, Weasley twins, Creevey brothers."

Neville: "Pass."

Blaise: "Fine. Belby?"

Marcus Belby: "Fuck the Weasleys, marry the Patils, kill the Creeveys."

Blaise: "Belby's got it! Longbottom, you pick."

Neville: "Er - Venomous Tantacula, Devil's Snare, and Fanged Geranium."

 _[There is a pause.]_

Blaise: "Oh _fuck_ no."

Ginny: _[horrified]_ "No!"

Blaise: " _So_ much no."

Marcus: "How would that even - "

Neville: "I SAID PASS!"

* * *

 **a/n:** Paused to post this and then will be posting _Nocturnes_ shortly. Happy birthday MereWhispers! This one's for you.


	42. The Real World: Hogwarts, Ep VIII

**The Real World: Hogwarts  
** **Episode VIII**

 _Summary:_ The Real World, continued. Olivie Advent Day 8.

* * *

 _[Scene opens with Draco, Blaise, and Theo interview.]_

Interviewer: "So, what is the issue here?"

Blaise: "Not an issue, per se."

Theo: "It's a joke, really."

Draco: _[arms crossed]_ "It is _not_ a joke."

Theo: "Well, it's funny."

Blaise and Draco: _[in unison]_ "It is _not_ funny!"

Theo: _[shrugs]_ "I mean, I laugh about it."

Blaise: _[mutters]_ "You would."

Lee, off screen: "SOMEBODY EXPLAIN OR I WILL MURDER YOUR FAMILIES."

 _[Theo glances at the other two; they shrug, and he sighs.]_

Theo: "Zabini and Malfoy here take issue with - " _[he stops.]_ "I can't. It's too ridiculous."

Draco: "It _is_ ridiculous! Finally, we agree!"

Lee, off screen: "SPIT IT OUT, YOU CUNTSNARFING DICKWHISTLES!"

Blaise: "Theo does a . . . thing with our mums."

Interviewer: _[curiously]_ "What?"

Theo: _[innocently]_ "What?"

Lee, off screen: _[screechingly]_ "WHAT?"

Interviewer: "What sort of thing?"

Draco: _[shuddering]_ "A terrible thing."

 _[Cuts to film of Draco and Theo at Malfoy Manor.]_

Draco: "Mother, Theo's here."

Narcissa: "Oh, hi Theo."

Theo: "Narcissa."

 _[They stare at each other.]_

Narcissa: _[clears her throat]_ "I suppose you two should be going, then."

Theo: "I don't suppose you'd like to come."

Draco: "What? We're going flying, why in Salazar's name would my aristocratic mother want to go flying with her teenage son and his - "

Narcissa: _[cheeks flushed]_ "You want me to come?"

Draco: "What? No, he doesn't - "

Theo: _[smirking]_ "Oh, I want you to come."

Draco: "No you don't, that's - "

Narcissa: "With you?"

Draco: "Again, I really don't think - "

Theo: "With me. On me. I'm not choosy."

Draco: "OH FUCK NO."

 _[Cuts back to interview.]_

Draco: "My mother sent him an owl today. I don't like it. I like it even less than I like Granger's horrible stupid angelface."

Theo: "I feel you're getting all worked up for nothing."

Blaise: "That's not even the half of it."

 _[Cuts to footage from Blaise's summer home.]_

Blaise: "Mother, you remember Theo."

Esmeranda Zabini: "Oh yes, hello. Your father is a widower, is he not?"

Theo: "He is."

Esmeranda: "And wealthy?"

Theo: "Yes."

Esmeranda: "And old?"

Theo: "Quite."

Esmeranda: "Hm."

Blaise: "Oh for fuck's sake, Mother, could you not? Nothing would be worse than having Theo as a stepbrother."

Theo: "On the contrary."

Blaise: "Uh, what's that now?"

Theo: _[to Esmeranda]_ "Why buy the Nimbus 2000 when there's a Firebolt to be had with twice its power?"

Blaise: "Wait."

Theo: "By which I mean, why not buy the newer model?"

Esmeranda: _[thoughtfully]_ "How old are you again?"

Blaise: "WAIT."

Theo: "Old enough."

Esmeranda: _[tilting her head, considering him as she bites her lip.]_ "Hmm."

Blaise: "WAIT, WAIT, WAIT - "

 _[Cuts back to interview.]_

Blaise: "My only consolation is the knowledge that she'll eventually murder him."

Theo: "See? All in good fun."

 _[Cuts to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.]_

Severus: "There will be both foolish wand-waving and silly incantations in this class."

Ron: "That's . . . good?"

Severus: "None of you managed to learn how to bottle fame or brew glory, and to my unrelenting disappointment, there's yet to be a fucking stopper put in death by any one of you deplorable miscreants, so now we're going to do something else entirely."

Ron: "Lovely."

Harry: "Cheery."

Ron: "Quite."

Severus: "Let us begin with non-verbal spells. Who can tell me what the advantage to a non-verbal spell is?"

 _[Hermione raises her hand.]_

Severus: "Nobody?"

 _[Hermione waves her hand around, fidgeting in her seat.]_

Severus: "What a fucking surprise, nobody knows the answer to the world's most straightforward question."

 _[Hermione stands on top of her desk, hand still raised.]_

Severus: "Color me fucking astonished that after six years, you all remain hopeless, directionless toadstools."

 _[Hermione lets out a stream of multicolored fireworks from her wand, waving it around on top of her desk.]_

Severus: "I thought this year would be different. I said to myself, go ahead. Take a chance."

 _[Hermione begins pulling a long series of colored scarves out of the end of her wand, a feigned expression of confusion and delight on her face, as though she does not know when the seemingly infinite stream of scarves will end.]_

Severus: "I had hope. My God. I live on it."

 _[Hermione produces a top hat, waves her wand over it, and pulls out a small rabbit wearing a midnight blue tuxedo and a set of authentic pilot's goggles by the tips of its fluffy white ears. There is a spattering of polite applause.]_

Severus: "Anyway, you all ended up disappointing me more than, um - more than any of the other silly idiots I've ever taught."

 _[Hermione gestures to a large, human-sized box, inviting Ron to lay down inside it; he agrees, and, in a moment of terror, his face turns pale as she saws him in half. The class gasps in amazement as he is separated into two pieces, but the trick isn't over; Hermione then pushes the pieces of the box together, and Ron emerges, fully whole. This time, the applause is more than simply polite. It is enthusiastic, and the class is breathless.]_

Severus: "You have no idea how many legends have walked these halls. And what's worse, you don't care. Because this place, where so many people would die to study, you only _deign_ to study."

 _[Hermione, now locked inside of a sealed glass case that is filled entirely with water, struggles to free herself from the confines of a set of brass handcuffs; above her, a tank of piranhas is set to be released into the case, and she is running out of time. Draco gasps, bringing his hand to his mouth; he is heard to whisper "Granger, no," and the class is spellbound as she struggles to make her escape.]_

Severus: "And you want to know why I don't kiss you on the forehead and give you a gold star on your homework at the end of the day. Wake up, sweetheart!"

 _[Time runs out, and the piranhas are dropped into the tank; the water turns red and Parvati screams, hiding her face; and just as the class quiets, fearing the worst - Draco buries his head in Theo's shoulder, and Harry and Ron clutch each other's hands - Hermione materializes at the head of the class, taking a cheeky bow as she leaps atop Severus' desk. At the end of this, her greatest trick, the applause is raucous.]_

Severus: _[unfazed]_ "Well, class dismissed."

 _[Cuts to Albus and Minerva interview in the Headmaster's office.]_

Albus: "All the kids are doing it, Minnie. It's fun."

Minerva: "No."

Albus: "Minnie, this is why the kids don't like you."

Minerva: "Wh- " _[She cuts off, enraged.]_ "Do you think they like _you_?"

Albus: "They love me. How could they not? I always swoop in at the last second and make sure they win the house cup."

Minerva: "There are _three other houses,_ Albus!"

Albus: "Oh, pish, Minnie, now you're just making things up."

Minerva: "You're joking. You absolute cunt-bungling piss waffle."

Albus: _[ignoring her]_ "It's _such_ an easy game, Minnie - here, I'll think of three - "

Minerva: "NO! Albus - "

Albus: "Armando Dippet, Phineas Nigellus Black, and Brutus Scrimgeour."

Armando, from his portrait on the wall: "Ooh, yes, good lineup."

Minerva: "Marry all of them and team up to take you down as a group and kill you with knives."

Albus: _[sniffing indignantly]_ "This is why the kids don't like you."

* * *

 **a/n:** Imaginary Olivie Points if you can name the movies implicated in this episode. _Ride or Die_ is currently being edited and will be posted shortly!


	43. The Real World: Hogwarts, Ep IX

**The Real World: Hogwarts  
** **Episode IX, MFK and Poetry Edition**

 _Summary:_ The Real World, continued. Olivie Advent Day 9. Sally decided to troll me on Tumblr today with a series of MFK requests, and since I'm a bit tired and trying to finish up a chapter of _Nobility_ , some of you will have read those already - but there are a few new things in the mix.

* * *

 _ **Hermione, Pansy, Lavender**_

Draco: _[clears throat]_ "Okay, well, here's the thing - "

Theo: _[sighs]_ "Oh no."

Blaise: "Here we go - "

Draco: "If you choose _marry_ , then that would mean _unlimited_ fucking, right?"

Blaise: "Assume for the purposes of the game it's a sexless marriage."

Draco: "Huh. Hypothetically, though, that still means for whoever I pick to marry I'd be able to spend every day of my life with her and her horrible, ghastly, oppressively beautiful hair that smells like gardenias and sunshine and everything I hold dear, right?"

Theo: "Uh. Yes?"

Blaise: "I think so? I sort of got lost in that - "

Draco: _[interrupting]_ " _But_ , on the other hand, whoever I chose to fuck, I could actually be _naked_ with her revolting, wonderful, Gryffindor-flavored - "

Blaise: "Please don't finish that sentence."

Draco: _[continuing loudly]_ "And obviously, I'd _have_ to kill Granger because ew, yuck, disgusting, am I right?"

Blaise: "What are you saying?"

Draco: "I'm certainly _not_ saying that I have any interest in Granger - "

Blaise: "I didn't ask what you're _not_ saying - "

Draco: " - and I _certainly_ didn't say that I secretly pine for her, because I don't, and my poem series _Ode to a Lioness_ is about someone else completely - "

Theo: "Whatever. I'm getting cheese fries."

* * *

 _ **Draco, Theo, Blaise**_

Hermione: "This is ridiculous! I'm not playing this game."

Harry: "I'd say marry Theo, fuck Draco, and kill Draco."

Ron: "Mate, I think there was someone in there twice."

Harry: "Was there?"

Ron: "Yes."

Hermione: _[muttering to herself]_ "As if I'd be expected to have sex with any of those miscreants, honestly."

Harry: "Um, marry Draco, fuck Draco, kill Draco."

Ron: "You did it again. Only worse."

Harry: "Why, what am I saying?"

Hermione: "Honestly, this game is ridiculous, I can't believe you would even _ask_ me something this unbelievably imbecilic - "

Harry: _[interrupting]_ "Is it because I said I'd kill Draco?"

Ron: "No mate." _[He sighs.]_ "That's not it."

Hermione: "FINE! I WOULD FUCK DRACO, OKAY? YOU'VE DRAGGED IT OUT OF ME WITH YOUR INCESSANT QUESTIONING!"

 _[Draco pokes his head in.]_

Draco: "What the fuck are you yelling about, Granger? I can hear your disgusting heavenly siren-like voice from across the corridor!"

Ron: _[mumbling to himself]_ "Fine, I'd fuck him too."

Draco: "What?"

Ron: "What?"

Luna: _[whispering]_ "I knew it."

* * *

 _ **Hermione, Ron, Harry**_

Seamus: "Easy. Fuck Harry, marry Ron, kill Hermione."

Dean: "Just to clarify, you're still maintaining that you're not gay, right?

Seamus: "Right. But, you know, bros before hoes."

Dean: "Yep. That applies here. Totally."

* * *

 _ **Flitwick, Sprout, Pomfrey**_

Pansy: "Marry Sprout, fuck Pomfrey, kill Flitwick."

Daphne: "Aw, but Flitwick's so smol and cute!"

Pansy: "Don't care. He's _too_ small. I would lose him."

Blaise: "Personally, I think I'd fuck Sprout. Maybe smoke some weird plant shit with her first."

Daphne: "But if you get hurt while fucking Pomfrey, she'll fix you!"

Blaise: _[startled]_ "Why the fuck would I get _hurt_?"

Pansy: "We don't know your life, Blaise."

Blaise: _[perturbed]_ "Do _you_ think you'd get hurt?"

 _[Pansy and Daphne share a knowing glance.]_

Daphne: "Lovemaking is a very passionate thing, Blaise. Sometimes there are casualties."

Luna: _[whispers]_ "Love is murder."

* * *

 _ **Narcissa, Esmeranda, Lady Greengrass**_

Theo: "Yes to all of the above."

Draco: _[slamming his head against the desk]_ "No. No. No."

Blaise: "Fucking hell, _no - "_

Pansy: _[indignantly]_ "Why is _my_ mum not included in this list?"

Theo: "Fine, add her in."

Blaise: "Narcissa, Esmeranda, and Dahlia, then."

Theo: "Fuck Esmeranda - you know, so I don't die - "

Draco: _[stonily]_ "I will kill you."

Theo: "Marry Narcissa - "

Blaise: "HA! Draco, new stepdad!"

Draco: "I will kill you with fire."

Luna: "Fire!"

Pansy: _[interrupting]_ "I see where this is going and I DON'T LIKE IT."

Theo: " … I'll stop there."

Pansy: _[smugly]_ "Wise."

* * *

 _ **Neville, Peeves, Flitwick**_

Pansy: "I can't decide whether I should marry or fuck Peeves."

Daphne: _[shocked]_ "Pans! Why wouldn't you _kill_ him?"

Pansy: "What good would that do? He's already dead!"

Daphne: "That doesn't mean you should fuck him!"

Pansy: _[shrugs]_ "Well, in any case, I'm killing Neville."

Daphne: _[groaning]_ "And _what_ , pray tell, is your opposition to Neville?"

Pansy: "He loses his things. How could he possibly find my clitoris?"

* * *

 **Ode to a Lioness  
** _Definitely not by Draco Malfoy  
_ _Definitely not about Granger_

 _ **Free Verse #119:**_

You know what's funny  
I don't even like blood  
It's gross  
Isn't that hilarious  
My life  
It's in fucking ruins

 _ **Limerick #16:**_

There once was a beautiful lioness  
Whose silky soft skin was the finest  
She acts like a swot  
It's all kinds of hot  
And Theo said this rhymed with wine list.

 _ **Free Verse #122**_

If you think about it  
I'm not really that bad  
No really  
Hear me out  
I haven't killed anyone  
Yet

 _ **Haiku #10**_

Hermione Granger  
Why don't you fucking like me  
Testes, dicks, and balls

 _ **Sonnet #27:**_

Though circumstance has forced a rift,  
Between the ties that bind we;  
I find myself alone, adrift,  
And calling for you, shyly.  
For though your hair is frizzy,  
And your voice a bossy shrill,  
I dreamed a dream you'd miss me,  
If an Albus I should kill.  
At night, I seek out solace,  
Thinking of the way your shoulders stoop,  
For you are oddly flawless,  
Despite your books, and stupid group.  
And though I live in pain and ache over your loyalty to Potter;  
It sucks, I die some more each day, your Patronus is an otter.

 _ **Haiku #13:**_

I just want to kiss  
Your stupid, stupid face mouth  
Why is that a crime

 _ **Free Verse #128:**_

Unbearably curly hair  
Unbeatable savoir faire  
I want to touch you  
I want to touch you  
I really want to fucking touch you  
I hate you  
Please love me until we both die  
Which regrettably for me might be quite soon  
Don't dawdle

 _ **Free Verse #133:**_

For the actual sake of fuck  
I'm at least better than Weasley  
Come on  
Hello  
Are you looking  
Do you need glasses  
Granger  
I'm right here

* * *

 **a/n:** I am so sorry. I don't know what came over me/Draco. Thanks to merewhispers, goldensnitch18, and drsallysparrow for the MFK suggestions.


	44. The Real World: Hogwarts, Ep X

**The Real World: Hogwarts  
** **Episode X**

 _Summary_ : The Real World, continued. Olivie Advent Day 10.

* * *

 _[Scene opens with Ron, Harry, and Hermione in the library.]_

Hermione: "Look, Harry, all I'm saying is that the last time you spent too much time with a book, things did not go all that smoothly."

Ron: "You spend _all_ your time with books!"

Hermione: _[irritatedly]_ "Yes, Ronald, and tell me - what about my life do _you_ think is going smoothly?"

Ron: "Fair."

Harry: "It's different this time, Hermione. I'm not _talking_ to the book, I'm just relying on it unquestionably without any regard for the safety of myself or others."

Hermione: _[sighs]_ "I just think that at this point we should really start catching on to things that have already happened to us. I mean, this could be Voldemort all over again - "

Harry: "He's a _lord_ , not a prince. He can't be both, that's just absurd."

Ron: "Maybe he tried to be a prince first, but it didn't stick?"

Harry: "What does that mean?"

Ron: "Like, maybe he was like 'hey guys, call me Prince Voldemort from now on' and everyone else was like 'prince is a bit much, you should really take it down a peg' and he said 'alright, fine, how about lord, then' and everyone was like 'yes, much better, we can work with lord' - "

Hermione: _[interrupting]_ "Have you considered that perhaps this Prince person might be a _woman_?"

Harry: "No."

Ron: "That literally never crossed my mind."

Hermione: _[indignantly]_ "Women can just as easily be brilliant. And uncommonly good at potions!"

Harry: _[smugly]_ "Not you, though."

Ron: "OH, DO YOU WANT SOME ICE, HERMIONE?"

Hermione: _[is furious]_ "You're only doing better than me because you're _cheating -_ "

Ron: "DO YOU NEED TO GO SEE MADAME POMFREY?"

Hermione: " - you know perfectly well that without it - "

Ron: "HERMIONE, I'M JUST WONDERING, DO YOU NEED TO GO TO THE INFIRMARY?"

Hermione: " - I would be ahead of you _without question -_ "

Ron: "DO YOU KNOW WHY I'M ASKING, HERMIONE? DO YOU? DO YOU KNOW WHY I THOUGHT YOU MIGHT NEED A HEALER?"

Hermione: " - so the fact that you would even say that is just totally and completely - "

Ron: "IT'S BECAUSE YOU GOT BURNED."

Hermione: _[looks at the camera, sighs]_ " - stupid."

 _[Camera cuts to Ginny interview.]_

Ginny: "Yeah, I've heard about Harry's potions book."

Interviewer: "You have?"

Ginny: "Yeah. I mean, I'm sort of the 'cool girl' around here, so people tell me things."

Interviewer: "And? Any thoughts?"

Ginny: "Well, it's not really the same as what happened to me." _[She pauses, thinking.]_ "Plus, Tom Riddle's diary wasn't a _total_ waste."

Interviewer: "How so?"

Ginny: "I learned a lot, actually. Like, for example, he showed me a variation on my bat-bogey hex that makes the bats glow in the dark. And he taught me how to cut a sopophorous bean, _and_ helped me with levitation." _[She pauses, brightening as though she has remembered something.]_ Oh, and I know how to make a horcrux."

Interviewer: "A what?"

Ginny: "Horcrux. It's when you split your soul after murdering someone, and then you hide it in an object so that you can never die."

Interviewer: _[startled]_ "What?"

Ginny: "Oh I mean just to be clear I haven't actually _done_ it. I probably won't."

Interviewer: "Did you say you ' _probably_ ' won't?"

Ginny: "I'm pretty sure I won't."

Interviewer: "Pretty sure?"

Ginny: "Fairly sure."

Interviewer: "Fairly sure?"

Ginny: "Like 75% sure."

Interviewer: "75%?"

Ginny: "Eh, 51%."

Interviewer: "I really feel like it should be higher than that."

Ginny: _[shrugs]_ "I'll let you know what I decide."

 _[Camera cuts to follow Harry as he walks down the corridor.]_

Harry: "Yeah, I'm meeting with Dumbledore tonight. Not really sure why, yet, but - " _[he stops short, seeing Sybil Trelawney approach.]_ "Hide!"

 _[The camera jostles as Harry hides behind a statue. From the other side, Sybil is doing a card reading for herself.]_

Sybil: "Seven of spades: an ill omen. Ten of spades: violence. Knave of spades: a dark young man, possibly troubled, one who dislikes the questioner and is mostly straight although casually questions sexuality approximately twice a day, right before breakfast and again in the shower but it's normal, it happens to everyone - one who is using mysterious potions book to cheat in advanced potions class and will drop out of school eventually, deeply obsessed with Draco Malfoy, who is definitely a Death Eater - " _[She stops.]_ "Well, that can't be right."

 _[She shuffles her cards and walks away. Meanwhile, Harry comically wipes sweat off his brow and gestures for the camera to follow as he gives the password ("Acid Pops") and enters Albus' office.]_

Harry: "Good evening, sir."

Albus: "Ah, Harry! I bet you're wondering what these 'lessons' are about, eh?"

Harry: _[with tentative eagerness]_ "Yes, sir."

Albus: "Well, I've decided to finally tell you the truth about what happened that prompted Lord Voldemort to try to kill you fifteen years ago."

Harry: _[excitedly]_ "You have?"

Albus: "I have!"

Harry: _[squealing]_ "Really?"

Albus: "Really!"

Harry: "You really mean it?"

Albus: "Yes!"

 _[They clasp hands and dance around the office, unable to contain their shared joy. When they finally sit down, spent and out of breath from sheer jubilance, Harry is grinning.]_

Harry: "So, tell me everything!"

Albus: "What?" _[He blinks.]_ "Oh, no, sorry, I lied before."

Harry: _[shocked]_ "What?"

Albus: "Yeah, no, I don't actually tell anyone anything. Are you new here?"

Harry: _[sulkily]_ "Balls."

Albus: "Really, though, can you imagine? If I just told people the truth about things and _didn't_ frame an innocent man for my murder? God, how primitive."

Harry: "Wait, what?"

Albus: "Nothing, nothing - listen, the evidence _clearly_ shows that Sirius Black obliterated Peter Pettigrew until nothing was left of him but a finger, and while I know perfectly well that he had no reasonable motivation to do so whatsoever, I really don't think we need to dwell on it. Azkaban it is."

Harry: "Wait, what?"

Albus: "Oh, sorry, no - that was another thing I did." _[Stops, thinking.]_ "Which one is this, again?"

Harry: "Er - " _[He pauses.]_ "I think you were preparing to mislead me about the circumstances of my death?"

Albus: _[tapping his nose]_ "Ah, right, silly me! Forget I said anything."

Harry: _[dreamily]_ "I'm doing to name my son after you."

 _[Cuts to interview with Luna.]_

Luna: "What's my favorite class? Probably Defense Against the Dark Arts."

Interviewer: "Are you just saying that because he's sitting right there?"

 _[Camera zooms out to reveal Severus on her right.]_

Luna: _[shrugs]_ "Oh, he's not listening."

Severus: _[licks his finger and then turns the page of the Daily Prophet.]_ "I'm really not."

Interviewer: "Er, okay. Why, then?"

Luna: "I think it's funny. All the made up stuff. Hilarious."

 _[Severus puts the paper down slowly and looks up.]_

Severus: "What made up stuff?"

Luna: "Dark magic. Evil. That stuff."

Severus: "You think that's made up?"

Luna: _[nods]_ "Frankly, it seems pretty far-fetched."

Severus: _[blinking]_ "How so?"

Luna: "Well, you tell me what sounds more real: a mischievous thieving creature that infests mistletoe - which is _a notably unsanitary plant -_ or mysterious hooded soul-suckers whose only job is to suck souls?"

Severus: _[tilts head, thinking.]_ "Premise accepted."

Luna: _[primly]_ "Postulation?"

Severus: "Pending."

 _[They wait.]_

Luna: "Conclusion?"

Severus: _[lifts a finger]_ "Hold, please."

 _[They wait again. Three minutes pass.]_

Severus: _[firmly]_ "Conclusion accepted."

Luna: _[victoriously]_ "I knew it."

Lee, off screen: "Ugh, get the two dummies out here, would you?"

 _[Camera cuts to Seamus and Dean interview.]_

Dean: "I'm just saying, I don't see why we don't have quidditch cheerleaders."

Seamus: "What are cheerleaders?"

Dean: "Girls who wear short skirts and dance enthusiastically for the benefit of the crowd."

Seamus: _[making a face]_ "Who would want that?"

Lee, off screen: "Ah, yes. _Much_ better."

* * *

 **a/n:** Forgot to mention that the movies in Episode VIII were _The Devil Wears Prada_ and _Now You See Me_. I don't think anyone got both, oddly! I'll have to check again.


	45. The Real World: Hogwarts, Ep XI

**The Real World: Hogwarts  
** **Episode XI**

 _Summary_ : The Real World, continued. Olivie Advent Day 11. (Being posted late)

* * *

 _[Scene opens on the camera in the Headmaster's office as Minerva bursts in, catching Harry and Albus standing around the desk with their faces inside the pensieve. They are both bent awkwardly at the waist and reminiscent of ostriches with their heads buried in the sand. Upon seeing her, Fawkes squawks his entertainment and gestures with a wing, as if to say 'and to think these are your world's heroes, you puny, rotten mortals.']_

Minerva: _[groaning]_ "What the fuck is this?"

Phineas, from his portrait on the wall: _[sniffing]_ "You couldn't possibly understand the complexities involved in this, you woman."

Minerva: "He's showing Potter memories from Tom Riddle's past, is he?"

Phineas: _[pauses, and then lifts his chin.]_ "I don't know. Maybe."

Minerva: "I have to assume he is going to show the memories one by one and not explain anything at all, isn't he?"

Phineas: "Nobody asked you!"

Minerva: "I was there too, you know. Sort of. Tom Riddle was Head Boy the year before I started at Hogwarts so I heard all about him, and I was there when Albus fussed over him coming back."

Phineas: "So? This is boring. You bore me."

Minerva: "Is it so out of the realm of possibility that I might have made this connection?"

Phineas: _[jolts upright]_ " - what? Sorry, I fell asleep - "

Minerva: "He basically looked the same, you know. Riddle. The whole noseless thing was a more recent development."

Phineas: "Is this a night terror? It must be, because you obviously lulled me to sleep and now you're so VICIOUSLY DULL - "

Minerva: "I mean, he expects Potter to understand, right? And Potter is only a child. _I'm_ an adult." _[She straightens, indignant.]_ "Quite an accomplished one, too!"

Phineas: "Have I died _again_? Is this death? Is this what it feels like to die of boredom?"

Minerva: "It hardly seems fair that he wouldn't just _explain_ what he needs done, you know. I'd have _helped_ \- I'm not completely useless - "

Phineas: "I MUST BE A GHOST, THEN - "

Minerva: _[looks up at him witheringly]_ "Oh, for all of the fucks - "

Phineas: _[swooning]_ " - FAREWELL, SWEET WORLD - "

Minerva: " - I hardly think it's necessary to - "

Phineas: _[wailing loudly]_ " - RIP ME - "

 _[Scene cuts to Ron and Hermione interview.]_

Ron: " . . . so, anyway, I guess I'm just asking because some people were saying that maybe you tampered with my quidditch tryout."

Hermione: _[nervously sweating]_ "That's ridiculous. Don't be absurd."

Ron: "Okay, but if you could just say, directly - that you had nothing to do with it, I mean - I would really sleep better at night."

Hermione: _[conjures a towel and wipes her forehead, babbling]_ "I've already said it, Ron, I don't know how I could be more direct - "

Ron: "I feel like you haven't, though, if I'm being honest."

Hermione: _[wrings out towel onto the floor, tucks it beneath her armpits]_ " - really, it's like you don't trust me at all, almost like you're accusing me of something - "

Ron: "I _am_ accusing you, see? And the thing is, you're supposed to deny it - "

Hermione: _[wringing out her sopping wet hair]_ "Me? In denial? Never, I'm never in denial - "

Draco, walking by: "Granger, fucking bollocks, what on earth has Weasley done to your disgusting sun-kissed skin? You look like you're drowning in a lake of your own putrid, heaven-sent perspiration - "

Hermione: _[jolts upright]_ "GO AWAY MALFOY, I HATE YOU!"

Draco: "PROVE IT, WHY DON'T YOU!"

Ron: "How the bloody hell is she supposed to prove it?"

Draco: "I don't know, I haven't thought it through."

Hermione: _[stalking towards him]_ "GET OUT OF HERE YOU TWITCHY FERRET, I AM _BUSY_ \- "

Draco: _[gritting his teeth, indignant]_ "OH, YOU HAVE CROSSED A LINE - "

Hermione: "PROVE IT, MALFOY, YOU NASTY LITTLE - "

Ron: _[scoffing skeptically]_ "Well that's just silly, Hermione, I mean really, how is he supposed to _prove_ that?"

 _[Both parties ignore him.]_

Draco: "SCARED, GRANGER?"

Hermione: "YOU WISH, MALFOY!"

 _[Ron's furrowed brow suddenly relaxes, as though he has realized something.]_

Ron: "Oh. This is a sex thing, isn't it?"

 _[Camera pans out to reveal Luna on his other side.]_

Luna: "Yes, I think so."

Ron: "Should I intervene?"

Luna: "No, let's let it play out." _[She hands him popcorn.]_ "Want some?"

Ron: "Sure, thanks." _[He takes a handful, gesturing to Hermione and Draco.]_ "Stupid, isn't it?"

 _[They observe as the argument continues.]_

Draco: " - GRANGER, IF I'VE TOLD YOU ONCE, I'VE TOLD YOU A THOUSAND TIMES - "

Hermione: " - I CAN'T HEAR YOU, MALFOY, OVER THE FOGHORN OF FUCKERY THAT IS YOUR HORRIBLE, FILTHY MOUTH - "

Draco: "WHAT ARE YOU SAYING ABOUT MY MOUTH? ARE YOU THINKING ABOUT IT?"

Hermione: _[startled]_ "Why, are you?"

Draco: _[equally startled]_ "I, um - I don't know - "

Hermione: "WELL, SCAMPER THE FUCK OFF, THEN!"

Draco: "HOW FUCKING DARE YOU - "

 _[Luna watches, fascinated, as Ron reaches for more popcorn.]_

Luna: "I wonder what it would be like to be written as having sexual chemistry with someone."

Ron: _[tosses popcorn into his mouth, shrugging]_ "Same."

 _[Camera cuts to Theo interview.]_

Theo: "Yeah, so, I got one of those Gossip Girl notes today."

Interviewer: "You did? What did it say?"

Theo: "It said 'I know about your correspondence with a certain Lady Malfoy - or should I call her Mrs. Robinson? Here's to you, then, Theo Nott,' and then - "

Interviewer: "Inappropriately timed hugs and kisses?"

Theo: "Yes." _[He shifts uncomfortably.]_ "And it's odd, isn't it? Her name isn't Mrs. Robinson and Gossip Girl obviously _knows_ that, since she said her _name -_ "

Interviewer: "Does it worry you?"

Theo: _[flatly]_ "Well, it doesn't thrill me."

Interviewer: "So, who do you think it is?"

Theo: _[shrugs]_ "I don't know. Maybe it's Granger." _[He pauses, thinking.]_ "Has anyone outside of Slytherin gotten a note?"

Interviewer: "Yes. A Gryffindor."

Theo: "Hmm. Maybe it's not, then." _[He tilts his head.]_ "Maybe it's not even a girl."

Interviewer: "I suppose that's possible."

 _[There is a pause, then Theo brightens.]_

Theo: "God, I hope it's Potter."

Interviewer: "Why?"

Theo: "Are you kidding?" _[He laughs.]_ "What would be more entertaining than seeing _Potter_ confirm for Draco that I'm fucking his mother?"

Interviewer: _[shocked]_ "Wait, _are_ you?"

Theo: _[shrugs, then smiles.]_ "I'm not telling." _[He sits back in his chair, smiling.]_ "XOXO."

 _[Camera cuts to a meeting of the Slug Club.]_

Cormac: _[upon entering the room]_ "Okay, so who is going to be the first to mention how good I look?"

Ginny: _[rolling her eyes]_ "Come on, man - "

Cormac: "Me, guys, it's me. I'll say it. I look good."

Blaise: _[shrugging]_ "I mean . . . he's not wrong."

Horace: _[chuckling]_ "I have great taste." _[He takes a sip of whisky.]_ "I mean really, Tom Riddle and now these guys? Horace, you beautiful bastard, you've done it again."

Ginny: "I'm surprised you're not going to take issue with him, Blaise. Aren't _you_ sort of the 'look how good I look' type?"

Blaise: _[eyes her closely]_ "Why, are you looking?"

Ginny: _[takes a sip of pumpkin juice, swallows, and then smiles, licking her lips.]_ "Maybe."

Cormac: "I'm looking. I don't see anything special."

Blaise: _[stands up]_ "You busy, Weaslette?"

Ginny: _[also stands]_ "Not particularly."

Cormac: "Yes she is, she was just telling me how good I look." _[He rolls his eyes.]_ "God, it's like nobody's even paying attention."

 _[Blaise and Ginny slip into the potions storage closet. Shortly thereafter, there is a series of loud noises, as though things are being tossed around and broken.]_

Cormac: "I wonder where they've gone."

Marcus: "Do you, though?"

 _[There is an audible bang against the wall, as though someone has been shoved against it.]_

Cormac: "Yeah, I mean, normally people are really interested in talking to me."

Marcus: "Are they?"

 _[The banging grows louder and more suspiciously rhythmic.]_

Cormac: _[thoughtfully]_ "He's probably helping her find the words to describe her attraction to me."

Marcus: "He's definitely helping her find something."

 _[A feminine sounding whimper is heard.]_

Marcus: "I think he found it."

Cormac: "Why? I don't hear any sonnets."

* * *

 **a/n:** Sorry this one is late, I fell asleep early last night - daily postings are sort of a bitch, aren't they? Anyway, today's episode is coming later tonight. To life!


	46. The Real World: Hogwarts, Ep XII

**The Real World: Hogwarts  
** **Episode XII**

 _Summary:_ The Real World, continued. Olivie Advent Day 12.

* * *

 _[Scene opens with Hermione and Harry interview.]_

Harry: _[to Hermione]_ "Listen, you're going to have to get over this whole potions thing."

Hermione: "It's not just the class, or the cheating! It's the entire concept of the _book_. Didn't you use one of the spells from it on Ron?"

Harry: "Yes. And as you know, he's fine."

Lavender, walking by: " _Yeah_ he is!" _[She giggles.]_

Parvati, also walking by: "No. No. Bad Lavender."

 _[She uses her wand to spritz Lavender with water. Lavender shrieks and runs away, pawing at her face and Parvati sighs, looking pleased with herself.]_

Harry: "What was that?"

Parvati: "It's called aversion therapy."

Hermione: "No it's not. It's how Muggles train dogs."

Parvati: _[shrugs]_ "Whatever. Same thing."

 _[She walks away. Hermione sighs, turning back to Harry.]_

Hermione: "Why would you even _use_ the spell if you didn't know what it did?"

Harry: "To _find out_ what it did, obviously!"

Hermione: _[insistently]_ "What if it had been dangerous?"

Harry: "Hermione - " _[he groans]_ "it's like you're not even hearing me. I told you, _it wasn't dangerous_. Ron's _fine_."

Hermione: "Well why did you use it on _him_?"

Harry: "I wasn't going to use it on _myself_ , can you imagine? ' _Chosen One murdered by unknown spell from unnamed deviant's potions textbook_ ' - "

Hermione: "AHA!" _[triumphantly]_ "So you admit it was a ridiculous thing to do!"

Harry: "I ADMIT NOTHING."

 _[Cuts to interview with Ron and Ginny.]_

Ron: _[smugly]_ "Yeah, it's sort of understood around here that the athletes get treated a little better by the professors, so I'm looking forward to seeing how that plays out."

 _[Ginny snorts her disagreement.]_

Ginny: "I think you mean the _good_ athletes get treated better."

 _[Scene cuts to Transfiguration class.]_

Minerva: "Alright, let's see what you've done. Miss Granger?"

Hermione: "My assignment was to practice human transfiguration by using _Crinus Muto_ to turn my eyebrows purple."

Minerva: "Well, let's see it."

 _[Hermione transfigures her eyebrows with great difficulty; the strain is visible on her face, but she manages it, turning them a bright shade of violet that flickers for a moment and then holds.]_

Minerva: "Well done, Miss Granger - a bit unsteady at first go, but overall, quite remarkable! Take 10 points for Gryffindor." _[She gestures to Ron.]_ "Mr Weasley?"

Ron: "My assignment was to also use _Crinus Moto_ to turn my hair chartreuse - which, by the way, was a color I had to look up."

Hermione: "By that you mean you asked me."

Ron: "Well I looked up, didn't I?"

 _[Lavender laughs loudly. Parvati promptly sprays her in the face.]_

Minerva: "Well?"

 _[Ron attempts the charm, pointing his wand at himself, but rather than change colors of his hair, he sprouts a thin handlebar mustache. The class laughs.]_

Minerva: "Ah - not quite, Mr Weasley, although the mustache is at least the right color." _[She sniffs]_ "Though, I must say, not an advisable look for you. Two points to Gryffindor for a solid effort." _[She looks around.]_ "Ah, Mr Potter - all set with the quidditch tryouts, are we?"

Harry: "Yes, Professor."

Minerva: "The team in good shape, is it?"

Harry: "Definitely, Professor."

Minerva: "You're able to balance your schoolwork with the team's practice schedule?"

Harry: "Yes."

Minerva: "Excellent." _[She gestures for him to begin.]_ "What have you got for us, Mr Potter?"

Harry: "My assignment was to transfigure your hopes and dreams for another house cup into an inevitable reality."

Minerva: _[prompting him]_ "By doing what?"

Harry: "By winning every game."

Hermione: _[startled]_ "Wait, what?"

Minerva: _[ignoring her]_ "Please be specific with regard to the assignment, Mr Potter; as you well know, vagueness will not be tolerated in this class."

Harry: _[sighs]_ "By ungluing my head from my sphincter, abandoning all efforts at twattery, and winning every _single motherfucking game_ , _so help me, Potter, or I will use every means at my disposal to feast breathlessly upon your entrails - "_

Minerva: [ _cutting him off]_ "That's enough. And?"

Ron: _[interrupting]_ "Wait, are you fucking serious? _That's_ his assignment? I gave myself a bloody _mustache_ for you, Professor - "

Seamus: "I did too, Ron, and nearly blew off my nose in the process, too - "

Ron: "You didn't do that as part of the assignment! You're not even in this class!"

Seamus: _[laughs]_ "I know, right?" _[He strokes his mustache]_ "Doesn't change the fact that I look rather fetching."

Ron: "Oh for fuck's - " _[He looks around, furious.]_ "Where's Dean?"

 _[Dean runs in, panting.]_

Dean: "Sorry, sorry, _so_ sorry - he got loose again - "

 _[Dean grabs Seamus' arm and drags him out of the classroom. Minerva, who has ignored this entire exchange, addresses Harry.]_

Minerva: "Well, Potter? How is your assignment going?"

Hermione: _[looking disgusted and appalled]_ "Professor, you can't honestly mean that - "

Minerva: "Hush, Miss Granger, I'm waiting for an answer from Potter." _[She looks at him expectantly.]_ "Well?"

Harry: _[shrugs]_ "It's going well so far."

Minerva: "Excellent. One hundred points to Gryffindor for outstanding dedication."

Harry: _[nodding]_ "I deserve that."

Minerva: "I know this, and I love you."

Hermione: "Professor!"

Minerva: "Miss Granger, unless you're going to catch a snitch _right now_ and win me a house cup _today_ , I suggest you sit down!"

Harry: _[whispering gleefully]_ "The Chosen One strikes again."

Hermione: "What?"

Minerva: "What?"

Harry: "I mean - ouch, my scar!" _[collapses]_

 _[Cuts back to Ron and Ginny interview.]_

Ron: "Fine, so maybe Harry's whole deal doesn't apply to me."

Interviewer: "Do you think all the teachers have favorites?"

 _[Ron and Ginny exchange a look.]_

Ginny: "Some do."

 _[Scene cuts to Defense Against the Dark Arts.]_

Severus: "Potter, what is an Inferius?"

Harry: "Er - "

Severus: "WRONG, A THOUSAND POINTS FROM GRYFFINDOR."

Harry: "But - "

Severus: "Weasley, what is a Dementor's purpose in life?"

Ron: "What the fuck?"

Severus: "TWO THOUSAND POINTS FROM GRYFFINDOR!"

Hermione: "Professor Snape, I really don't think this is - "

Severus: "Granger, what is Gilderoy Lockhart's favorite color?"

Hermione: "Er - it's lilac, but sir - "

Severus: "TWO HUNDRED THOUSAND POINTS - "

Hermione: _[frantically distressed]_ "But I got it right!"

Severus: "Yes. And you deserve to be punished for reserving any space in your brain for that worthless, peacocking twat cannon."

Hermione: _[hangs her head]_ "You're right. I accept that."

Severus: "Malfoy!"

Draco: "Yes, sir?"

 _[The class leans in, waiting, as Severus considers the question.]_

Severus: "Are you comfortable?"

Draco: _[shrugs]_ "It's a little drafty, if I'm being honest."

Severus: _[waves his wand to adjust the temperature]_ "How about now?"

Draco: "Better."

Severus: "How are you doing? Everything okay?"

Draco: "I mean, it's fine."

Hermione: _[raising a hand]_ "Um, _excuse_ me - "

Severus: "Hush, Miss Granger, I'm teaching."

Harry: _[huffily shocked]_ "Wait, this is supposed to be you _teaching_?"

Severus: "POTTER, YOU TRASHBAG - " _[He calms down, then faces Draco.]_ "Fine. Mr Malfoy - " _[he pauses, thinking of a question.]_ "Veela, dementor, mermaid."

Ron: "Oh my god."

Harry: "This - no." _[He shakes his head.]_ This isn't happening."

Draco: "Marry the mermaid, fuck the veela, kill the dementor."

Hermione: _[looking furious as she mutters to herself]_ " - don't know why he'd want to marry a mermaid anyway, it would only lure him to his death - the stupid, pointy blond monstrosity - "

Severus: "ONE MILLION POINTS TO SLYTHERIN, class dismissed."

 _[Camera cuts back to Ron and Ginny.]_

Ron: "What were we saying?"

Ginny: "I don't know but this school is fucked."

* * *

 **a/n:** Back on track. If you consider this to have any sort of track. Which you shouldn't.


	47. The Real World: Hogwarts, Ep XIII

**The Real World: Hogwarts  
** **Episode XIII**

 _Summary_ : The Real World, continued. Olivie Advent Day 13.

* * *

 _[Scene opens with Dean and Seamus.]_

Dean: "Well, so, a thing happened today."

Interviewer: "What thing?"

 _[Camera is jostled as Harry places his face directly in front of the lens, his glasses askew and his eyes wild.]_

Harry: "MALFOY IS A DEATH EATER!"

 _[Seamus peeks his head out from behind Harry, pointing to him.]_

Seamus: "This is part of the thing."

Dean: "A major part."

 _[Hermione and Ron appear, both out of breath as though they have been chasing Harry around the castle.]_

Hermione: "Harry - " _[She stops, holding a finger for pause as she catches her breath, and then gulps.]_ "McGonagall already _told_ you - "

Harry: "WHY HAS NOBODY CALLED AZKABAN? WE HAVE PROOF!"

Ron: "Mate, McGonagall already said he was in detention - "

Harry: "PROOF! UNDENIABLE PROOF!"

Hermione: "Harry, for heaven's sake, be _reasonable -_ "

Harry: "THE WRIST THING!"

Ron: "Yes, and Knockt- "

Harry: "KNOCKTURN ALLEY!"

Hermione: "Oh, for the love of - " _[She reaches out, taking Harry's arm.]_ "Ronald, grab his other side, would you?"

 _[Together they muscle Harry out of the shot with great difficulty. He is heard to be yelling "the wrist thing, though" as they drag him away.]_

Dean: "Well, that was fun."

Seamus: _[nods]_ "It was, actually. I always like seeing Potter come unhinged."

Interviewer: "Does that happen often?"

Seamus: _[shrugs]_ "More than you'd think."

 _[Cuts to old footage.]_

Harry: "I AM BEING FOLLOWED BY THE GRIM!"

Hermione: "Harry, there's no such thing as - "

Harry: "I'VE BEEN MARKED FOR DEATH!"

Ron: "I really don't think you should - "

Harry: "SCARY BLACK DOG IN MY TEA - "

Hermione: "This all seems a little far-fetched - "

Harry: " - GOODBYE SWEET WORLD - "

 _[Cuts to more old footage.]_

Harry: "SNAPE IS TRYING TO STEAL THE STONE!"

Hermione: "He's a teacher, Harry, I don't think he's - "

Harry: "HIS LEG! ALL CHEWED UP! THE TROLL!"

Ron: "I mean, I guess you could - "

Harry: "PROOF! UNDENIABLE PROOF!"

 _[Cuts to more old footage.]_

Harry: "VOLDEMORT IS BACK! HE'S ALIVE!"

Hermione: "Okay, this one is real."

Harry: "FUCK YEAH!"

 _[Cuts back to Seamus and Dean interview.]_

Seamus: "It's been known to happen every now and then."

Interviewer: "Interesting. So what happened today?"

Dean: "Er, I guess someone gave Katie Bell a cursed necklace to give to Professor Dumbledore."

 _[Harry's voice is heard echoing through the corridor: "SOMEONE NAMED DRACO MALFOY," followed by Hermione shushing him.]_

Interviewer: "Any idea who it was?"

 _[Ron is heard to bellow "DON'T - YOU - SAY - IT" just before there is a loud, muffled clanging sound, as though someone has been tackled.]_

Seamus: "No. But maybe Gossip Girl does, since she seems to bloody know _everything_." _[He huffs angrily, crossing his arms irritably over his chest.]_

Interviewer: "Oh, have you two heard from Gossip Girl as well?"

Dean: "Yes. Seamus has."

Interviewer: "What did she say?"

Seamus: _[sulkily]_ "Something stupid."

Dean: _[gently, placing a hand on his shoulder]_ "Look, you're going to need to - "

Seamus: "I said it's _stupid_ , okay? End of discussion."

Dean: "I just think you'll _feel_ better if you - "

Seamus: "If I _what_? Let the rest of the world in on my depraved little secret?"

Dean: "It's not _depraved_ , Seamus, come on - "

Seamus: "Yes, it is. It's disgusting."

Dean: "Oh, come on."

Seamus: " _You_ come on."

Dean: "Just say it. It's really not that bad."

Seamus: "It's fucking abhorrent."

Dean: "It's part of who you _are_ , Seamus. Don't be so hard on yourself."

Interviewer: _[interrupts kindly]_ "For what it's worth, Seamus, I agree with Dean."

Seamus: _[irritatedly]_ "Well you _would_ , wouldn't you? _You_ have no idea what it's like to have to hide something like this."

Interviewer: "True, I can only imagine - "

Seamus: "I mean, I'm bloody _Irish._ Can you imagine if people found out I was secretly a Bulgaria fan?"

 _[There is a pause.]_

Interviewer: "Oh."

Dean: "Yeah, I know - "

Lee, off screen: _[loudly]_ "I really thought this was going somewhere different and now I'M UPSET."

Dean: " - it's really devastating stuff."

Seamus: _[indignantly]_ "It _is_ devastating! The note just said "I know what you're into" and then it just had a picture of Krum - "

Lee, off screen: "Oh, wait - "

Seamus: _[continuing]_ " - and how could Gossip Girl have _known_ that was the team I secretly pine for?"

Lee, off screen: " - yep, I feel better. GOOD."

Seamus: "I mean, I hide it so well."

Interviewer: "Yes. So, so well."

Dean: _[to Seamus]_ "I'm just wondering, did you ever consider that maybe the note might have been referring to something _other_ than your quidditch preferences?"

 _[Seamus pauses, thinking. Dean and the interviewer both lean forward, waiting.]_

Seamus: "Are you trying to say that . . . "

 _[They wait.]_

Seamus: " . . . Viktor Krum is _gay_?"

Lee, off screen: "Oh my god, this horrible twatbroiler."

 _[Scene cuts to the professors who are gathered in the Headmaster's office.]_

Minerva: "As many of you have no doubt heard, an attempt has been made on Albus' life today."

Albus: _[sniffs]_ "A weak attempt."

Minerva: "Miss Katie Bell was trying to deliver a cursed necklace - "

Albus: "Which was fug, by the way. Even if it _hadn't_ been cursed I wouldn't have touched it. I would have been made a total laughingstock." _[He glances at Filius.]_ "No offense."

Filius: "Wait, what? Why would I - "

Albus: "Well you always wear that horrible necklace, Filius, so I didn't want you to be insulted."

Filius: _[confused]_ "This is a bow tie."

Albus: "Look, I _said_ no offense, can you just drop it?"

Minerva: _[loudly]_ "Anyway, Albus, now that we know that your life is in danger - "

Albus: "Is not. I'm invincible."

Minerva: _[ignoring him]_ " - perhaps we should discuss some extra security, or maybe Potter is right, I _should_ look into Mr Malfoy, seeing as it's quite unusual that he hasn't turned in two assignments in a row and he is starting to look a bit like he is melting - "

Albus: "No, he's fine."

Minerva: "But Albus, he's - "

Albus: "He's fine."

Minerva: "But I still think we should - "

Albus: "HE'S FINE."

Severus: "He's not fine and neither am I, if anyone's keeping score."

Albus: "OH MY GOD SEVERUS CAN YOU STOP WITH YOUR HILARIOUS JOKES? THANKS."

Minerva: "Albus, I really think we should - "

Albus: _[interrupts]_ "Whoa do you guys feel that?"

Minerva: "Feel what?"

Albus: _[shivers]_ "It's so cold in here."

Minerva: "What? Albus, I'm fine - "

Albus: _[chatters teeth dramatically]_ "It's freezing. It's _chilling_."

Severus: "Oh, I see where this is going."

Minerva: _[raising a hand to her temple]_ "Fuck me, so do I."

Albus: "God, why is it so fucking cold in here? Is it because - "

Severus: "Because she's a dementor?"

Minerva: _[sighs resignedly]_ "It's definitely because I'm a dementor."

Albus: " - BECAUSE YOU'RE SUCKING THE SOUL OUT OF ME - "

Severus: "Ooh, embellishment."

Albus: " - BECAUSE YOU'RE A SOUL-SUCKING DEMENTOR, MINNIE!"

Minerva: "I swear to Godric, this cuntackular _piece of_ \- "

Albus: _[bellowing]_ "Pomfrey! WHERE'S POMFREY? Because - "

Severus: "Because she needs a healer for that burn?"

Albus: _[gleefully]_ "BECAUSE YA BURNT, BITCH!"

Minerva: "Let's just let him die."

Severus: "Please try to remember that you said that."

Minerva: "What?"

Severus: "What?"

Albus: "DUMBLES OUT."

 _[He disapparates. Horace applauds, and Minerva glares at him.]_

Horace: "What? The man's got style."

Minerva: _[frustrated]_ "I am going to burn this place to the ground."

Luna: _[whispering]_ "Do it."

* * *

 **a/n:** HAPPY BIRTHDAY UNICORNSHENANIGANS! My goddess among shenanigans, haiku poet extraordinaire, blessed light of humor and wisdom upon my countenance. Tomorrow's _Ride or Die_ is yours as well. HEARTS ABOUND!

And happy belated to AnnaOxford! *throws flowers*


	48. The Real World: Hogwarts, Ep XIV

**The Real World: Hogwarts  
** **Episode XIV**

 _Summary_ : The Real World, continued. Olivie Advent, Day 14.

* * *

 _[Scene opens with Pansy and Daphne interview.]_

Interviewer: "Isn't there a quidditch game today?"

Pansy: "Ugh, yes." _[She rolls her eyes.]_ "Whatever."

Daphne: "We're not really into quidditch."

Pansy: "It's just a bunch of boys running around trying to prove their _broomstick_ is bigger." _[She glances up, smirking.]_ "In case it was unclear, _that's_ a euphemism for their - "

Interviewer: "I've got it, I think - "

Daphne: "Their dicks. She means their dicks."

Interviewer: "Yeah . . . again, I got it."

Daphne: _[sniffs]_ "Well, I'm nothing if not thorough."

Pansy: "She really is." _[She luxuriates in a purposeful pause.]_ "And _that's_ innuendo."

Interviewer: _[irritably]_ "Please don't do this."

Pansy: "Fine. Continue, then."

Interviewer: "Thank y- "

Daphne: _[interrupts]_ "But you should know I'm very good."

Pansy: "She is."

Interviewer: _[sighs, changing the subject]_ "What's your logic about the _girls_ who play quidditch, then?"

Daphne: _[shrugs]_ "Dunno. Maybe they just like having something between their legs."

Pansy: "Yeah - which is fine, of course. We don't judge."

Interviewer: "You definitely _do_ judge, actually - "

Pansy: _[aggressively]_ "Listen, shitbag - "

Daphne: "Pans. Be nice."

Pansy: "Whatever."

Interviewer: _[stiffly]_ "Okay. So you're not into sports."

Pansy: "No, we're not. We _are_ , however, super into watching Potter drug Weasley - "

Daphne: "Which is totally a thing that happened today."

Interviewer: _[startled]_ "He drugged him?"

Pansy: "Not really. I mean, _probably_ not. It's not allowed. I know the rules are different when you're the Chosen One - "

Daphne: "Or so history indicates."

Pansy: "And so Draco _consistently_ reminds us - "

Daphne: "As if we need reminding or whatever. Like we haven't _also_ gone to this school with him for the last six years."

Pansy: "Like, I was here too, Draco. I remember losing the house cup _too_ \- "

Daphne: "Yeah, and I _remember_ that it was utter fucking bullshit, okay?" _[She pauses, growling to herself.]_ "They weren't even _close -_ "

Pansy: "Let's not get into this again."

Daphne: _[takes a breath]_ "You're right. Where were we?"

Interviewer: "Harry drugged Ron?"

Pansy: "Oh, god, yeah. So Weasley was nervous as shit, probably because he looks to be about as coordinated as a parrot on stilts - "

Daphne: _[sympathetically]_ "Aw, maybe a little better than _that_."

Pansy: "A monkey on stilts, then."

Daphne: "Maybe no stilts."

Pansy: "Just a monkey?"

Daphne: "They're actually _very_ coordinated, from what I'm given to understand."

Pansy: "So what do you suggest, then?"

Daphne: "Hm." _[She pauses.]_ "A lightly concussed owl."

Pansy: "Fuck, you're poetic."

Interviewer: _[clears throat]_ "Anyway . . . "

Daphne: "Yeah, so, Weasley was nervous - "

Pansy: "And Potter won the Felix Felicis - you know, big surprise there - "

Daphne: "So he either made a show of using it, or made a show of _pretending_ to use it - "

Pansy: "Either way, Weasley is a fucking _fool -_ "

Daphne: "Or so we assume, anyway, since the game is about to start and he looked quite pleased with himself."

Pansy: "About as pleased as a monkey on stilts."

Daphne: _[thoughtfully]_ "You know, in _that_ context, it really works."

Interviewer: "Why aren't you guys there? Do you really dislike quidditch that much?"

Daphne: "Yes."

Pansy: "But you know what we _do_ like?"

Interviewer: "I'm afraid to ask."

Pansy: _[smugly]_ "Good. You should be."

 _[Camera cuts to Gryffindor team interview.]_

Ginny: "Really, we're all very excited, especially since it's been a rather lucky start to the day."

Harry: "LUCKY? OR FISHY?"

Ginny: "Firstly, Malfoy's not playing - he's out sick or something, which is great news for us - "

Harry: "OR IS HE JUST A DEATH EATER?"

Ginny: "And Harry's done something to Ron - "

 _[Hermione barges in, fuming.]_

Hermione: "I tell you what, Harry Potter, you have gone _way_ off the rails - dosing Ron with Felix Felicis just to win at a _stupid game -_ "

Ginny: "Er, Hermione, I'm kind of - "

Hermione: _[shouting at Harry]_ "IT'S CHEATING, HARRY! IT'S UNCONSCIONABLE!"

Harry: _[shouting back]_ "MALFOY IS A DEATH EATER!"

Hermione: "I FEEL LIKE WE KEEP HAVING THE SAME CONVERSATION OVER AND OVER AGAIN!"

 _[She storms out.]_

Ginny: _[tentatively]_ "Okay, and, uh - the weather's good, I guess."

Harry: "IT WOULD BE A BEAUTIFUL DAY TO STALK MALFOY IF NOT FOR THESE SILLY, CHILDISH GAMES - "

 _[Minerva storms in.]_

Minerva: "Potter, what the fuck did I just hear you say about this game?"

Harry: _[sheepishly]_ "Er, sorry Professor, I just - "

Minerva: "Do you understand how shitty my life is, Potter? How little I have to live for?"

Harry: "I, um - "

Minerva: "Do you think this was my _dream_ , Potter? To babysit a cryptic, bearded lunatic in a state of oppressive spinsterhood?"

Harry: "No?"

Minerva: "I don't get laid, Potter! I don't get fucked _at all_ , unless you count Albus and his horrible schemes - "

Harry: "Whoa, Professor, I was just - "

Minerva: "You think I don't miss the feel of a swollen, turgid cock between my thighs, Potter? You think I don't need to feel a man's hot breath ghosting across the aching flesh of my - "

Luna: "Core? Juncture of your thighs? Inner lips? Honeypot?"

Severus: "Cunt." _[He licks a finger, turning the page of his Daily Prophet.]_ "The word she's looking for is cunt."

Ginny: "Oh my god - when did you two even _get_ here?"

Minerva: "Thank you, Severus."

Severus: "Welcome."

Minerva: _[refocusing]_ "Anyway, Potter - "

Harry: "Oh no."

Minerva: "Seeing as I haven't had an orgasm since _well_ before you waltzed into this godforsaken school - "

Harry: _[cringing apologetically]_ "I'm sorry? I don't know. I just - " _[He flails momentarily.]_ "I really don't know."

Minerva: _[trumpeting conclusively]_ " - you can at least win me a _motherfucking_ House Cup!"

Harry: _[resignedly]_ "Okay."

 _[Camera cuts to the footage of the first floor girls' lavatory.]_

Draco: "I just - I can't play quidditch right now, I'm - I'm very upset."

Myrtle: _[crooning]_ "But why?"

Draco: "Because I almost _killed_ someone, that's fucking _why_!" _[He looks up, fiddling with his quill.]_ "But anyway, ignore that - how does this sound? _I've seen her eyes a thousand times, and still I see perfection; her hair is like nest for owls, and yet, behold, my erecti- "_

 _[Hermione storms in, talking to herself and pacing.]_

Hermione: "How _dare_ he? It's like he has _absolutely no regard_ for the rules _at all_ , and what an absolute _rubbish_ reason to waste such a rare potion on such a ridiculous, unimportant - "

Draco: _[stands up]_ "Granger, is that your horrible screeching angel-voice I hear?"

Hermione: "Malfoy?" _[She is furious.]_ "Can't I get _one_ fucking _moment_ of peace around here?"

Draco: _[outraged]_ "Fucking _excuse_ me you delicate, sugar-spun atrocity but _I was here first_ , it's _my_ moment of peace that _you're_ so rudely interrupting - "

Myrtle: "Fight! Fight! Fight!"

Hermione: "YOU ARE THE LAST PERSON I WANT TO TALK TO RIGHT NOW!"

Draco: "I FEEL THE SAME WAY, ONLY HARDER! AND - AND _MORE_!"

Myrtle: "FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!"

Hermione: "God, you _disgust_ me - "

Draco: "You disgust me _more,_ you absolutely transcendent little troll - "

Hermione: "I HOPE YOU FALL OFF A CLIFF, MALFOY!"

Draco: "I HOPE YOU CATCH ME, GRANGER!"

Hermione: "What?"

Draco: "I mean - I HOPE YOU FALL OUT OF THE ASTRONOMY TOWER!"

Hermione: "I HOPE YOU PUSH ME!"

Draco: "What?"

Myrtle: _[whispering]_ "Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!"

 _[Hermione looks up, first at Myrtle, and then into the camera.]_

Hermione: _[commenting offhandedly]_ "There are cameras in here."

 _[Draco looks up, directly into the lens of the camera and then glances back down at her.]_

Draco: "You'd better get lost, then, Granger."

 _[They pause.]_

Hermione: "I THINK I WILL, MALFOY!"

Draco: "Fucking - _GOOD,_ THEN!"

Hermione: "GOODBYE!"

Draco: "GOODBYE HARDER!"

Myrtle: _[distraught]_ "Oh my god, no - kissssssss, _pleaaaaase -_ "

 _[Hermione leaves, storming out in a huff. Draco runs a hand through his hair, appearing to slowly count to ten, and then follows. Myrtle floats back over to her toilet and sighs, looking saddened.]_

Myrtle: "I wish I could get laid."

Minerva, from the next stall: "Me too, girl."

* * *

 **a/n:** New _Ride or Die_ posted today, and _Nobility_ on the books for tomorrow. Besos!


	49. The Real World: Hogwarts, Ep XV

**The Real World: Hogwarts  
** **Episode XV**

 _Summary:_ The Real World, continued. Olivie Advent Day 15.

* * *

 _[Camera opens with Luna interview out at the quidditch pitch.]_

Interviewer: "I see you've taken a side even though Ravenclaw isn't playing."

Luna: "Hm?"

 _[The lion hat on her head roars loudly.]_

Luna: "Oh, this."

Interviewer: "Yes. That."

Luna: "Yes, well, Harry's my friend, you know."

Interviewer: "You don't have friends on the Slytherin team?"

Luna: "I wouldn't call them friends."

Interviewer: "What would you call them?"

Luna: _[whispers]_ "Victims."

Interviewer: "What?"

Luna: "What?"

Interviewer: "Did you just - "

Luna: "Shh, I'm watching the game."

 _[Zacharias Smith is heard to say "Weasley saves it - well, he's bound to get lucky sometimes, I suppose - " which prompts a smirk from Luna.]_

Luna: "What's _lucky_ is that Ron is so susceptible to suggestion."

Interviewer: "So you don't think Harry actually dosed him with Felix Felicis?"

Luna: "No, but I'm also not surprised that Hermione thinks he did."

Interviewer: "Why not?"

Luna: "Well, when _she_ decides to do something illegal, she usually commits."

 _[Camera footage shows Hermione setting Severus' robes on fire.]_

Luna: "I appreciate her arsonist tendencies." _[She tilts her head.]_ "I wonder if Malfoy does, too."

Interviewer: "Draco?" _[Confused]_ "Why him?"

Luna: "Hold on, I have to do something."

 _[Camera cuts to Justin Finch-Fletchley interview.]_

Justin: "Yeah, I got a note from Gossip Girl, too. It was rather lengthy, honestly. Probably because I, um - have committed several indiscretions."

Interviewer: "Like what?"

Lee, off screen: "Ugh, _boring_ \- "

Justin: "Well, first, I guess she must have found the hallucinogenic mushrooms I was growing in the back greenhouse - "

Lee, off screen: "Oh _please_ , NOBODY CARES - "

Justin: "And then I guess she also figured out that Sprout was letting me do that, you know, because I'm - " _[he turns red]_ "Well, I'm - "

Lee, off screen: "Are you one of the ghosts? WHO EVEN _ARE_ YOU?''

Justin: _[blurts out]_ " - I'm fucking Pomona."

Lee, off screen: "Oh my god, SNOOZEFEST - "

Justin: "We're in _love_!"

Lee, off screen: "GET OUT."

 _[Camera cuts to Blaise and Theo interview.]_

Blaise: "It's sort of confusing because I have this horrible, queasy stomach pain now whenever Ginny Weasley is around - "

Theo: "Is it heartburn?"

Blaise: "I mean, it definitely burns."

Theo: "In my experience, that's a bad sign."

Blaise: _[looks furiously at him]_ "If you knowing that has _anything_ to do with my mother - "

Theo: "It doesn't."

Blaise: "Okay, good, because I - "

Theo: "She keeps things very clean."

Blaise: "No. NO."

Theo: "Just kidding."

Blaise: _[sighs with relief]_ "Thank fucking Salazar."

Theo: _[mouthing to the camera]_ "Not kidding."

Blaise: "Anyway, I _know_ Weaslette is dating Dean - "

Theo: "That seems unlikely."

Blaise: "Why?"

Theo: "Because Dean's gay."

 _[Seamus, who is walking by, stops abruptly.]_

Seamus: _[startled]_ "What did you just say?"

Theo: "Dean's gay." _[He shrugs.]_ "I thought you knew that."

Seamus: _[distressed]_ "I did not."

Theo: "I feel like you should have seen the signs."

Seamus: "What signs?!"

Theo: "Well, he's in love with you, for one thing."

Seamus: "That's not a sign!"

Theo: "It really kind of is."

Blaise: _[nodding]_ "I'm with Theo on this one."

Seamus: _[huffily]_ "Well then maybe YOU TWO are gay!"

Theo: _[shrugs]_ "We tried it."

Blaise: "We thought it would be easier."

Theo: "But we didn't really care for it."

Blaise: "Two dicks is just like . . . too much."

Theo: "Overwhelming, really."

Blaise: "Plus, you see a dick, and it's just like - "

Theo: "Stop staring at me."

Blaise: _[nodding]_ "Yes, exactly. Whereas a pussy is like - "

Theo: "It's very welcoming."

Blaise: "Yeah. Like it's got a lovely decorative mat that says 'welcome home' in front of it."

Theo: "Funny you should say that, seeing as your mum's says - "

Blaise: _[brusquely]_ "Come on, mate, _please_. We're doing a thing."

Theo: "Sorry. It slipped out."

Blaise: "Don't."

Theo: "Just like my cock in your mum's - "

Blaise: "DON'T!"

Seamus: _[irritably]_ "Hello, I'm still here."

Theo: "I feel like we've probably said enough."

Blaise: "Yes. I mean, do you agree with our overarching thesis?"

Seamus: "That you don't like dicks?"

Theo: "We didn't say we didn't like them. We _specifically_ never said that."

Blaise: _[nodding]_ "Sometimes you want to see a dick on the menu."

Theo: "Yeah. Sometimes you're like 'I want cocoa,' right - and then you taste it - "

Blaise: "And it's jager."

Theo: "Right. And you're just like, okay, _whoa_ , not what I was expecting - "

Blaise: "And _sometimes_ it's like 'actually, this jager tastes pretty good' - "

Theo: "Or 'this jager gives pretty good head' - "

Blaise: "And other times you're like, I fucking wanted cocoa."

Theo: "You know?"

 _[There is a pause.]_

Seamus: "What the fuck did you just - "

 _[Luna runs in, out of breath.]_

Luna: "Did I miss it? Balls, the _one time -_ "

Theo: "We told Seamus that we think Dean's gay."

Luna: "Oh." _[She straightens.]_ "Did he believe it?"

Seamus: "No."

Luna: _[nods, relieved]_ "Ah, good. I'll get you next time, then."

Seamus: "What?"

Luna: "What?"

Seamus: "I don't think that I - "

Luna: "Hold that thought, would you? I have to do a thing."

 _[Camera cuts to castle corridor feed. Parvati and Lavender pass through.]_

Lavender: "Okay, so, I feel like now that Ron's a quidditch success - "

Parvati: "Come on. Don't do this to me."

Lavender: " - it's totally okay, right? I mean, _everyone_ likes a winner - "

Parvati: _[muttering to herself]_ "I wonder what else Muggles use on dogs."

Lavender: " - so you can _hardly_ blame me for my attraction, I mean - "

Parvati: "Shock collars are a thing, aren't they?"

Lavender: " - if I kissed him, I could always say I was caught up in the _moment -_ "

Parvati: "Also, I feel like I'm starting to understand murder."

Lavender: " - so it would be so _easy,_ really - "

Parvati: "In a very abstract sense, of course, but still - "

Lavender and Parvati, in unison: "I think I'm going to do it."

 _[They exit. Shortly after, Hermione walks into the corridor, checking over her shoulder to see if anyone is watching; her hair is a mess and she nervously smooths a hand through it, curling a lock around her finger as she smiles absentmindedly. She adjusts her skirt - the bottom of which is folded up slightly - and then teases her shoulders back, heading towards the quidditch pitch._

 _A moment after she has disappeared, Draco struts into the corridor from the same direction, buttoning his shirt and tucking it back into his trousers. He charms his Prefect pin into a mirror, checking for something on his neck, and then readjusts it on his lapel before striding back towards the castle._

 _Shortly after he disappears, Luna runs in.]_

Luna: "Oh no, did I miss it?"

Severus: "Yes, you did."

Luna: _[sighs]_ "Damn."

Severus: _[licks a finger, turning the page of the Daily Prophet.]_ "There, there."

Luna: "Thank you. That helps."

Severus: _[impassively]_ "Welcome."

Luna: "What are you reading?"

Severus: "Current events."

Luna: "Sounds sad."

Severus: "It is."

 _[She sits down.]_

Luna: "Popcorn?"

Severus: "Please."

* * *

 **a/n:** I'm trash, the end.


	50. The Real World: Hogwarts, Ep XVI

**The Real World: Hogwarts  
** **Episode XVI**

 _Summary:_ The Real World, continued. Olivie Advent Day 16.

* * *

 _[Scene opens with Lavender and Ron interview.]_

Lavender: "I did it! I kissed him."

Ron: "She did."

Lavender: "He's mine now."

Ron: "I am?"

Lavender: _[chirpily]_ "You are."

Ron: "Huh." _[He shrugs.]_ "That seems reasonable."

Interviewer: "Well, how was it?"

Ron: "The kiss? Wet."

Lavender: "Magical!"

Ron: "There's a lot more tongue involved than I expected."

Lavender: "Life changing!"

Ron: "And that's just the mouth stuff."

Lavender: "A BLESSING IN EVERY WAY!"

Ron: "I tell you what, mate, nobody ever spends a lot of time discussing how wet it all is."

Lavender: "To think that someday we'll be able to tell our children!"

Ron: "It's all exceedingly messy."

Lavender: "I could literally _feel_ my dreams coming true - "

Ron: "You hear all the love songs and read all the poems, you know? And yet nobody's ever commented on just how _damp_ the whole situation is."

Lavender: "Speaking of poetry, I really feel like I could write some."

Ron: "And yes, there are some benefits to it, but guess what? _Those_ are wet, too."

Lavender: "Weasleys are red, Lavenders are blue - "

 _[Draco, who is walking by, stops abruptly.]_

Draco: "I'm sorry, _what_ offensive thing did you just begin to recite?"

Lavender: _[indignantly]_ "It's poetry. It's not offensive."

Draco: "I'm offended. My ears are offended. My _sensibilities_ are offended - "

Ron: _[rolling his eyes]_ "Bloody hell."

Draco: " - my very _being_ is offended - "

Lavender: _[angrily]_ "Well, I'd like to see _you_ do any better!"

Draco: "Fine, I will." _[He clears his throat.]_ "That I would gaze upon a face as lovely as a flower; that I would live a thousand days and barely feel an hour; for in your arms, a breath evolves, powerless and fleeting; I'd trade it in, my soul for yours, in wonderment repeating."

 _[There is a breathless pause.]_

Ron: "Holy shit, Malfoy."

Lavender: "That was actually . . . incredibly stirring."

Draco: _[shrugs]_ "It's not about anyone in particular. Certainly not any disgusting, frizzy-headed, porcelain-skinned demigoddess that any of us know."

Ron: "Who on _earth_ \- "

Draco: "LEAVE IT ALONE, WEASEL!"

 _[He leaves.]_

Ron: "Well, that was - "

 _[Draco returns, gesturing to the two of them.]_

Draco: "Just be sure to keep this going, would you? Thanks."

 _[He leaves again.]_

Ron: "Well, that was - "

 _[Draco returns.]_

Draco: "Feel free to turn it up a notch, even."

Ron: "What, the relationship?"

Draco: "Yes. Like, be _more_ annoying, if possible. _More_ obnoxious. Just very upsettingly _present_ , in general."

Ron: "Why?"

Draco: "No reason."

 _[He leaves.]_

Ron: "Well - " _[He waits expectantly.]_ "That was - "

 _[Harry appears.]_

Harry: "Did you just see Malfoy?"

Ron: "Yes."

Harry: _[excitedly]_ "Did he admit to being a Death Eater?"

Ron: "I didn't ask."

Harry: "Damn." _[He shakes his head, looking disappointed with himself.]_ "I should've had you ask."

Lavender: "I really feel like he wouldn't _tell_ you, you know, even if he _were_ \- "

Harry: _[interrupts]_ "Listen, missy, just because you're practically _wearing_ Ron like this season's latest sequin jumper doesn't mean you get to tell me what to do - "

Ron: "Hold on. Explain the sequins."

Harry: _[shrugs]_ "You're a flashy bloke, mate."

Ron: _[pauses, preening]_ "I am, aren't I?"

Lavender: _[sighs]_ "Listen, I'm not telling you what to do _-_ "

Harry: "You're not?"

Lavender: "No."

Ron: "Are you going to tell _me_ what to do?"

Lavender: "Probably not?"

Ron: _[looking concerned]_ "I may need you to. I'm fairly directionless as a person."

Lavender: _[pauses, and then says firmly]_ "I'll worry about that later."

Ron: "That's probably wise."

Lavender: "At this stage, I'm just glad that this has happened. It makes the whole Gossip Girl thing feel much less humiliating."

Ron: "Gossip Girl?"

Lavender: "Yes." _[Curiously]_ "Did you get a note from her too? About how you liked _me_ , maybe?"

Ron: "I mean, I got a note, but all it said was 'your hair looks stupid' and then - "

Lavender: "Wait, let me see it."

 _[He takes it out of his pocket and gives it to her. She skims it.]_

Lavender: "No." _[She sighs.]_ "This is just a note from Pansy."

Ron: "Oh." _[He nods.]_ "That makes sense."

 _[Camera cuts to Hermione interview.]_

Hermione: "Have _I_ heard from Gossip Girl? No."

Interviewer: "Do you have any idea why not?"

Hermione: "Probably because I've never done anything wrong ever."

Interviewer: "I don't think that's true."

Hermione: _[impassively]_ "Apparently Gossip Girl does."

Interviewer: "Perhaps she's just biding her time."

Hermione: "You sound like you _want_ me to get caught doing something."

Interviewer: "You know, I kind of do."

Hermione: "Is it because I'm an unbearably prissy swot?"

Interviewer: "A little."

Hermione: _[shrugging]_ "Yeah. I get that a lot."

Interviewer: "Well, anyway. You're sure there's nothing she could use against you?"

Hermione: "I guess we'll find out, won't we?" _[She looks down, checking her watch.]_ "Oh, sorry, I have to run."

 _[She leaves. Scene cuts to Slytherin common room.]_

Pansy: "Did you hear about Brown and Weasley? What a disaster."

Daphne: "Truly."

Blaise: "I heard it was Weasel's first kiss, too."

Pansy: "Ugh. That doesn't surprise me."

Theo: "It surprises _me_! This is _boarding school_. What has he even been _doing_ since he discovered his dick?"

Daphne: "How do you know he hasn't just discovered it now?"

Theo: _[pauses, thinking]_ "Fair."

Blaise: "Though, you'd think he and Granger would have - "

Draco: _[looks up]_ "Excuse me?"

Blaise: "What?"

Draco: "What are you saying?"

Blaise: "Just that Weasley and Granger might have - "

Draco: _[firmly]_ "No."

Theo: "Or he and Potter, even."

Draco: _[nods]_ "Better. Disgusting, but better."

Daphne: "You really think _Weasley_ swings that way?"

 _[Camera cuts to Seamus.]_

Seamus: Is Ron gay? Probably.

 _[Camera cuts back to Slytherins.]_

Theo: "He doesn't have to swing any particular direction. I'm just saying he might have _tried_ it."

Blaise: "Yeah. I mean, _I'm_ not gay, but my first kiss was Draco."

Theo: "Same."

Pansy: "Same."

Daphne: _[slowly]_ " . . . _same_ , and I'm now finding this worrisome."

Draco: "You all liked it." _[He throws a bag over his shoulder.]_ "Bye, by the way."

Theo: "Where are you going?"

Draco: "To do a thing."

Theo: "What kind of thing?"

Draco: _[snottily]_ "A private thing."

 _[He leaves, and Theo looks slowly around the room.]_

Theo: "Just out of curiosity, how far has everyone gone with Draco?"

Pansy: "Pretty far."

Daphne: "Considerably far."

Blaise: " _Too_ far."

 _[At this, Theo shakes his head, sighing.]_

Theo: "I shouldn't have done this. I feel worse."

 _[Cuts to film of Harry wandering the corridors.]_

Harry: "We're following Malfoy. Look, there he is."

 _[He points ahead. Draco looks over his shoulder before taking a sharp left.]_

Harry: "Hm, odd, I thought he would be going to the Room of Requirement. You know, doing some Death Eater thing - "

 _[He follows in the direction Draco has disappeared. There is nobody to be seen.]_

Harry: "Huh, weird." _[He shouts down the corridor]_ "If you're a Death Eater, clap once!"

 _[He waits. Nothing happens until Hermione suddenly appears from an alcove, stumbling out as though she has been shoved. Harry catches up to her.]_

Harry: "Hermione, what are you doing? I'm trying to follow Malfoy."

Hermione: "Nothing, Harry, nothing." _[She glares into the alcove she was just in, adjusting her skirt.]_ "I was just - "

Harry: _[interrupts]_ "I don't care. I just want to see what Malfoy's getting into."

Hermione: "Into?"

Harry: "Yeah. I want to see what he's got his dirty Death Eater fingerprints all over."

Hermione: _[guiltily]_ "Hm."

Harry: "I mean, if he's penetrating something in the castle - "

Hermione: _[making a face]_ "Oof, Harry. Word choice."

Harry: "If he's inside something, I want to be in it too."

Hermione: "You want to be _inside_ it?"

Harry: "Yes. Just - _entirely_ inside it. Engulfed."

Hermione: "Engulfed. Really."

Harry: "Yep. Just shoved right up in there."

Hermione: "Shoved?"

Harry: "Just - absolutely _buried to the hilt_ in whatever Malfoy's into."

Hermione: _[murmuring to herself]_ "Can this get any worse?"

Harry: _[loudly]_ "Balls deep, really."

Hermione: "Oh good, it can."

Harry: "I'm willing to get a little dirty to do it, too."

Hermione: "What's that, now?"

Harry: "I'm just saying - if there's a back way in, I'll take it."

Hermione: "I'm really not there yet."

Harry: _[startled]_ "What?"

Hermione: _[innocently]_ "What?"

 _[Cuts to Luna and Severus interview.]_

Luna: _[tosses popcorn in her mouth]_ "I think we're friends now."

Severus: "I don't have any friends."

Luna: "You have me. I'm your friend."

Severus: "I don't think I ever agreed to that."

Luna: "There isn't a contract or anything."

Severus: "Then how do you know if someone is your friend?"

 _[Luna pauses, thinking.]_

Luna: "Would you help me move my furniture?"

Severus: "No."

Luna: "Would you have brunch with me?"

Severus: "No."

Luna: "Do you have any interest in my personal life?"

Severus: "No."

Luna: "What about my hopes and dreams?"

Severus: "Absolutely not."

Luna: "Huh." _[She pauses.]_ "I guess we aren't friends, then."

Severus: "Good."

 _[They sit quietly for a moment.]_

Luna: "Popcorn?"

Severus: "Please."

 _[She offers it to him. They chew quietly.]_

Luna: "We're the best."

Severus: "I know."

* * *

 **a/n:** I'm v tired I hope it's funny but if not there is always tomorrow. and several days after that . . .


	51. The Real World: Hogwarts, Ep XVII

**The Real World: Hogwarts  
** **Episode XVII**

 _Summary:_ The Real World, continued. Olivie Advent Day 17.

* * *

 _[Scene opens with the professors gathered in the Headmaster's office.]_

Minerva: "Listen, Albus, I really think we need to talk about this Gossip Girl situation. Some really serious accusations have come to light - "

Albus: "I know, right? Did you hear the one about that flammable Irish kid liking Bulgaria? _Classic._ "

Minerva: "Albus, you pea-brained cuntwarbler - " _[She stops, muttering to herself.]_ "I told myself I wouldn't lose my temper - "

Filius: _[stepping forward]_ "Sir, if I may, I think Minerva's right. Perhaps we should investigate who is propagating this so-called Gossip Girl's claims."

Albus: _[impatiently]_ "She's not Lord Voldemort, Filius, you can call her by her name."

Filius: _[blinking]_ "We don't know her name, sir - "

Albus: "Well then what the fuck is it that you all do all day?"

Minerva: _[furiously]_ "We teach! What do _you_ do all day?!"

 _[Albus and Fawkes exchange glances.]_

Albus: "Uh. Paperwork."

 _[Camera cuts to Headmaster's office hidden camera.]_

Albus: _[singing]_ " _Well I guess it would be nice, if I could touch your body, I know not everybody, has got a body like you_ \- hit it, Fawkes!"

Fawkes: _[Screeches loudly, flaps wings]_

Albus: "CAUSE I GOTTA HAVE FAITH - "

Minerva, yelling: "Albus, are you in there?"

 _[He thrusts out a hand, motioning for Fawkes to be quiet.]_

Albus: "I'm very busy, Minnie - very, very busy - " _[he hunts around his desk]_ "Where did I put those notes - ah, yes - " _[he produces a scrap of paper, reading it out loud.]_ "Horcrux thing - something something, trick Horace into working here - okay, done, check, did that - what else, what else . . . ah, do not try on cursed horcrux ring - " _[He sighs.]_ "Damn. I knew I forgot something."

 _[Camera cuts back to meeting.]_

Minerva: _[skeptically]_ "Paperwork?"

Albus: "I'M VERY BUSY AND IMPORTANT, MINNIE, GO AWAY."

 _[Cuts to Hermione and Cormac interview.]_

Hermione: "Er, yes, so - tonight is Slughorn's Christmas party - "

Cormac: "Yes. I've been on a very carefully calculated artificial dehydration regimen so as to properly emphasize the contours of my biceps."

Hermione: "Yes. Which is, of course, important."

Cormac: _[glancing sulkily at her]_ "Well, it _would_ have been, except you insisted on charming the sleeves back onto my dress robes."

Hermione: _[looking into the camera]_ "Yes. I guess I should have warned you that I can be monstrously insensitive."

Cormac: _[emphatically]_ "You certainly should have!"

Hermione: _[sighs]_ "Well, you have to know you weren't my first choice, Cormac."

Interviewer: "Who was, out of curiosity?"

Hermione: "Oh, er - " _[she turns red.]_ "Well, um - Ron, of course."

Cormac: "Weasley?" _[He scoffs.]_ "Please. Does he even lift?"

Hermione: "Lift what?"

Cormac: " _Lift,_ Granger."

Hermione: "Lift _what_?"

Cormac: _[impatiently]_ "Listen. This isn't going to work out between us if you don't have at least a mild interest in the things that are important to me. Did you even bother to remember that today was leg day?"

Hermione: "Does that matter?"

Cormac: "IT'S A VERY STRESSFUL DAY FOR ME, GRANGER."

Hermione: "Why would it be - "

Cormac: _[emotionally]_ "I HAVE SLENDER, FEMININE CALVES, OKAY?"

Hermione: "I guess I just didn't realize that - "

Cormac: _[jolts upright, wiping furiously at his eyes]_ "And to _think_ , I finally thought I found someone who appreciated me for more than my exquisitely cultivated body - "

Hermione: _[interrupts tentatively]_ "Will it make you feel better if I tell you I have no interest whatsoever in your body?"

Cormac: _[straightens coldly]_ "Well that's just a lie, Granger."

 _[He leaves.]_

Hermione: _[looking impressed with herself]_ "Huh. That actually worked out nicely."

Interviewer: "I have to say, you don't actually seem all that upset about the Ron thing."

Hermione: _[grimacing]_ "Look, don't mention that to Harry, okay? I'm really trying to make sure he doesn't catch on to the, er, extracurricular things I've gotten into - "

Interviewer: "Which are?"

 _[Draco appears in the distance, shouting.]_

Draco: "GRANGER!"

 _[Hermione turns over her shoulder, shouting back.]_

Hermione: "WHAT DO YOU WANT, MALFOY?"

Draco: "I WANT YOU TO FALL INTO A BOTTOMLESS PIT, YOU DISGUSTINGLY BREATHTAKING MARVEL!"

Hermione: "OH SHOVE IT, MALFOY, YOU BRUTISHLY HANDSOME DEVIANT!"

Draco: "I LOATHE YOU!"

Hermione: "I LOATHE YOU MORE!"

 _[He leaves. She turns back to the camera, smiling.]_

Hermione: "Sorry, what was I saying?" _[She stops, thinking.]_ "Oh, yes, well, I'm just so very devastated about Ron that I've had to go with Cormac instead."

Interviewer: _[dubiously]_ "Oh really."

 _[There is a pregnant pause.]_

Hermione: _[sighs loudly]_ "Look, just don't tell Harry, okay?"

 _[Camera cuts to Ginny and Dean interview.]_

Ginny: "Yeah, so this is pretty much a sham, right?"

Dean: "Yeah." _[He stands.]_ "Bye."

Ginny: "Have fun, Dean. Don't tell Harry, okay?"

Dean: "Yep." _[He leaves.]_

Interviewer: "Why not tell Harry?"

Ginny: "Oh, I'm quite certain Harry and I belong together eventually, but he's not really ready yet."

Interviewer: "No?"

Ginny: _[shaking her head]_ "No. And in the meantime, best he thinks I'm dating Dean - you know, let that take root, rather than letting him know the truth."

Interviewer: "Which is what?"

Ginny: _[she shrugs]_ "That I'm young and I'm hot and I'll take my kicks where I can get them." _[She looks up, seeing something.]_ "Ah, gotta go. There's Blaise."

Interviewer: "Blaise?"

Ginny: "Yeah. He's helping me out with something."

Lee, off screen: "IS IT AN ORGASM?"

Ginny: "Spoiler, it's an orgasm."

Lee, off screen: "I KNEW IT."

 _[Cuts to Luna and Harry interview.]_

Harry: "Yeah, so, since Hermione was encouraging me to take a date to this thing rather than get myself dosed with a love potion/wizarding date rape drug, I thought I'd take someone I actually like."

Luna: _[cheerfully]_ "Yes, it's so wonderful to go to a party with someone _as a friend!_ "

 _[Luna gestures to follow her as she nudges off to the side; Harry hums distractedly, staring at the ceiling, as Luna whispers to the camera.]_

Luna: "Harry's a bit in love with me, you see, but I think it's best not to tell him." _[She glances back at him, smiling fondly.]_ "He means well, really, and I think I love him too, in a way, but I think it's best if he's with someone like Ginny - partially because I'm just a bit too voracious for him." _[She pauses.]_ "Sexually, I mean. I require a certain, um - departure from the conventional, shall we say, which I suspect would upset his sensibilities." _[She smiles vacantly.]_ "Anyway, back to the matter at hand - "

 _[She slides back, rejoining Harry, who smiles contentedly at seeing her.]_

Harry: "Nargles?"

Luna: _[indulgently]_ "Oh, sure. _And_ Wrackspurts!"

 _[Harry nods knowingly, as if to say "I knew it," and Luna shakes her head at the camera, as if to say "he is literally without one single iota of a clue."]_

Harry: "Anyway, I'd rather not be at this party. I'd prefer to be following Malfoy around." _[He stops, suddenly serious.]_ "I don't know if you know this, but I'm sort of a brilliant detective around here."

Interviewer: "Is that so."

Harry: "Yes. I mean, I am the one who tends to put two and two together."

 _[Hermione ducks around a corner, darting out of sight. Draco follows shortly after.]_

Harry: "I think it just takes a lot of insight into the human condition, you know? Which I have."

 _[Albus comes around the corner, singing to himself.]_

Albus: " _What I want, you've got, and it might be hard to handle, but like the flame that burns the candle, the candle feeds the flame_ \- "

 _[He stops abruptly, catching sight of Harry.]_

Albus: _[loudly]_ "Er, I mean - we must all face the choice between what is right, and what is easy!"

Harry: _[perks up]_ "That was so wise, sir!"

Albus: "I know. I should write it down." _[He pulls out a small piece of parchment, scribbling.]_ " - something something, between what is right and what is easy - " _[He pauses, looking up.]_ "Oh, right, there's something I should tell him about the significance of his death, I think - something about needing to die at the right time - " _[He cuts off, shaking his head.]_ "Nevermind, that's crazy."

 _[He leaves.]_

Harry: "Anyway, I've just got a really good understanding of what makes people tick, you know?"

 _[Dean walks by with Ginny; Harry's gaze follows them.]_

Harry: "Ugh, those two." _[He shakes his head.]_ "I'd be upset about them, except they're so obviously made for each other." _[He pauses.]_ "Anyway, what was I saying?"

Luna: _[blinks owlishly]_ "I think you covered it all, Harry."

Harry: "Thanks, Luna. You're the best."

Luna: _[sighing]_ "Unfortunately, coming from you, that's probably an ill-founded hunch."

Harry: "What?"

Luna: "I said you betcha, Harry."

 _[Camera cuts to the party inside. Cormac has removed his sleeves. His biceps do look nice. His calves, unfortunately, are covered.]_

Marcus: "Look, man, it's easy."

Blaise: "Yeah. Just pick three _human people,_ okay?"

Neville: _[nervously]_ "Okay."

Marcus: "Okay. Are you ready?"

Neville: _[shaking out his shoulders]_ "Hold on - "

 _[There is a brief training montage set to "Eye of the Tiger." The first few scenes show Neville furiously taking notes as Blaise shouts instructions, most of which seem to just be names of random people who come to mind. Then Neville is seen to be drawing extremely graphic pornography as Cormac looks over his shoulder, nodding his approval. Lastly, he is shown reading a book about rare tropical herbs and fungi, which Marcus rips from his hands and throws into the lake.]_

Neville: _[running back in]_ "Okay, I've got it. Let's do it."

Blaise: "Okay. Remember. All you have to do - "

Marcus: " - is pick three people who are _humans -_ "

Cormac: " - _not plants._ "

Blaise: "Got it?"

Neville: _[nodding]_ "I've got it."

Cormac: "Okay. Go."

 _[Neville licks his lips apprehensively.]_

Neville: "Okay. Cornelius Fudge - "

Blaise: "That's what you're opening with? Okay. Fine, sure."

Neville: " - Lucius Malfoy - "

Marcus: "Oh. I mean, a little disturbing, but overall not too terrible - "

Neville: " - and Dobby the house elf."

 _[Blaise throws his hands in the air.]_

Blaise: "I'm out, man."

Marcus: "Look, Longbottom, we specifically said _human -_ "

Cormac: _[loudly]_ "Yeah, and _I'm_ leaving _also_ , for reasons of principle, and morality - "

 _[He pretends to follow Blaise and Marcus, but then doubles back, muttering to Neville.]_

Cormac: "Marry Dobby, fuck Lucius, kill Cornelius."

Neville: _[snaps fingers]_ "Nailed it."

Cormac: _[smugly]_ "Knew it."

* * *

 **a/n:** You guys are the sweetest. I love you. Points for song titles!


	52. The Real World: Hogwarts, Ep XVIII

**The Real World: Hogwarts  
** **Episode XVIII**

 _Summary_ : The Real World, continued. Olivie Advent, day 18.

* * *

 _[Scene opens with Severus and Albus interview.]_

Albus: _[triumphantly]_ "I've figured out who Gossip Girl is."

Severus: _[reading the Daily Prophet]_ "Have you?"

Albus: "Yes." _[He teases his shoulders back, looking smug.]_ "Obviously it's someone quiet and unpopular, right?"

Severus: "If you say so."

Albus: "Someone a little bit dodgy, you know?"

Severus: "Mmhmm."

Albus: "Maybe someone with hair full of secrets."

Severus: _[licks finger, turns page]_ "Quite."

Albus: "So, in thinking back to which of my students gives me the creeps - "

Severus: "Naturally."

Albus: " - I totally figured it out."

Severus: _[dryly]_ "And?"

Albus: " . . . it's Peter Pettigrew."

 _[There is a pause. Albus looks triumphant; Severus looks weary.]_

Severus: _[sighs]_ "Albus - "

Albus: _[hurriedly]_ "No, hear me out. He's super shifty, right?"

Severus: "Yes, but - "

Albus: "Friends with powerful people, you know - "

Severus: "Is it possible that perhaps you have forgotten that - "

Albus: " - plus he's so very small and doughy, so perhaps 'girl' is fitting - "

Severus: _[sharply]_ "Albus."

Albus: _[testily]_ "What?"

Severus: "First of all, Peter Pettigrew graduated from Hogwarts in 1978."

Albus: "What year is it now?"

Severus: _[ignoring him]_ "Secondly, he is now an associate of the Dark Lord."

Albus: "Aha!" _[He looks pleased.]_ "So I was right!"

 _[There is a brief pause.]_

Severus: "It's deeply important to me that you understand the many ways in which you are not, in fact, right."

Albus: _[shrugs]_ "Well, I said he was shifty."

Severus: _[with consummate unhappiness, as though he is picturing his life and simply cannot begin to fathom how it has come to this]_ "Yes. You did."

Albus: "Never trusted him." _[adamantly]_ "Not for a _second_."

Severus: "Well." _[He agonizes for a moment, as though he is excruciatingly aware that argument is futile but remains powerless to his compulsion for correctness.]_ "Except for the time that you _did_."

Albus: "Did I?" _[He thinks.]_ "Huh. I can never keep track."

Severus: _[closing his eyes, as though all achievable hope has fled from his bodily constitution]_ "So it would seem."

 _[Albus thinks of something amusing and begins to chuckle quietly to himself, which evolves into a hearty laugh.]_

Albus: "Oh my god, Severus - " _[he reaches out, gripping Severus' shoulder as he laughs]_ "Severus, do you remember that time - oh man, _Severus_ \- do you remember the time that I let a _werewolf_ live here with like - " _[he wheezes]_ "almost _no_ precautions for the other students - "

Severus: _[flatly]_ "Yes. And then you brought him back as a professor."

Albus: _[doubles over]_ "Oh my god, I totally did!"

Severus: "Yes." _[He looks into the camera.]_ "I remember."

Albus: "Severus, Severus - " _[he nudges him, still laughing.]_ "Oh my god, Severus, I'm dead - do you remember the shack I had built for him? And how I was like 'here, have this shack'?"

Severus: _[begins angrily twisting the copy of the Daily Prophet]_ "It sounds familiar."

Albus: "Oh Merlin, and his _friends_! Do you - " _[he wipes a steady stream of laughing tears from his face]_ "Do you remember _James Potter_? That terrible little twatbucket?"

Severus: _[The newspaper is now shredded to pieces]_ "The name rings a bell."

Albus: "Did I tell you about how I - " _[he pauses, shaking with laughter]_ "How I totally made him Head Boy without - " _[he gasps, clutching his chest for air]_ "without even making him a _Prefect_?"

Severus: _[sullenly]_ "No, Albus, you didn't."

Albus: "Oh my god, Severus, it was _hilarious_ , you should have been there."

Severus: _[murderously]_ "If only."

 _[Albus gradually composes himself, patting Severus' shoulder and chuckling quietly.]_

Albus: "Ah, it's so important to have fun, Severus." _[He wipes his eyes, sighing wistfully.]_ "Then you never work a day in your life."

Severus: _[dispassionately]_ "I literally cannot wait to kill you."

 _[Cuts to Blaise, Pansy, and Theo interview.]_

Interviewer: "What are you all doing for Christmas?"

Blaise: _[shrugs]_ "Family."

Theo: "Yes, family." _[smugly]_ "Specifically, Draco's."

Blaise: _[exasperatedly]_ "Are you trying to say you'll be 'doing Narcissa'?"

Theo: "Yes."

Blaise: _[sarcastically]_ "My goodness. Careful with that wit."

Pansy: "Yes. So sharp."

Blaise: "Don't run with it."

Pansy: "Might cut yourself."

Theo: _[rolling his eyes]_ "Hilarious."

Pansy: "Personally, I'm going to Daphne's."

Blaise: "For Christmas?"

Pansy: "For sex."

Theo: _[delighted]_ "I like how good we are at answering questions."

 _[Cuts to Parvati interview.]_

Parvati: "Yeah, so, since Lavender is always attached to Weasley's face - "

Interviewer: "I've noticed."

 _[Cuts to Ron and Lavender interview. They are aggressively snogging.]_

Ron: "You thhhee?" _[He gestures to the interviewer and then points to Lavender's head.]_ "It'th aw - vewwy wet."

Interviewer: "Are you trying to say it's very _wet_?"

Ron: "Yeeeth."

 _[Cuts back to Parvati.]_

Parvati: "So, yeah, I've taken up some new hobbies. Needlepoint - " _[she gestures to her current project, which isn't totally devoid of craftsmanship]_ "and knitting, and crocheting - "

Interviewer: "Okay - "

Parvati: "Also, knife throwing, darts, archery - "

Interviewer: "Whoa."

Parvati: "Fencing, jousting - "

 _[Camera pans out to reveal Luna sitting on her right.]_

Luna: "You know, that's a lot of stabby things you just listed."

Parvati: _[startled]_ "How did you - "

Luna: "Don't worry about it. Let's talk about you."

Parvati: _[uncertainly]_ "Okay - "

Luna: "That was a lot of penetrative activity."

Parvati: _[echoing, confused]_ "Penetrat- "

Luna: _[interrupting]_ "Have you considered that maybe you should be seeking out congress?"

Parvati: "Congress?"

Luna: "Congress."

Parvati: "Meaning?"

Luna: "Oh, sorry. _Sexual_ congress."

Parvati: _[vacantly]_ "What?"

 _[Camera pans out further to reveal Severus on Parvati's left.]_

Severus: "Cock." _[He licks a finger, turning the page of the Daily Prophet.]_ "The word she's looking for is cock."

Parvati: "Oh." _[Brightens, as though she is having a revelation.]_ "Oh!"

 _[She darts away. Luna waves to Severus.]_

Luna: "You're so good with people."

Severus: "I know."

* * *

 **a/n:** *blows kisses* *throws flowers* You guys are great. Sorry if my WIP updates are a little scattered - busy time of year, as well you know. The next update will be _Nocturnes_.

Oh, and to Gnoloo, hilarious you would ask if it was Princess Diaries 2, because it was actually a reference to _Clean_ , and I recently watched that scene and was like wait a minute…


	53. The Real World: Hogwarts, Ep XIX

**The Real World: Hogwarts  
** **Episode XIX**

 _Summary:_ The Real World, continued. Olivie Advent, day 19.

* * *

 _[Scene opens with Parvati and Cormac interview.]_

Cormac: "So, you're sure you don't just like me for my body?"

Parvati: _[brightly]_ "Of _course_ not. That wasn't even a _factor_."

Cormac: "So you think I'm like, deep and stuff?"

Parvati: _[emphatically]_ "Absolutely!"

Cormac: "What else?"

Parvati: "Um." _[blinks]_ "I guess I think you're very . . . smart."

Cormac: _[looking pleased]_ "Smart?"

Parvati: "Yes. You have a huge . . . " _[she trails off, looking distracted]_ "Er, intellect."

Cormac: _[preening]_ "You think my intellect is huge?"

Parvati: " _So_ huge." _[She smirks.]_ " _So_ satisfying."

Cormac: "Satisfying?"

Parvati: _[nods]_ "The perfect size."

Cormac: "Perfect size for what?"

Parvati: "For everything."

Cormac: "Everything?"

Parvati: _[shrugs]_ "Everything I've tried, anyway."

Cormac: "Do you want to try other things?"

Parvati: _[surprised]_ "Did you have something in mind?"

Cormac: _[coyly]_ "I could think of a thing or two that might . . . stimulate your interests."

Parvati:"Oh?"

Cormac: "Yeah."

Parvati: _[eagerly]_ "Well? Like what?"

Cormac: "Well." _[He leans in conspiratorially.]_ "Do you play wizard chess?"

Parvati: _[taken aback]_ "Excuse me?"

Cormac: "Wizard chess." _[He sighs wistfully.]_ "People almost _never_ want to play with me. I assume it's because they find my intellect intimidating."

Parvati: _[vacantly]_ "Your intellect?"

Cormac: "Yeah. My perfectly sized intellect, remember?"

Parvati: "Oh. Right. Because I'm in this for your brain."

Cormac: "Yes."

Parvati: _[morosely]_ "Right."

Cormac: "Do you want to play now?"

Parvati: _[she pauses, thinking.]_ "Will you take your shirt off while we play?"

Cormac: _[he considers her request.]_ "I could."

Parvati: _[murmuring triumphantly to herself]_ "Check."

Cormac: "What?"

Parvati: _[innocently]_ "Nothing."

 _[Cuts to Parvati interview.]_

Parvati: "If you're wondering, I did eventually say checkmate."

Luna: _[delightedly]_ "Congress!"

Parvati: "He really does have a huge intellect."

Luna: _[whispers happily]_ "Cock!"

 _[Cuts to Draco interview.]_

Interviewer: "I'm surprised you didn't go home for Christmas."

Draco: _[shrugs]_ "The Manor is a little, um - cramped." _[He flinches.]_ "My parents have a . . . houseguest."

Interviewer: "Houseguest?"

Draco: "Let's call him a cousin."

Interviewer: "You don't like your cousin?"

Draco: "Ehhhh, let's say my cousin doesn't really like it when I admit things like that, and also that my cousin could be listening at any given time."

Interviewer: "Okay - "

Draco: _[interrupting]_ "Let's _also_ say that my cousin is a tad murdery."

 _[There is a pause.]_

Interviewer: "I have some questions about your cousin."

Draco: _[shrugs]_ "I can't answer them. Because of the murder thing."

Interviewer: "Right."

Draco: _[vehemently]_ "Also, my cousin is like, eating all the food. Last time I was home I _definitely_ had saved some hummus for lunch and it was gone and he was all 'I don't know, what even is hummus' which is _insane_ , I mean, do I look like an idiot? _Everyone_ knows what hummus is - "

Interviewer: "Oh, okay. That's a normal problem - "

Draco: "And half the time, he's just feeding it to his snake."

Interviewer: "Okay. Less normal."

Draco: "I should mention that the snake is murdery too."

Interviewer: "Naturally."

Draco: "And he's _so weird_ about money! Like, he's this homicidal overlord, right? So you'd think he could pitch in for groceries every now and then - "

Interviewer: _[agreeably]_ "It would be polite."

Draco: "And he just _doesn't._ And whenever we bring it up - _super_ politely, by the way, sort of like 'hey, we love you, but Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration, you know, can't just conjure food from nothing' and then 'yes, we _know_ you defeated death but still, you could at least _try_ \- "

Interviewer: "Reasonable."

Draco: " - like, we wouldn't actually _accept_ , of course, but it's the principle of the thing, really - I mean, the _offer_ would be nice - "

Interviewer: "Right."

Draco: " - but then he just ends up turning it around on _us_! Like it's _our_ fault we're rich!"

Interviewer: _[tsking]_ "Such poor taste."

Draco: _[sighs]_ "Plus, whenever I'm home my cousin tries to read my thoughts and stuff and I just really don't really care for it."

Interviewer: "Fair."

Draco: "Oh. And my cousin really wants me to kill someone."

Interviewer: "Huh. Unfortunate."

Draco: "That's my take on it too."

Interviewer: "Well, how badly does he want it?"

Draco: _[shrugs]_ "He pretty much only has one mode when it comes to murder."

Interviewer: "Which is?"

Draco: "Yes."

Interviewer: "Yes?"

Draco: "Yes to murder."

 _[Another pause.]_

Interviewer: "I really think you should tell someone about your cousin."

Draco: " _Everybody_ knows about my cousin! And they've been exceedingly unhelpful about him, too."

 _[Cuts to Slytherin common room.]_

Blaise: "So, we get that you're upset."

Draco: _[protesting weakly]_ "I'm not ups- "

Pansy: "Yes. We see that you are having a difficult time."

Daphne: "If you need something, hit this pillow."

Draco: _[frowning]_ "Why the fuck would I - "

Blaise: "This can be very frustrating. Let's figure this out together."

Pansy: "Try counting to ten?"

Daphne: "Take a deep breath!"

Draco: _[muttering]_ "For _fuck's_ sake - "

Blaise: "We see that you are mad. How does that feel in your body?"

Draco: "Fucking - _what_ did you say?"

 _[Cuts to Blaise, Pansy, and Daphne interview.]_

Blaise: "Well, we noticed Draco's been having a difficult time, so we read a book about how to deal with adverse emotions."

Pansy: _[nodding]_ "Yes. Though, to clarify, it had pictures, so it was probably a children's book."

Daphne: _[worriedly]_ "Yeah, now that I'm thinking about it, I'm fairly certain those phrases were really only intended to help a child."

Pansy: "Or for sex."

Daphne: _[brightens]_ "That's an idea!"

 _[Cuts back to Draco interview.]_

Draco: "Anyway, it wouldn't be so bad, except there's really only one person who makes me feel better, and since it's Christmas nobody's stayed behind to - "

 _[A charmed paper airplane appears from off screen and flies directly into Draco's forehead, jabbing him in the temple.]_

Draco: _[furiously]_ "What the - "

 _[He unfolds the airplane. A slow smile crosses his face as he reads the note.]_

Draco: "Have to run. Wait - hold on." _[He sits still, battling a wide grin until he has regained his composure.]_ "Okay." _[He clears his throat and then stands, walking off screen.]_ "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE NOW, YOU HORRIBLE DISGUSTING MOONBEAM - "

 _[His voice trails off as he disappears. Scene cuts to Seamus and Dean interview.]_

Seamus: "Heard Weasley got a gift from Brown. Some sort of gaudy neck garbage."

Dean: _[rolls his eyes]_ "Figures."

Seamus: "Ridiculous, isn't it?"

Dean: "Horrible."

Seamus: "Some people have no taste."

Dean: "None at all."

Interviewer: "Did you get each other gifts?"

Seamus: "Us? No. We're just friends."

Interviewer: "I didn't ask if you were - "

Dean: "We did, however, get matching tattoos." _[He lifts his arm, revealing Seamus' face on his inner bicep.]_ "Which is a super normal thing to do."

Seamus: "Very normal."

Interviewer: _[skeptically]_ "Right." _[gestures to Seamus]_ "So where's yours?"

Seamus: "I can't show you."

Interviewer: "That's probably best."

* * *

 **a/n:** Thanks to tenderheartinablender for inspiration!


	54. The Real World: Hogwarts, Ep XX

**The Real World: Hogwarts  
** **Episode XX**

 _Summary:_ The Real World, continued. Olivie Advent, day 20.

* * *

 _[Scene opens with Harry and Hermione interview.]_

Harry: "How was your Christmas?"

Hermione: "Oh, you know. Fine." _[She shrugs.]_ "I, um. Just stayed home. With my parents."

 _[Cuts to Draco interview.]_

Draco: "What rhymes with 'secret Christmas sex'?"

Myrtle: "Fragrant penis hex!"

Draco: "Really not the vibe I'm looking for."

Myrtle: _[sniffs]_ "Then you should have been more specific."

 _[Cuts back to Harry and Hermione.]_

Hermione: _[apprehensively]_ "I mean, there was certainly nothing out of character."

 _[Cuts to Draco.]_

Draco: "How does this sound: 'I found myself in the swell of your lips; undone and devolved by the sway of your hips; in your breathy sweet sigh, when I came on your - "

Myrtle: _[interrupting]_ "Does it _really_ have to rhyme? Personally, I prefer your free verse."

Draco: _[stubbornly]_ "Sometimes I want to surrender myself to the jauntiness of rhyme! When did that become some kind of punishable offense?"

Myrtle: "You mean _crime_?"

Draco: _[sighs]_ "You're a terrible muse." _[He pauses.]_ "But yes."

 _[Cuts back to Harry and Hermione.]_

Hermione: "How was yours?"

Harry: "Oh, fine." _[tentatively]_ "Ron, um - says hi."

Hermione: _[impatiently]_ "No he doesn't. He hasn't unglued himself from Lavender's face long enough to say anything at _all_ , much less spare me any greeting."

Harry: _[firmly]_ "Well, he thought it, then."

Hermione: _[skeptically]_ "Oh, and you know this because you're an accomplished Legilimens now?"

Harry: "Listen, we have a _connection_ , okay?"

 _[Seamus and Neville overhear as they pass by.]_

Seamus: " _You_ think Potter's gay, right?"

Neville: "PASS."

 _[They disappear.]_

Harry: "Listen, Hermione, I just need you to cut Ron some slack."

Hermione: _[disgruntled]_ "Why should I?"

Harry: "Because it's very hard for me to facilitate my Malfoy obsession while I'm trying to have two separate friends. It's very time consuming." _[He shudders.]_ "A logistical nightmare, really."

Hermione: _[nonchalantly]_ "How's your Malfoy stalking going, by the way?"

 _[She dons sunglasses and a leather jacket before leaning back in her chair, draping an arm over the side and slouching.]_

Harry: "What are you doing?"

Hermione: _[attempting to roll a cigarette]_ "Being cool while asking about Malfoy. You know." _[She gestures awkwardly to herself, promptly dropping the cigarette.]_ "Calm and unsuspicious."

Harry: "Oh." _[He shrugs.]_ "Well, now that the Fenrir Greyback reference has come back around, I'm thinking Malfoy's a Death Eater."

Hermione: _[blinking]_ "How, exactly?"

Harry: "Because Greyback's a werewolf, right? And a Malfoy family friend? So obviously he's a Death Eater."

Hermione: _[nodding]_ "Ohhh. Good, I thought you were just going to bring up - "

Harry: "Besides, there's always the _wrist_ thing - "

Hermione: _[sighs]_ "Yes, I _know_ about the wrist thing, and I already know about Knockt- "

Harry: "KNOCKTURN ALLEY!"

 _[Cuts to Severus and Horace interview.]_

Horace: "No offense, but I'm a better Potions instructor than you."

Severus: _[licks a finger, turning the page of his Quibbler]_ "Excuse me?"

Horace: "For one thing, Harry Potter is like, a goddamn all star when I'm teaching him."

Severus: _[he lowers the newspaper]_ "I highly doubt that."

Horace: "No, he totally is. So I gave this class assignment, right?"

Severus: _[with quiet applause]_ "Amazing. Bravo."

Horace: _[huffily]_ "No, I'm not _done_ \- "

Severus: "Oh." _[He shrugs.]_ "Well I liked that ending."

Horace: "Anyway, I asked them to make an antidote to a poison of my choosing, and Harry - " _[he leans over, laughing]_ "So, Harry does _nothing_ , right? Like nothing at all. Granger's hard at work - she cut out a lock of her _own hair_ , god, how embarrassing - and even Weasley's sort of putting on a show, and Harry's just - " _[He cracks up, waving his hand vacantly]_ "Absolutely _nothing -_ "

Severus: _[drily]_ "Yes, I can see why you think this will entertain me."

Horace: _[doubled over]_ " - just flipping pages in his book, totally directionless - "

Severus: _[looks into the camera]_ "At least the characterization in this story is true to canon."

Horace: " - and then at the end of class, he just hands me a bezoar!" _[He crows with laughter.]_ "Cheeky, right?"

Severus: "Well, I suppose I've heard worse stories."

Horace: _[jubilantly]_ "I gave him an extra ten points, in fact!"

Severus: _[muttering to himself]_ "And at least nobody died."

Horace: "What was that?"

Severus: "What?"

Horace: "Oh, I thought you said - "

Severus: "I didn't."

Horace: "Oh."

Severus: "So, indulge me - _how_ does this prove your superiority as a Potions instructor?"

Horace: _[indignantly]_ "God, Severus, I _said_ no offense."

* * *

 **a/n:** Short today because I need to get back to my half finished draft of _Nocturnes._ Best case, I can post it tonight, but more likely tomorrow; also slated for tomorrow is _Ride or Die_ , followed by _Nobility_ on Thursday.

A quick plug: Little Chmura and I collaborated on a graphic novel called _**Alpha**_ _,_ (the story being mine and the art being hers, thankfully not the opposite) and we are currently in the process of preparing for its Christmas Day release. If you would like to be the first to be notified when it is available, you can sign up at enter-alpha dot com (include the dash). It's an original story set in a delightfully grim dystopian world with absolutely breathtaking art. Hope you enjoy!


	55. The Real World: Hogwarts, Ep XXI

**The Real World: Hogwarts  
** **Episode XXI**

 _Summary_ : The Real World, continued. Olivie Advent, day 21.

* * *

 _[Scene opens with Daphne and Pansy interview.]_

Daphne: "So, something terrible happened today - "

Pansy: _[interrupting]_ "Daph, Weasley and Brown have been dating for months. Yes, it's been terrible for everyone, but it's hardly _new_ \- "

Daphne: "I didn't mean that."

Pansy: "Oh. What were you talking about?"

Daphne: "Didn't you hear how Weasley almost died?"

Pansy: _[remembering]_ "Oh god, yeah. Fucking tragedy."

Interviewer: "Tragedy?"

Pansy: "Yeah." _[She smirks.]_ " _Tragically_ , he's still alive."

Daphne: _[sadly]_ "Aw, _Pans_ \- "

Pansy: "Listen, I am what I am."

Daphne: "I know. But _still_ \- "

Pansy: "If you want me to make the effort to be nice, I'll be too exhausted to put in the work for other things."

Daphne: _[thinking]_ "Well, don't do _that_."

Pansy: _[smugly]_ "That's what I thought."

Interviewer: "So, um - what happened?"

Daphne: "She was talking about sex, by the way."

Interviewer: "I know."

Pansy: "We're just being clear."

Interviewer: "Unnecessarily clear."

Daphne: [ _shrugs]_ "You say unnecessary, we say polite."

Interviewer: "You say _polite_?"

Pansy: "Honestly, we're making the show more interesting."

Lee, yelling off screen: "That's actually true."

Interviewer: "Fine. So? What happened?"

Daphne: "Apparently Weasley got dosed with Amortentia - "

Pansy: " - that was meant for _Potter,_ if you can believe that."

Daphne: _[rolling her eyes]_ "Which is _ridiculous_ , since it couldn't be more obvious how to get Potter's attention."

Pansy: "Yes. All you have to do is look like his dead mom."

Daphne: "Yes. Red wig? Done."

Pansy: "This is true of all boys with dead moms."

Daphne: "And girls with dead dads!"

Pansy: "It's science."

Lee, off screen: "Science!"

Interviewer: "I feel we've gotten off track."

Pansy: "Well, best to go with what you feel."

Daphne: "Yes. Feelings are so important."

Lee, off screen: "Feelings!"

Interviewer: "Okay. _Seriously_ \- "

Pansy: _[continuing]_ "So, Weasley got drugged - "

Daphne: "And Potter decides to take him to Slughorn's, I guess. Though personally _I'd_ have gone to the infirmary - "

Pansy: _[curiously]_ "Why _did_ he go to Slughorn's?"

Daphne: _[shrugs]_ "Might have something to do with Slughorn offering him some ' _fine oak-measured mead_ ,' I'd guess - "

Pansy: _[horrified]_ "Oh my god. You _don't think_ \- "

Lee, off screen: "I DO! I THINK!"

Pansy: " Could Potter be - "

Seamus, walking by: "GAY, TOTALLY GAY!"

Pansy: " - trying to sweeten Slughorn up with - "

Luna: _[delightedly]_ "Cock!"

Pansy: " - expensive, private - "

Severus: _[turning the page of the Quibbler]_ "Cock still applies."

Pansy: _[sighs exhaustedly]_ "You know what, nevermind."

Interviewer: _[gently]_ "That's probably best."

 _[Cuts to Harry and Hermione interview.]_

Harry: "IT WAS MALFOY."

Hermione: _[nervously]_ "Harry, don't be ridiculous - "

 _[Cuts to Hermione alone.]_

Hermione: "It was totally goddamn Malfoy."

 _[Cuts back to Harry and Hermione.]_

Harry: "I AM NOW MORE SURE THAN EVER - "

Hermione: _[nervously]_ "Oh Harry, you're completely unhinged!"

 _[Cuts back to Hermione alone.]_

Hermione: "Let's just say this whole Ron poisoning thing is making me feel a tad, um - "

Interviewer: "Sad?"

Hermione: "More like . . . putrifyingly guilty."

Interviewer: "Oh. Okay then."

 _[Cuts to Severus and Horace.]_

Horace: " . . . so, anyway, I am such a better professor than you that _Harry_ actually saved Weasley's life! With a bezoar! _Like I taught him!"_

 _[Severus pauses.]_

Severus: "Just to clarify: you are a teacher."

Horace: "Indeed, my good man!"

Severus: "And you specialize in Potions."

Horace: "Jolly ho, quite!"

Severus: "So, a student almost died from being poisoned - "

Horace: _[quietly]_ "What ho."

Severus: " - and you didn't help him, because you were - "

Horace: _[protestingly]_ "Having a drink!"

Severus: "With?"

Horace: "Two students!"

Severus: "In?"

Horace: "Private!"

Severus: _[looking at the camera]_ "I see."

 _[There is a pause. The camera zooms out, revealing Luna on Severus' left.]_

Luna: _[firmly]_ "That shit is fucked."

Horace: _[affronted]_ "I _beg_ your - "

Severus: "Oh good, you're here."

 _[She beams at him.]_

Horace: _[squinting at her]_ "Is that the little blonde weirdo?"

Severus: "Yes."

Luna: "Aw!"

Severus: _[looking back down at his newspaper]_ "You're welcome."

 _[Cuts to Parvati and Lavender interview.]_

Lavender: _[sobbing]_ "They're not letting me see him - "

Parvati: _[absentmindedly patting her shoulder]_ "Oh, devastating - "

Lavender: " - it's almost like he _told_ them not to let me in - "

Parvati: _[mid-yawn]_ "Horrible injustice, truly - "

 _[The sound of yelling comes from behind them; familiar voices are audible.]_

Male voice: "I didn't _know_ it was going to be _him -_ "

Female voice: "Who did you _think_ it was going to be?!"

Lavender: _[sniffing]_ "And the worst of it is that - "

Lee, off screen: "SHUT YOUR CUNTWARBLER, WE'RE TRYING TO LISTEN!"

 _[Lavender, startled, drops her handkerchief, emitting a muted squeak.]_

Male voice: "You think if I wanted to kill Weasley I'd do it via _this_ insanity? I could never have predicted any of this!"

Female voice: "Don't you realize it's the _intent to kill_ that's upsetting me?"

Male voice: _[frustrated]_ "I'm being supremely influenced by my . . . my hummus-stealing cousin!"

Female voice: "What kind of hell on earth excuse is that?"

Male voice: "Hell on earth is _precisely_ what it is, you dastardly enchantress - "

Female voice: _[shrilly]_ "Don't! Don't you dare do that!"

Male voice: "You have to believe me, I didn't want this to happen - "

Female voice: _[tearfully]_ "It doesn't matter if I believe you or not! It's just - I can't - "

Male voice: "Wait! WAIT!"

 _[Footsteps echo through the hall as they retreat.]_

Lavender: "So, can we go back to my thing?"

Lee, off screen: "NO!"

 _[Cuts to Slug Club meeting.]_

Cormac: "I expect you've all heard that I'm taking Weasley's place for the big game."

Blaise: _[to Ginny]_ "That's our cue, right?"

Ginny: "I think technically we said it was anytime he talked about drinking - "

Cormac: _[continuing loudly]_ "So naturally I've been bulking up with a highly sophisticated mix of high intensity workouts and - "

Blaise: _[hopefully]_ "Protein shakes?"

Cormac: _[nodding]_ "Oh, my dude, of _course_."

Ginny: " _There_ it is."

Blaise: _[gesturing to the Potions storage room]_ "After you, m'lady?"

Ginny: _[waltzing in]_ "Thank you, kind sir."

 _[Hermione enters, looking as though she's been crying.]_

Hermione: _[miserably]_ "Sorry I'm late."

 _[Loud noises begin to come from inside the storage closet.]_

Cormac: _[haughtily]_ "Yes, it's very rude, you've missed my announcement."

Hermione: _[defensively]_ "Well, it's been a very challenging day, what with Ron - " _[She stops, raising her voice as the noises grow louder.]_ "What with Ron being _poisoned_ and all that - "

Cormac: "Oh my god, Granger, would you stop with all the poison and the Chambers of Secrets and the Goblets of Fires - "

Hermione: "What?!"

 _[The noises continue. Loose dust from overhead starts to sprinkle into Hermione's hair.]_

Cormac: "It's just exhausting, okay? You're so dramatic. _Nobody_ can have this much drama."

Hermione: "I'm _dramatic_?"

 _[The noises continue at a faster pace.]_

Cormac: _[adamantly]_ "Yes! We've got things too, you know! Did you know Gossip Girl thinks I'm secretly stupid?"

Hermione: _[skeptically]_ "Secretly?"

Cormac: "THE WAY YOU SAY THAT STRIKES ME AS OFFENSIVE."

Hermione: "HONESTLY, I'M RELIEVED THAT YOU HEAR IT!" _[She looks around angrily.]_ "Where the hell is Ginny?"

 _[There is a brief cessation of noise, and then a slight whimper from the closet.]_

Ginny: _[calling weakly from out of sight]_ "Um . . . coming."

* * *

 _ **Free Verse #247**_

Look  
I get why you're mad  
I didn't mean to poison him  
Even though he was asking for it  
Just by virtue of his face

Despite this  
Despite his face  
I have diligently refrained from murdering him in the past  
And I will continue  
Since it obviously upsets you  
So can we call this a one-off

Well  
Unfortunately  
Spoiler, there will be another thing  
But why count your chickens  
Or whatever it is you say  
Frankly, I've never counted a chicken  
And I don't intend to start now

 _ **Haiku #46**_

Are you really mad  
Or can we just get past this  
Asking for a friend

* * *

 **a/n:** What do you mean it is day 21 what the hell


	56. The Real World: Hogwarts, Ep XXII

**a/n:** _Apologies for the delay. I was traveling over the last couple of days, so the next three updates will appear throughout the day today. Holidays, am I right?_

* * *

 **The Real World: Hogwarts  
Episodes XXII**

 _Summary:_ The Real World, continued. Olivie Advent, day 22.

* * *

 _[Opens with Blaise and Theo interview.]_

Theo: "Well, it feels like it's been breakup central over here."

Blaise: "Yep. Thomas and Weaslette - "

Theo: _[mid-yawn]_ "WHAT A SURPRISE."

Blaise: " - plus Weasley and Brown."

Theo: _[shaking his head]_ "The Gryffindors are in chaos."

Blaise: "Absolutely."

Theo: "Tissues everywhere."

Blaise: "Tears for days."

Theo: "Emotional devastation."

Blaise: "Which has been wonderful to watch."

Theo: "Truly entertaining."

Blaise: "Pansy in particular has been at the top of her game."

 _[Cuts to Ron interview.]_

Ron: "Pansy sent me a note saying she wished we had dated so that she could have had the 'breathtaking opportunity to dump me on my arsing horseface,' so it's not exactly magical on this side of the breakup fence, either.

 _[Cuts to Pansy interview.]_

Pansy: "Is that really what he said? Okay, then I'm furious, because he is totally underselling the note I sent him."

Luna: _[nodding]_ "That's true. I read it. It was both extremely harsh and incredibly poignant."

Pansy: "It was basically a play in one act." _[She groans, frustrated.]_ "I put a lot of effort into describing how I would slowly crush his spirit over time!"

Luna: "It was very detailed."

Pansy: "It was!"

Luna: "There were some amazing visuals."

Pansy: "Right?"

Luna: "You really have a gift."

Pansy: "I know, don't I?"

Luna: "At one point, you actually moved me to tears. There was something about - hold on. It was so lovely I wrote it down." _[She digs a piece of parchment out of her pocket, reading aloud.]_ "A barren wasteland, so bereft of hope, that each individual fleck of rubble, each grain of sand, would whisper quietly through the wind, too restless to settle against the earth, and yet too withered of spirit to float to the heavens."

Pansy: _[nodding smugly]_ "That was a description of my vagina's reaction to looking at him."

Luna: _[continuing to read aloud]_ "A room, windowless. Frames on the wall - without pictures. Empty footsteps echoing, quaking, but there is a stillness; a foreign pulselessness. A sense that everything could shatter, with only one uneven breath."

Pansy: "That was a visual for my heart. Specifically the chamber containing my feelings for him."

Luna: _[still reading]_ "And where there had been life - lush, floral, abundant; a sodden whirl of fascination - there now lay only waste, a feral dryness - "

Pansy: _[gleefully]_ "My vagina again."

 _[Cuts back to Blaise and Theo interview.]_

Blaise: "You know, I didn't read it - "

Theo: "I did. It really was moving."

Blaise: "Was it?"

Theo: "Well, that, and deeply emasculating."

Blaise: "Naturally."

Theo: "Overall though, some very solid writing."

Blaise: _[shrugs]_ "The girl really knows her voice."

Theo: "Unlike some people."

Blaise: _[sighs knowingly]_ "It's just a really poetic time in the Slytherin dorms, I guess."

 _[Cuts to Slytherin common room.]_

Draco: "What rhymes with 'soul crushing absence'?"

Theo: "Ill-fating madness."

Draco: "What about 'paralyzing solitude'?"

Theo: "Parrot rising, douche-canoed."

 _[There is a pause as Draco slowly looks up from his manic scribbling.]_

Draco: "Seriously?"

Theo: "Listen, if you don't set parameters - "

Draco: "Pretend I didn't ask."

 _[Cuts back to Theo and Blaise.]_

Theo: "He's been moping a bit."

Blaise: "We have to assume it's his cousin."

Theo: "I mean honestly, who eats another man's hummus?"

Blaise: _[shakes head]_ "A soulless monster, I'll tell you that much."

 _[Cuts to Lavender and Parvati interview.]_

Lavender: "Well, I was emotional for a bit there - "

Parvati: "A bit."

Lavender: "But I've pulled it together. We're doing a thing now - "

Parvati: "Yes. _We_."

Lavender: " - where we don't define ourselves by men - "

Parvati: "Again, I am involved in this."

Lavender: " - or their stupid dicks - "

Parvati: _[eyes fingernails]_ "I am an active participant in this."

Lavender: " - because we are _independent,_ and better off without them - "

Parvati: _[nodding vacantly]_ "Things I also stand by."

Lavender: " - and _who cares_ if I don't have a boyfriend? I'm awesome. I have _way_ better hair than Granger - "

 _[Cormac ducks his head into the corridor.]_

Cormac: "Yo, Parvati, you down to - "

Parvati: _[lazily]_ "Five minutes, I'm doing a thing."

 _[He nods and leaves. Lavender looks accusingly at Parvati.]_

Lavender: "What was that?"

Parvati: "He's helping me find something."

Lavender: "Couldn't I help?"

Parvati: "You could, but he'd be faster."

Lavender: "You're a witch, what can't you find on your own?"

Parvati: "Oh, I could definitely find it myself, but it's better when he does it."

Lavender: _[thinks, and eventually sighs.]_ "Fine. Whatever."

Parvati: "Are we done?"

Lavender: _[deflatedly]_ "Yeah, I guess - "

Parvati: "Good. Off to go find it, then."

Lee, off screen: _[whisper-shouting]_ "It's her clitoris."

 _[Cuts to Dean and Seamus.]_

Dean: "Who do I think Gossip Girl is? It'd have to be a Muggleborn, right?"

Seamus: "Why?"

Dean: "The Shakespeare reference."

Seamus: "Who?"

Dean: "Exactly."

Seamus: "Well if it's not you - "

Dean: "And it's not."

Seamus: "Maybe it's Granger?"

Dean: _[thoughtfully]_ "Could be."

Seamus: "She hasn't gotten one. And neither have any of her friends."

Dean: "Seems sort of pass-agg for Granger, but I guess it makes sense."

 _[Cuts to Pansy and Daphne.]_

Pansy: "Of course it's Granger."

Daphne: "You don't know that!"

Pansy: "Listen, if a thing sucks, it was Granger."

Daphne: "Oh _excuse_ me, I didn't realize there was a _rule -_ "

Pansy: "You _know_ I have three rules. One, no metaphorical high horses - "

Daphne: "A stupid rule."

Pansy: " - two, endeavor to persevere - "

Daphne: "Well-intentioned, but equally stupid."

Pansy: " - and finally, three, if a thing sucks, it was Granger."

Daphne: "Well pardon me for permitting it to have slipped my attention in my efforts to obey rules one and two."

Pansy: _[tsking]_ "Careful."

Daphne: "What?"

Pansy: "Don't endeavor to persevere too hard or you'll break the high horse rule."

Daphne: _[throwing her hands up]_ "This is needlessly complex."

 _[Cuts to Harry, Hermione, and Ron from a hidden camera.]_

Ron: "So you got the memory, then?"

Harry: "Yes, I've got it - "

Hermione: _[muttering to herself]_ "After about a million _fucking_ years."

Ron: "Hermione!"

Hermione: _[sighs]_ "Sorry. I'm not getting laid as much and my temperament is beginning to suffer."

Harry: "What?"

Hermione: "What? Nothing." _[She waves a hand carelessly.]_ "Carry on."

Ron: "Well? Now what?"

Harry: "Now we're going to go find a horcrux!"

 _[Cuts to Albus and Minerva.]_

Albus: "Cancel all my plans, Minnie, I'm going out."

Minerva: "What? Albus, I don't - "

Albus: "Read me my schedule, would you?"

Minerva: _[furiously]_ "Albus, I'm not your bloody _secretary_ \- "

Albus: "Ugh, Minnie, this again." _[He sits at his desk, pulling out a day planner.]_ "Fine, I'll check it myself - "

Minerva: "Albus, where on earth are you planning to go? Shouldn't you be taking care of things _here_ , seeing as Katie Bell's finally out of the hospital - "

Albus: _[reading aloud]_ "4:30, stare into the abyss. 5:00, solve world hunger, tell no one - "

Minerva: " - and it's fully possible she's still in danger, seeing as we haven't caught whoever is behind these senseless attacks - "

Albus: " - 5:30, jazzercise. 6:30, dinner with me - I _can't_ cancel that again - "

Minerva: " - not to mention Mr Malfoy looks as though his limbs will collapse beneath him at any given moment - "

Albus: " - 7:00, wrestle with my self loathing - of course, if I bump the loathing to 9, I can probably destroy a horcrux in time to stare at the ceiling and slip slowly into madness - "

Minerva: "What?!"

Albus: _[irritably]_ "Minnie, if you're not going to be helpful, you can at least not be nosy."

 _[Cuts back to Harry, Ron, and Hermione.]_

Harry: "Which is great, really, as now that I have the memory, I can focus on the important things."

Ron: "The quidditch game? For the team you're the captain of?"

Hermione: _[sighs irritably]_ "What is this, your first day?"

Harry: "I meant Malfoy! Maybe if I take the time to make more Felix Felicis - "

Hermione: _[interrupting]_ "That would take you six months and an inconceivable amount of theft."

Harry: "IT WOULD BE WORTH IT!"

Ron: "I don't know. Sounds lame, mate."

Harry: "IMAGINE THE LOOK ON HIS SMARMY FACE - "

Hermione: _[sighs wistfully]_ "I can picture it."

Harry: " - WHEN I BURST INTO THE ROOM OF REQUIREMENT, CATCHING HIM IN THE ACT - "

Ron: "The act of _what_ , exactly - "

Harry: "DEATH EATER-ING - "

Hermione: "Not a thing."

Harry: " - PROBABLY SHIRTLESS - "

Ron: "What?"

Hermione: "What?"

Blaise, walking by: "He's not wrong."

* * *

 **a/n:** Did you catch the movie quote? Stay tuned for 23 in a bit, and 24 tonight. _Nobility_ also in the works, though depending on how long it takes to make the ornate dessert my mother requested, it may take a couple more days.

Also, _**Alpha**_ **is now available!** The website has also been updated to include more information. Enter-alpha dot com (again, include the dash).

Lastly, if you were a lover of _**Epistles**_ , Sally and I have posted an audio recording of it, as read between the two of us. You can find it on AO3 and Tumblr.


	57. The Real World: Hogwarts, Ep XXIII

**The Real World: Hogwarts  
Episode XXIII**

 _Summary_ : The Real World, continued. Olivie Advent, day 23.

* * *

 _[Scene opens with Seamus and Dean interview.]_

Dean: "Hmm, how to put this delicately - "

Seamus: "Potter cursed the testicles off Malfoy in the bathroom."

Dean: _[frustratedly]_ "That's not even _close_ to delicate. It's not even _accurate._ "

Seamus: "How is it not? I correctly named all the parties involved - "

Dean: _[groaning]_ "His _testicles_ , though - "

Seamus: _[snottily]_ "Well, can you say with certainty that they're still there?"

Dean: "By that logic, I can't say with certainty that they were _ever_ there!"

Seamus: _[smugly]_ "What I'm hearing you say is that I'm right."

Dean: _[sighs]_ "That doesn't surprise me."

Seamus: _[ignoring him]_ "What I want to know is what the bollocking fuck they were doing alone in the bathroom."

Dean: "Uh, maybe they were _using_ the bathroom?"

Seamus: _[scoffing]_ "Are you really that naive?"

Dean: "Apparently I am."

Seamus: _[insistently]_ "Have you _seen_ how obsessed they are with each other?"

Dean: "Well, if we're going to judge people by their obsessions - "

Seamus: "Plus, I feel like there's chemistry there."

Dean: _[echoes skeptically]_ "Chemistry."

Seamus: "Yes."

Dean: "Just out of curiosity, what do you think of our relationship?"

Seamus: "It's the best."

Dean: "Right. And in terms of _chemistry_ \- "

Seamus: "A bromance for the ages."

Dean: "Okay, but what if instead of a bromance - "

Seamus: "A brolationship?"

Dean: " - yes, or - "

Seamus: "Brotp."

Dean: "Okay, try this: say, for example, we remove 'bro' from the equation."

 _[There is a pause.]_

Seamus: "I don't understand."

Dean: "A _ro_ mance. A _re_ lationship."

Seamus: "An otp?"

Dean: _[shrugs]_ "Sure, whatever that is."

Seamus: "Wait, are you gay?"

Dean: "If the question is would I suck a dick, yes. If it were yours."

Seamus: "You would?"

Dean: "Yes."

Seamus: _[frantically]_ "Wait - do you think _I'm_ gay?"

Dean: "Yes."

Seamus: "Where are you getting that from?"

Dean: "You."

Seamus: "Me?"

Dean: "Yes. You."

Seamus: _[blankly]_ "I don't understand."

Dean: "Seamus, you're gay."

Seamus: "Okay, but - "

Dean: "You like me. You think I'm attractive."

Seamus: _[irritatedly, as though this is obvious]_ "Well, I have eyes."

Dean: "You would enjoy a relationship with me."

Seamus: _[thinking]_ "A brolation- "

Dean: "No. A _relationship_."

Seamus: "I hate relationships."

Dean: "Because . . . ?"

Seamus: "Women are terrible."

Dean: "Exactly."

Seamus: "Wait, do I not like women?"

Dean: "No."

Seamus: "Do I like men?"

Dean: "You like me."

Seamus: _[thoughtfully]_ "I do, don't I?"

Dean: "Yes. And I like you."

Seamus: "Oh my god, are we gay?!"

Dean: "There is a mild possibility, yes."

Seamus: "I feel . . . " _[he trails off.]_

Dean: "Yes?"

Seamus: " . . . okay, I think." _[Nods decisively.]_ "Yes, I think I'm okay with that."

Dean: "Good."

Seamus: "Does this mean I have to dress differently?"

Dean: "No."

Seamus: "Okay, but do I have to - "

Dean: "Whatever it is, no."

Seamus: "So, I guess now _we_ " _[he gestures between them]_ "are - "

Dean: _[cuts in abruptly]_ "Yes."

Seamus: "Oh." _[Pauses, beaming.]_ "Okay."

 _[The camera zooms out to reveal Luna and Severus watching from the corner.]_

Luna: _[whispering]_ "It's so beautiful!"

Severus: _[licks a finger, turning the page of his Quibbler.]_ "I suppose."

Luna: _[looking at him hopefully]_ "Will you hold me?"

Severus: _[not looking up]_ "No."

Luna: "But I just feel the moment calls for something more than _existential_ closeness, you know?"

Severus: "No."

Luna: _[gently]_ "Are you just in a bad mood because you're upset about Harry?"

 _[Cuts to Severus and Harry.]_

Severus: _[skeptically, looking at Harry's Potions book]_ "This is the copy of Advanced Potion-Making that you purchased from Flourish and Blotts?"

Harry: _[firmly]_ "Yes."

Severus: "Then why does it have the name 'Roonil Wazlib' written inside the front cover?"

Harry: _[hesitantly]_ "That's, uh - my nickname, sir."

Severus: "Your nickname."

Harry: "Yeah . . . it's what my friends call me."

Severus: _[impatiently]_ "I understand what a nickname is." _[He looks up at the camera.]_ "Truly, this exchange could not get more absurd by any stretches of the imagination."

Harry: _[earnestly]_ "Perhaps I could try to use occlumency, even though I never learned it at all? And then also proceed to learn nothing from this encounter?"

Severus: "Yes." _[He nods.]_ "That would certainly make this worse."

 _[Cuts back to Luna and Severus.]_

Severus: _[sourly]_ "Potter nearly killed Draco."

Luna: "Aw, I know, but he didn't _mean_ to."

Severus: _[looking down his nose at her]_ "Are you trying to make the argument that it's the thought that counts?"

Luna: _[uncertainly]_ "Yes?"

Severus: "That, Miss Lovegood, is an excuse only to be used when one has presented an underwhelming holiday gift."

Luna: _[as though she is offended to her very essence]_ "I would _never_ underwhelm you with a gift!"

Severus: _[thoughtfully]_ "That's probably true."

 _[In front of them, Seamus and Dean are attempting to work out the mechanics of hand-holding. They struggle.]_

Luna: _[wistfully]_ "They really are sweet." _[She looks hopefully at him.]_

Severus: _[sighs loudly]_ "Fine. Come here."

 _[He lazily holds out an arm and Luna quickly ducks under it, delighted. Severus awkwardly pats the top of her head with the flat of his hand.]_

Severus: "There, there."

Luna: _[whispering]_ "This is really soothing my need to destroy things."

Severus: _[reading the Quibbler with his free hand.]_ "What?"

Luna: _[louder]_ "I said this is really soothing my need to destroy things."

Severus: _[pats her head again]_ "That's nice."

 _[Scene cuts to Harry, Ron, and Hermione interview.]_

Harry: "Well, it's been an interesting week."

Ron: "Yes." _[He glances warily at Harry.]_ "He kissed my sister."

Harry: "Well, yes, and I also - "

Ron: "My _sister_."

Harry: "Yes, but I - "

Ron: _[interrupting]_ "And I'm fine with it."

Harry: "Yes, and I'm really glad you - "

Ron: "I SAID I'M FINE WITH IT."

Hermione: _[sighs]_ "Plus, I got a note from Gossip Girl, so people have _finally_ stopped thinking it's me."

Harry: "You have? What did it say?"

Ron: "SURELY NOT THAT YOU KISSED MY SISTER."

Hermione: _[turns red, looks away]_ "Nothing."

 _[Cuts to camera feed of Hermione and Draco in the corridor.]_

Hermione: "So, um. Are you okay?"

Draco: "No."

Hermione: "Does it hurt?"

Draco: "Yes."

Hermione: "Did it scar?"

Draco: "Yes."

Hermione: _[muttering]_ "I _told_ Harry it was a bad idea to use that spell - "

Draco: "Oh. I thought you meant - " _[he cuts himself off, shaking his head.]_ "No, that part's fine."

Hermione: _[blushes]_ "Oh." _[She looks at her feet.]_ "I, um, got a note from Gossip Girl."

Draco: "So did I."

Hermione: _[curiously]_ "What did yours say?"

Draco: "It said 'it's never too late to be whoever you want to be.'" _[He looks saddened.]_ "Yours?"

Hermione: _[pulls a slip of parchment from her pocket, reading it aloud.]_ "Suddenly she realized what she was regretting was not the lost past but the lost future; not what had been, but what would never be."

 _[They pause.]_

Draco: "We probably shouldn't tell anyone what they mean."

Hermione: "No."

Draco: "Also, um." _[He shifts awkwardly, as though he doesn't want to say whatever he's about to admit.]_ "I might have to, um, do something soon that - "

Hermione: _[interrupting]_ "Probably better that you don't tell me."

Draco: "Yeah." _[uncomfortably]_ "Okay."

Hermione: "So, um." _[She pauses, tilting her head at him.]_ "I'll see you around, you horrible disgusting moonbeam."

Draco: _[fighting a smile]_ "I loathe you. You know that, right?"

Hermione: _[nods]_ "Yes."

Draco: "Good. And - "

Hermione: "Yes. I loathe you too."

Draco: "Oh, good. Ideal."

 _[They smile at each other and part ways, walking in opposite directions. Luna runs into the camera frame.]_

Luna: "DID YOU SEE THAT?"

Severus: "Yes."

Luna: "WELL? AREN'T YOU GOING TO - "

Severus: "Fine." _[He lifts an arm.]_ "Come here."

 _[She runs to him, ducking under his arm and clinging to his waist.]_

Lee, off screen: _[wails]_ "THESE GARBAGE PEOPLE ARE GOING TO RUIN ME."

 _[Cuts back to Harry, Hermione, and Ron.]_

Harry: "Well, anyway, as I was saying, the horcrux - "

Hermione: "Wait." _[She frowns.]_ "It's the end of the school year, isn't it?"

Harry: _[confused]_ "Yeah. So?"

Hermione: _[shrugs]_ "So, _somebody_ 's probably going to die."

Ron: "Surely not anyone who kissed my sister. ANYONE BUT THEM."

Harry: _[glancing at him, hurt]_ "I thought you were okay with - "

Ron: "I'M OKAY WITH IT. I LOVE IT."

Hermione: "He's fine."

Ron: "I'M FINE!"

Hermione: "Totally fine."

Harry: _[shrugging]_ "Okay. Well, I'm really bummed about being gone for probably like the ten minutes or whatever it will take to find the horcrux, so can you guys keep an eye on Malfoy?"

Hermione: _[slipping her leather jacket over her shoulders, putting on sunglasses]_ "Sure."

Ron: "What the hell is this?"

Hermione: "Me being cool about Malfoy."

Ron: "Oh." _[He pauses.]_ "Can I - "

 _[Hermione hands him a leather jacket and an alternate pair of wayfarers. He puts them on.]_

Ron: "Who kissed whose sister? Nobody I know."

Hermione: "See? Works."

Ron: _[impressed]_ "Totally does."

Harry: _[looking at them suspiciously]_ "What is this?"

Ron: _[shrugs]_ "We're cool."

Hermione: "The coolest."

 _[Ron and Hermione bump fists and sit back, rolling cigarettes.]_

Harry: _[nodding]_ "Cool."

 _[Cuts to Albus and Minerva.]_

Albus: "Okay, so, I'm off, hold down the fort, Minnie - " _[trails off, muttering to himself]_ "Not like it's _hard_ \- "

Minerva: _[rolling her eyes]_ "Okay so if you die can I at least have your job, or - "

Albus: _[coos reassuringly]_ "Yes, yes, of course!"

 _[Cuts to Albus.]_

Albus: "I lied." _[He grins.]_ "I'm amazing."

* * *

 **a/n:** Draco and Hermione's Gossip Girl notes are both quotes from F. Scott Fitzgerald.

Almost nearly caught up on this foolish undertaking . . .


	58. The Real World: Hogwarts, Ep XXIV

**The Real World: Hogwarts  
Episode XXIV**

 _Summary:_ The Real World, continued. Olivie Advent, day 24. Merry Christmas Eve!

* * *

 _[Scene opens with Nearly Headless Nick, the Grey Lady, the Fat Friar, and the Bloody Baron.]_

Nick: "I'm so glad to see that you've _finally_ given us our due."

Lee, off screen: _[muttering]_ "Well, considering we've no fucking choice - "

Interviewer: _[gently]_ "What Lee means is that the students are very busy studying for their end of term exams."

Lee, off screen: "Don't be a twat, what I _mean_ is that they're boring!"

Grey Lady: _[huffily]_ "Are you saying you're only talking to us because there are no _living_ people to interview?"

Interviewer: _[politely]_ "No, no, of course not - "

Nick: "Okay, _good_ , because - "

Lee, off screen: _[yelling to someone off camera]_ "WHAT DO YOU MEAN THERE ARE DEATH EATERS AT HOGWARTS?!"

Grey Lady: "So, anyway, as I was - "

Interviewer: "Get out, we found something better."

 _[Cuts to interview with Rosmerta.]_

Rosmerta: "So, funny story, turns out I've been under the Imperius curse for a year."

Interviewer: "Huh. No kidding."

Rosmerta: "I had the same reaction."

Interviewer: "Well, anyway, we're just, um - trying to piece together the events of the night - "

Rosmerta: "You mean you're trying to stay out of the castle."

Interviewer: _[shrugs]_ "Let's not squabble over it."

Rosmerta: "Well, Albus came by alone - "

Interviewer: "Alone, really?"

Rosmerta: "Looked that way, anyway."

Interviewer: "Okay. Continue."

Rosmerta: "Anyway, he came back about half dead with Potter just as I was putting the cat outside."

Interviewer: "What did he look like?"

Rosmerta: "Just a shitty tabby."

Interviewer: "I meant Harry."

Rosmerta: "Oh. A bit overwhelmed."

Interviewer: "And then what?"

Rosmerta: "I pointed out that the Dark Mark had been cast over the castle about a few minutes before I'd let the cat out."

Interviewer: "How did he react?"

Rosmerta: "Pissed all over the side of my geranium planter."

Interviewer: "Harry?"

Rosmerta: "No, Albus."

Interviewer: "Albus?"

Rosmerta: "Yes."

Interviewer: _[stunned]_ "Albus _Dumbledore_?"

Rosmerta: "Oh, no. The cat's name is Albus."

 _[There is a pause.]_

Interviewer: "Just so we're clear, I'm definitely not asking about your cat."

Rosmerta: "I thought it was a bit dodgy that you kept asking. I mean there's been Death Eaters at Hogwarts and all that, and with everything going right to shit quicker than a knife fight in a broom closet - " _[She shakes her head.]_ "And then _you're_ sat here wanting to know what my _cat's reaction_ was - "

Interviewer: _[interrupting]_ "I really don't give a fuck what your cat did."

Rosmerta: _[sniffing]_ "Well there's no need to be _rude_."

 _[Cuts to Hagrid interview.]_

Hagrid: "Er, yes, I didn' see any of the goings-on up a' the castle - a bit otherwise occupied - "

Interviewer: "I heard your hut was on fire."

Hagrid: "Yeah, it was." _[He sighs.]_ "An' then Harry tol' me 'bout Dumbledore bein' - bein' - " _[He cuts off with a loud wail.]_ "About how he's - he's GONE - "

Interviewer: "Er, yes, um - " _[pats Hagrid's shoulder awkwardly]_ "It'll be alright - "

Hagrid: _[openly weeping]_ "He did so much fer me - he even gave me my own hut - "

Interviewer: "It was a very shack-like hut, though, right? He seemed to be very free with shack distribution - "

Hagrid: _[bawling]_ "HE WAS SUCH A GOOD MAN - "

Interviewer: "Oh, yes, certainly - "

Hagrid: " - UNFAILING GENEROSITY - "

Interviewer: "True - "

Hagrid: " - THE PERFECT KARAOKE PARTNER - "

Interviewer: "Okay, _that_ I actually do see."

 _[Cuts to Pansy and Daphne interview.]_

Daphne: "Lupin, Lockhart, and Snape."

Pansy: "Ooh. Fuck Lockhart?"

Daphne: "I don't know. I sort of liked how dirty Lupin always looked."

Pansy: "True - "

Interviewer: _[interrupting]_ "I asked how you were coping with the Headmaster's untimely demise."

Pansy: _[haughtily]_ "Yes, and I feel like this is a pretty telling answer." _[She turns back to Daphne.]_ "Well, marry Snape, maybe?"

Daphne: "Marry Snape over Lupin? But Lupin looked so _sad_ all the time."

Pansy: "How is that - "

Daphne: _[earnestly]_ "Like a sad greyhound, you know? I always wanted to _hug_ him."

Pansy: "You know, I worry that if we ever stop seeing each other you'll just fuck homeless people."

Daphne: _[shrugs]_ "You might have a point."

Interviewer: "Um, guys - "

Pansy: "Ugh, hold on - " _[She turns to the interviewer.]_ "Look, we get it. You want us to talk about Dumbledore dying, but there's not much to say."

Daphne: "Yeah. I mean, was it sad? Yes."

Pansy: "Was it disturbing? A bit."

Daphne: "Do we feel supremely endangered now as students at this school? Incredibly."

Pansy: "Yeah. I've been thinking of getting a pet dementor."

Daphne: "Name it Basil."

Pansy: "Obviously."

Interviewer: "Okay, but surely his death must affect you in _some_ way."

Daphne: "Oh, it does. Objectively, in terms of an overall preference for people not being murdered in the vicinity of where I sleep, it definitely does."

Pansy: " _But_ \- and this is the important question - did he let us win the house cup first year?"

Daphne: "No."

Pansy: " - _no._ "

Daphne: "So really, our hands are tied."

Pansy: "We can only feel so much."

Daphne: "We try."

Pansy: "Not very hard, mind you."

Daphne: " - but we _try_."

Interviewer: "Well, that's . . . honest."

Pansy: "Okay, my turn." _[She thinks.]_ "Karkaroff, Maxime, Dumbledore."

Interviewer: _[emphatically]_ "Whoa, whoa, whoa, _too soon._ "

Pansy: _[sniffing]_ "Ugh, you and your sensibilities."

 _[Cuts to Minerva interview.]_

Minerva: _[sadly]_ "You know, I was hard on him, but I really did love Albus in my way."

Interviewer: "Oh yes, that was - "

Minerva: "I mean, he was terribly irresponsible, but he was also very good at karaoke - "

Interviewer: "You know, I'd heard that."

Minerva: "And he did have a very lively air about him." _[She stands.]_ "Well, I suppose I should start taking care of things now that he's gone. Such a pity, such a pity - "

 _[She leaves. Camera cuts to footage outside the Headmaster's office.]_

Minerva: "Well, I suppose you'll be wanting me to change the password, then?"

Gargoyle: "Nah."

Minerva: "What do you mean 'nah'?"

Gargoyle: "You're only temporary. He didn't name you as his successor."

Minerva: "Are you - " _[She sputters angrily.]_ "Are you fucking _kidding_ me?" _[She kicks the base of the gargoyle.]_ "FUCKING ALBUS!"

* * *

 _ **Free Verse #301**_

Sorry I got most of my murder ideas from you  
The Filch thing  
And the coins  
It's only that I can't help listening when you talk  
And you are always talking  
About things that are very helpful  
For someone planning a murder  
Might want to keep that in mind

 _ **Sonnet #36**_

Many times over a sinner,  
And more times than that, just a fool;  
I thought you would find me a winner,  
It turns out that I'm just a tool.  
I said I'd be better than Weasley,  
Perhaps I was wrong all along.  
Or maybe I gave up too easily?  
No, it's the first thing, I was wrong.  
Someday I'll make up the difference,  
I promise you, someday I will,  
But go on and call me your Icarus,  
You are my sun, and I loathe you still.  
One request, if I can, should you wish not to injure;  
Promise me, please, that you won't fuck a ginger.

 _ **Free Verse #317**_

I found myself in the swell of your lips  
Undone and devolved by the sway of your hips  
In your breathy sweet sigh, when I came on your tits  
Myrtle preferred this not rhyme.

* * *

 **a/n:** I know this was sort of a dark place to end given the holiday but I promise there will be loads of big reveals in tomorrow's chapter (the END) and hopefully you will laugh at them. I love you all, and merry Christmas Eve xx


	59. The Real World: Hogwarts, Ep XXV

**The Real World: Hogwarts  
Episode XXV**

 _Summary_ : The Real World, _**concluded**_. Olivie Advent, day 25. Merry Christmas, happy holidays, besos to all!

* * *

 _[Scene opens with Hermione interview.]_

Hermione: "It's been a tough end of the year. It's been a difficult year overall, really, particularly for me."

Interviewer: "I'm very sorry to hear that."

Hermione: "Oh, it's quite all right." _[She shrugs.]_ "Anyway, it was quite lovely being interviewed by David Attenborough."

David Attenborough: _[astonished]_ "I wasn't aware anyone knew who I was!"

Hermione: "Well, I _did_ grow up a Muggle, you know."

David Attenborough: "Yes, I suppose that's true."

Hermione: "I also happen to have an appreciation for nature documentaries." _[She pauses.]_ "Why on earth are you doing interviews for a wizarding reality show?"

David Attenborough: _[shrugs]_ "Trying to expand my reach."

Hermione: _[nodding]_ "Ah."

David Attenborough: "Important to appeal to a larger demographic, you know. At the risk of someday being replaced by Oprah."

Hermione: _[making a face]_ "Oh, they're so unrefined in the colonies."

David Attenborough: "I'm inclined to agree."

Hermione: _[kindly]_ "I'm sure they wouldn't."

David Attenborough: "Well, who's to say, really."

Hermione: _[shrugging]_ "Well, in any case, it was a pleasure. Sort of."

David Attenborough: "Heavy emphasis on the 'sort of,' I presume."

Hermione: "Yes. Quite."

David Attenborough: "Fair."

 _[Cuts to Great Hall footage.]_

Theo: "Well, here's to a morbid end of another satisfying year at Hogwarts."

 _[He raises a glass. Blaise meets it with his own.]_

Blaise: "The best."

Theo: "I've learned so much."

Blaise: "All the things."

Daphne: "I've learned almost nothing, honestly."

Pansy: "So, the usual."

Daphne: "Yeah, I'm not upset."

Pansy: "I am!"

Theo: "About your education?"

Pansy: "No, fuck that." _[She shrugs.]_ "What upsets me is that we _still_ don't know who Gossip Girl is."

Daphne: "That's true, it _is_ odd."

Blaise: "I really thought she'd be type to reveal herself in some dramatic fashion at the end of the year."

 _[Lavender and Parvati pause, overhearing this as they walk by.]_

Lavender: "Wait, are you guys talking about Gossip Girl?"

Theo: "Yes."

Parvati: "We were starting to think she was a Slytherin."

Pansy: "Nah, I'd have sniffed her out by now if she were."

Daphne: "That's true."

Blaise: " _We_ thought she was a Gryffindor."

Lavender: "No. We're sort of an oblivious bunch, to be honest."

 _[Harry, Hermione, and Ron pause as they walk by.]_

Harry: "Not me. I notice everything."

Hermione: _[placatingly]_ "Oh yes. Of course you do."

Ron: "Is this about Gossip Girl?"

Theo: "Yes."

Ron: "Is she not Pansy?"

Pansy: "No she is _not_ , you twatting - "

Daphne: _[interrupting]_ "We thought it was you, Granger."

Hermione: "Yes. You all made that quite clear."

Pansy: "Only because we hate you."

Hermione: "Thank you for clarifying."

Pansy: "You're welcome."

Theo: "Do you know who it is, Granger?"

Hermione: "No."

Pansy: _[rolling her eyes]_ "Well, if _almighty Granger_ doesn't know the answer - "

Hermione: "Well, if I were to speculate, then it would have to be someone who wasn't ever actually out to destroy us."

Blaise: "So definitely not Pansy, then."

 _[Justin Finch-Fletchley walks by.]_

Justin: "I don't know, _my_ letter was pretty damaging - "

Theo: "Nobody cares."

Justin: "Okay."

 _[He leaves.]_

Ron: "Well, it also has to be someone who was around a lot."

Parvati: "Yes. And if it wasn't anyone from the show - "

Blaise: "Someone who kept popping up all the time, then."

 _[They all slowly turn to the right.]_

Luna: "Oh, hi."

Pansy: _[suspiciously]_ "Lovegood, it was _you_ , wasn't it?"

Luna: "Yes."

Theo: "How did we not just immediately guess that?"

Luna: "You're all fools."

Harry: "Wait, Luna! How come _I_ never got a letter?"

Luna: "Oh, Harry. You're just so . . . "

Harry: "Yes?"

Luna: " _Public_."

Hermione: "That actually makes sense."

Ron: "Yeah. Like if anyone was going to write a book - "

Theo: "They'd pick Potter's perspective."

Blaise: _[muttering]_ "The bastard."

Harry: "I don't know why. I'm just trying to live my life."

Parvati: "Yes. But you make such a mess of it."

Harry: _[nodding]_ "That's fair."

Blaise: "Well, at least now the Gossip Girl thing is over."

Ron: "I feel like I should be mad - "

Luna: "But you're not, because it's me. Right?"

Ron: "Yes. It's very difficult to be mad at you."

Luna: "Why?"

Ron: "Well, mostly because I can't make eye contact for too long. It's very unsettling."

Luna: "Thank you."

Ron: "You're welcome."

Harry: "The Gossip Girl notes also weren't _so_ bad, really - "

 _[Justin comes back.]_

Justin: "Hey, Potter, speak for yours- "

Theo: _[interrupting]_ "Go away."

Justin: "Cool."

 _[He leaves.]_

Daphne: _[thoughtfully]_ "Well, that, _and_ it's also kind of nice that the search for Gossip Girl brought us together for a moment."

Pansy: "Yes. Now leave."

Theo: " _Annnd_ moment over."

Harry: _[to Pansy]_ "You're going to try to fuck me over someday, aren't you?"

Pansy: "Definitely."

Harry: "Cool."

Pansy: "No offense, really. It's only because I hate you."

Harry: _[shrugging]_ "Fair enou- "

Pansy: "I SAID NO OFFENSE!"

 _[Cuts to Luna interview.]_

David Attenborough: "I have to say, I'm surprised to learn it was you who'd been writing those notes."

Luna: "I can be very surprising."

David Attenborough: "Oh, I hadn't doubted that. It's only that I didn't think you would be familiar with Romeo and Juliet - "

Luna: "Oh no, I love them. They're old friends of my father."

David Attenborough: _[confused]_ "Um, okay - or F. Scott Fitzgerald, for that matter - "

Luna: _[dreamily]_ "Easily my favorite of the Scott Fitzgeralds."

David Attenborough: " . . . and Mrs. Robinson, then?"

Luna: "Such a lovely elf. I do so love that she takes such pride in carrying the pudding into the feast."

David Attenborough: _[suspiciously]_ "Miss Lovegood, can we play a game?"

Luna: "Of course."

David Attenborough: "Finish the end of this poem: 'roses are red, violets are blue' - "

Luna: "Nargles have a slightly teal finish."

 _[There is a pause.]_

David Attenborough: "So . . . you're not Gossip Girl."

Luna: "Lol no."

David Attenborough: "Okay then."

[Cuts to scattered footage of Lee and staff.]

Lee: _[talking to someone off screen]_ "Listen, we've been canceled, so we'll have to obliviate the staff." _[He looks around.]_ "Can't seem to find Joanne. Any of you twats seen her?"

 _[Offscreen mumbling.]_

Lee: _[irritably]_ "Joanne - you know, the coffee girl? With the hair? And the - " _[he gestures]_ "The face?"

 _[Offscreen mumbling.]_

Lee: "What do you mean she's run off? Where's she run off to?"

 _[Offscreen mumbling.]_

Lee: "Well, that's a problem." _[He sighs.]_ "You're sure you're thinking of the right one? What's her last name again?"

 _[Offscreen mumbling.]_

Lee: "Rowling?" _[He shrugs.]_ "Fine. Whatever. Surely she's around here somewhere - "

 _[Offscreen mumbling.]_

Lee: "Ah, well." _[He shrugs.]_ "You don't think she'd tell anyone, do you?"

 _[Offscreen mumbling.]_

Lee: "That was my thought. I mean, who the fuck wants to know about these titbungling miscreant wizard kids?" _[He waves a hand carelessly.]_ "Anyway, pack all this shit up. They want us for a bloody dating show."

 _[Offscreen mumbling.]_

Lee: "I don't give a cunting fuck what you think, just wrap it up!"

 _[Offscreen mumbling.]_

Lee: "What's going to happen to the footage? Don't know. Nothing, I'd guess - suppose we should just destroy it - " _[He walks offscreen, muttering.]_ "Never got anything interesting anyway - "

 _[Footage cuts out. Camera jostles unsteadily and then opens to Severus sitting at Albus' desk.]_

Severus: "It was me. I killed Dumbledore."

 _[He pauses.]_

Severus: "I am also the Half-Blood Prince, should anyone be wondering that."

 _[He pauses again.]_

Severus: "Oh yes. And I'm Gossip Girl."

 _[The camera shifts sharply to the right.]_

Luna: "Promise we'll burn the place down?"

Severus: "Promise."

Luna: _[whispering]_ "XOXO."

 _[Footage runs out.]_

* * *

 **a/n:** David Attenborough is the narrator of _Planet Earth_ , among other things. Oprah voiced his narration in the American version of _Life_ , to general disappointment.

A final (for now) reminder that _**Alpha**_ is available on Amazon! Please do us the favor of helping to introduce it to anyone else who might have an interest in graphic novels, science fiction, fantasy, ridiculously good art, potentially interesting stories, etc. The art is truly breathtaking - Little Chmura has a Gift - and I would love to see her receive the recognition she deserves.


	60. Correspondence

**Correspondence**

 _Pairing:_ Dramione (Draco x Hermione)

 _Universe:_ Post-Hogwarts, EWE

 _Rating:_ T, some language, implied sex

 _Summary:_ This is my very fluffy D/Hr Advent 2016 one shot. It was posted in AO3, so I'm putting it here for those of you who follow me on FFN. Thank you to everyone for the nomination! The prompt for this was _**Christmas cards** : _Every year, Draco insists that Hermione take a picture for their Christmas card. Why? Hell if she knows, but if it will make him happy, so be it.

* * *

 _ **December 1st, 2000**_

"A picture," Hermione repeated, confused. "You want me to take a picture?"

"Yes," Draco confirmed briskly. "With me."

"With you?" she echoed.

"Brightest witch of your age," he sighed, raking a hand through his hair. "Yes. I want you to take a picture _with me_ ," he repeated.

She frowned. "Why would I - "

"Look, Granger," Draco interrupted, taking her hands. "You've met my mother."

"Yes," she replied uncertainly, "but I don't see why I should - "

"So you know, then," Draco continued, "that if you're going to be in a relationship with me, you will sometimes have to do foolish and antiquated things, simply because they strike Narcissa Malfoy's fancy."

"And she wants a _picture_?" Hermione pressed, giving him a skeptical once-over.

"It's a picture for a Christmas card," Draco clarified curtly. "It's the card she wants."

"Oh," Hermione said, surprised. "I thought only Mug- " she broke off. "Nevermind," she muttered quietly, shifting her stance.

"Granger," Draco sighed, smoothing his hands over her shoulders, "I told you. It's - " he stopped, hesitating. "You don't need to worry about saying things like that anymore," he murmured, swallowing uncomfortably.

She managed a small smile, nodding her understanding. "I just - didn't realize wizards sent Christmas cards," she ventured.

He brushed a thumb over her lip, tilting her chin up. "They do," he said. "Or at least," he amended, straightening, "the _Malfoys_ do, so now you will." He stepped back, picking up the camera. "Ready?"

"What, here?" she asked, looking around. "Now?"

"Yes," he said briskly.

"But - " she looked down. "How do I look?"

He took a step towards her, smiling.

"Beautiful," he told her, and the moment she smiled, the camera flashed.

"You look wonderful," it squeaked.

 **o0o0o0o**

 _ **December 1st, 2001**_

"You know, I'm glad you suggested we walk there," Draco remarked, patting her hand where it rested in the crook of his arm. "How are your feet?" he asked, glancing down at her shoes.

"I'm a witch, Draco," Hermione reminded him, rolling her eyes. "I used a cushioning charm. And snow repellent," she added, picking one foot up to show him; he watched as the thin layer of sleet on the ground melted off, keeping her feet intact.

"That's my girl," he said, kissing her cheek. "You look amazing."

"You don't look too bad yourself," she commented. "Which I love," she added, "as I'm not above showing you off."

"This isn't about Weasley and Brown, is it?" he asked, and she made a face.

"Let's just say I enjoy it when Lavender looks at you a little too long," she said, and he shook his head, emitting a feigned sigh of a laugh. "I'm not entirely without flaws," she insisted defensively, giving him a little shove.

"Your flaws are so quaint, they're very nearly flattering," he told her, and she laughed.

"Thanks for coming to this," she said. "I think Harry will be happy to see you."

"I'm not entirely dreading the experience," Draco replied carefully. "Though if you think I'll admit that - "

"Believe me, I don't," she assured him, shaking her head. "One of these days you two will finally break down and admit that you like each other, though."

"Don't count on it," Draco grumbled. "Seeing him at work is more than enough."

"And your weekend quidditch league?" she prompted, flashing him a knowing smile.

"Also more than enough," Draco confirmed, not meeting her eye.

"Ah," Hermione remarked sagely, and then Draco stopped, pulling her against him. "What?"

"I like this spot," he said, gesturing. "The trees. This," he said, pointing, "right here."

"You're not going to try for another picture, are you?" Hermione said exasperatedly, as he maneuvered her into place. "Is this about the Christmas card thing again?"

"Did you think it was a one time event?" Draco asked snottily, reaching into his pocket. "Christmas has a nasty habit of repeating itself, you know - hold on," he said, casting a _Leviosa_ to set the camera, and then slipping an arm around her wait. "There. Pretend you like me, Granger," he instructed, and she smiled.

"Oh, put me to work, why don't you," she joked, and as she laughed, the camera flashed.

"Stunning!" it purred, and Draco tucked it back in his pocket, throwing an arm around her shoulders and turning her back towards the road.

"You brought the bottle of wine, right?" Hermione asked, and Draco nodded, gesturing to his pocket.

"Got it," he said, and she made a face.

"Are you using an extension charm?" she demanded. "Draco, those are illegal, and you _work for the Ministry_ \- "

"Oh?" he echoed. "So I suppose you, deputy head of contracts for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, don't currently have a deceptively tiny purse that - "

"Yes, well, nevermind," she cut in quickly, her cheeks flushing a delightfully vibrant shade of pink. "As I was saying - "

"Sure you were," Draco permitted with a smirk. " _Do_ go on."

"I'm excited to see them," she said brightly. "Things are so much easier now that you're all friends."

"Weasley is not my _friend_ , Granger, how dare you," Draco sniffed haughtily. "Nor is any other member of your Gryffindor loon brigade."

She sighed. "You'll be good, won't you?"

"Granger, I'm always good," he said as he pulled her closer, letting his hand slip. "I have impeccable manners," he added, gripping possessively at her hips.

"This is going to be fun," she murmured, leaning into him.

"Ten galleons to let Weasley catch me with my hand up your skirt," he offered, and she reached out, smacking his chest. "Hey! _Fine_ ," he conceded, pouting. "I won't, then," he said, but she, to his surprise, was smiling.

"Make it fifteen," she countered breathlessly, turning to face him, "if he catches my hand down your pants."

"Deal," Draco said with a grin, sealing it with a kiss.

 **o0o0o0o**

 _ **December 1st, 2002**_

"Pansy?" Hermione said, accepting the mug of tea and settling herself on their sofa. "Really?"

"You know, oddly, I really think it'll work," Draco said with a shrug, sitting down beside her. "Plus, he's been a shit keeper since he and Lavender split up - "

"Is this really about quidditch?" Hermione asked skeptically. "Or do you just want him to be happy?"

"You know, one of these days you'll tire of your baseless accusations," Draco said, shaking his head. "My obligation towards the emotional well-being of your idiot friends begins and ends with whether I win at amateur quidditch games on the weekends, and I could not be more clear about that."

"Mm, _sure_ ," Hermione permitted airily, taking a sip. "Is Theo coming to Harry and Ginny's this year?"

"Yes," Draco said. "As promised." He glanced at her, hiding a smile. "Should I be nervous that this is the third time you've asked?"

"No!" Hermione exclaimed, reddening. "It's just - "

"You know, if you're wondering if he's bringing Daphne, you can just ask," Draco said. "I know you've got a little girl crush on her."

"She's just so _pretty_ , " Hermione groaned, "and smart, and classy. I want to learn from her," she said with a sigh. "I want to bottle her up and put on her essence and _be_ like her."

"You're so funny about making friends with women," Draco chuckled. "You could learn those things from my mother, too, you know." He leaned over, kissing her forehead. "But I'd rather you just be you."

"Your mother is oddly terrifying," Hermione reminded him. "Daphne does normal things with me, you know? Like brunch," she added, tossing in a contented sigh. "Did you know how wonderful brunch is?"

"This friendship of yours is adorable," Draco said fondly. "You _do_ know that she's just as fucked up as Theo, right?"

"That's the best part," Hermione declared decisively, taking a sip of her tea; Earl Grey with lemon, just how she liked it.

"Well, if Pansy works out with Weasley, then we'll have succeeded in blending all of our friends," Draco said, "and then they'll ruin each other, and we won't have to see them ever again." He sipped his coffee. "The dream," he sighed.

"You know, you play coy, but you love it," Hermione said, nudging him with her bare foot. "Don't pretend you don't send Harry silly owls during the day, or that you don't want to help Ron _find love_ \- "

"Granger," Draco erupted firmly, "I cannot hear you over the volume of your utter _ludicrousness_. " She smiled, making a face, and he reached over, affectionately sliding a curl behind her ear. "Anyway," he said tangentially, "we should probably do a picture for the Christmas card now, since we're just sitting around."

"Ugh," Hermione said, letting her head fall back against the arm of the couch. "But there are boxes everywhere!"

"Yes," Draco agreed, "and would you rather simply take a picture, or continue unpacking the boxes?"

"Fine," she muttered, frowning into her mug. "Picture, then."

"Thought so," he said, leaping up to scoop the camera from the top of of a partially opened box.

"Are you sure this is where you want to take the picture?" Hermione asked dubiously, looking around at the room. "This place is an absolute _mess_. "

"Well, that's to be expected when we've just moved in," Draco determined. "Gives the picture character, don't you think?" he added, pulling her up from the sofa to give her a hug. "We've moved in together. It's a big deal. Some might say," he added hastily, adjusting the camera so that it faced them.

She smiled. "Some might say that," she agreed. "Though it's funny that _you_ , who supposedly hates everyone, would care so much what they think of our Christmas card," she commented offhandedly. "Is it really that important?"

"Honestly, Granger, isn't your brilliant mind tired of having this conversation?" he said, tapping her nose. "Smile, won't you? Pretend to like me."

"Fine," she sighed, but at his bristled look of indignation, an unwilling laugh slipped out.

"Perfect!" the camera announced with a flash.

"You heard the thing," Draco said, leaning down to kiss her. "Perfect," he murmured against her lips.

 **o0o0o0o**

 _ **December 1st, 2003**_

"Setting up Ron and Pansy was a mistake," Draco announced, striding into the kitchen. "I did not realize that _I_ would then be burdened with Weasley family events."

"Nor did I," Hermione said, greeting him with a kiss on his cheek. "But Molly has better leftovers than we do," she said, leaning on tiptoe to press a canapé to his lips. "Hungry?"

"Merlin's balls, Granger," he muttered, a laugh escaping as she pushed it into his mouth. "You're absolutely militant when you want someone to eat with you."

She grinned, and he took a seat at one of the kitchen chairs, settling her in his lap. "Are you enjoying yourself, at least?" she asked, leaning back against his chest.

"Well, as much as I thoroughly despise everyone here, I've been to worse holiday parties," he permitted grandly. "I, at least, did not have to wear dress robes, unlike every party my mother has ever thrown."

"How was your quidditch game?" she asked, licking a stray crumb from her finger. "Did you win?"

"Granger, what a question," Draco said, shaking his head. "Of course I did. I had the best team."

"Theo?" she asked, and he made a face.

"Fuck no," he said vehemently. "I gave him to Harry. I took Lady Potter," he said, looking pleased with himself. "Her loyalties are so easily bought."

"With what?" Hermione laughed, swatting at his shoulder. "You _paid_ Ginny to be on your team?"

"With gloating rights," Draco said, preening in satisfaction. "I'm a Slytherin. I have sufficient cunning to know she's going to find far more pleasure in besting both her brother _and_ her husband than she would any other form of currency."

"Oh, aren't you crafty," Hermione said, smiling. "Sorry I missed it," she added. "Daph and I were in here with Molly cleaning up."

"Best that you did," Draco remarked. "Pansy was in rare heckling form."

"Was she?" Hermione sighed, shaking her head. "She never says much when I'm watching."

"Oh - _that_ , my foolish little minx, is deeply intentional," Draco assured her. "She knows better than to cross you."

"What!" Hermione exclaimed, twisting to face him. "But I'm such a delight!"

"Yes, you are," he agreed. "But you wouldn't hesitate to hex her right between the eyes if she made even the smallest misstep. In fact," he added, "I heard a rumor that you already did. Something about 'if she ever hurts Weasley - '"

"Oh," Hermione muttered sheepishly. "Yes, I, um - may have said something."

"Might have," he said with a chuckle, tightening his arms around her. "Love that about you," he added, murmuring in her ear. "In case that was unclear."

Hermione smiled, looking out to catch the sun setting over the Burrow. "Want to head back outside?" she asked, gesturing. "Could get a nice picture out there," she added meaningfully, and Draco's smirk broadened warmly to a smile.

"The Christmas cards are growing on you, aren't they?" he asked, nudging her to her feet. "I knew it."

"Yes," she sighed, "it seems that everything about you eventually invades me. Like a fungus," she clarified brightly.

"Careful," Draco warned, "or I'll invade you in that broom closet."

"Hope that's a promise," she purred, and then she reached for his hand, pulling him outside.

"So picturesque," the camera wailed ecstatically, as a flash captured them under the golden sheen of sunset.

 **o0o0o0o**

 _ **December 1st, 2004**_

"Draco," Hermione sighed, brushing her hair out of her eyes, "I know I said today, but I'm just _exhausted_ \- "

"Granger," he said, setting the paper bag on her desk, "you have to eat, you know."

"I know," she sighed, "but I just have so much to do, there's - there's just so much to learn," she said frantically, "I thought this would be an easy transition but the Wizengamot is still so fractured, and it's _impossible_ to get a majority aligned unless I meet with them all individually - and they have the most unrealistic expectations - "

"Ah, politics," Draco said, easing her into her chair and stepping behind her, rubbing her shoulders. "You knew it would be like this when you were selected," he reminded her. "You've got a lot to prove, I know, but that doesn't mean you can't have lunch."

She sighed, leaning into his touch. "I'm sorry," she whispered, turning her head to kiss his hand. "I know you must feel horribly neglected - "

"If you've got ten minutes, we can fix that," he said with a grin, and at her look of utter exhaustion, he laughed.

"No, no, I'm joking," he assured her, looking at the parchment in front of her. "Is this the list of support you need from the Wizengamot for the Creatures amendment?"

"Yes," she confirmed with a groan, and he picked it up, studying the names.

"How about," he suggested softly, "I speak to a few of these people? I know some of them," he added, pointing to their names. "Friends of the family."

"You always say that like you're in the mafia," Hermione grumbled, and at his vacant glance, she shook her head. "Nevermind," she assured him. "But no, you don't have to - "

"I'd like to," he cut in, still glancing over the parchment. "You don't like politics, Granger, but I do." He set it down, turning her chair to lean over her. "Let me help you," he said softly. "I'm on your team."

She hesitated for a moment - she was, after all, so accustomed to independence - but then smiled, pulling his face to hers. "Love you," she whispered, brushing her lips against his. "Maybe I'll take that ten minute offer after all."

"Nine," Draco corrected briskly, opening his briefcase and pulling out the camera. "Picture first."

"Draco," she groaned, slumping in her chair. "Here?"

"Yes," he said. "Here, in your office, where everyone can see all the plaques with your name and title and your fancy leather books. And then," he added, adjusting the camera and pulling her up by the waist to stand beside her, "I'll fuck you on your desk," he whispered, and she laughed, just as the camera flashed.

"Such poise!" the camera declared, "so refined!"

"This thing," Hermione sighed, shaking her head. "It has absolutely no idea what it's talking about."

"Mm," Draco agreed vacantly, leaning her back and unbuttoning her sensible white oxford. "Should I turn it around?" he asked, kissing her neck and slipping his hands under her skirt.

"Nah," she said, as she wrapped her legs around his hips. "Let's see if it gets anything good."

 **o0o0o0o**

 _ **December 1st, 2005**_

"Sorry," Draco murmured in her ear after they'd escaped the crowd. "Mother wouldn't let me do it without having some kind of idiotic soirée afterwards." He kissed her cheek, holding unusually tight to her waist. "I really hope you're not upset."

"I'm not, really," she assured him. "This is lovely," she added sincerely, taking in the twinkling stars that blinked idyllically from the enchanted ceiling. "I love it," she declared, looking breathless.

"And you," she clarified with a smile.

"Good," he sighed, looking helplessly relieved. "I asked Harry about the whole ceiling bit and he thought it was brilliant - but then, of course," Draco muttered, "I had to second guess myself when I remembered that he has the most fucking _dreadful_ taste - "

"You asked Harry?" Hermione echoed in surprise, placing her arms around his neck. "He knew?"

"Well, yes," Draco confessed sheepishly. "He was also in charge of getting everyone out of here in the event you said no," he added, glancing down.

"Oh, Draco Malfoy, you absolute buffoon," Hermione whispered, placing her hands on either side of his face and forcing him to look at her. "There's no way I was saying no."

He pulled her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles. "Well," he said, "there was always the chance that you might have taken this as an opportunity to realize what a horrible mistake you made with me."

She grinned. "Never," she whispered. "I promise, I'll be blissfully ignorant forever."

"You'll be blissful, at least," he said. "I'll make sure of it."

She smiled. "Better take a picture," she suggested. "Before the makeup and hair potion gets ruined," she explained, gesturing.

"Ruined?" he echoed, opening the drawer with the camera and setting it up. "Doing what?"

She held out a hand for him, and he rejoined her. "You," she said wickedly, and at his smile of surprise, the camera flashed.

"¡Magnifico!" it trilled.

"Is it speaking Spanish?" Hermione asked, frowning, but by then Draco had picked her up and she, laughing, allowed him carry her into their bedroom, pressing her lips to his jaw.

 **o0o0o0o**

 _ **December 1st, 2006**_

"You know," Hermione said slowly, "I spoke to your mother this morning, and she said something very interesting."

"Mother is an interesting lady," Draco murmured in agreement, sitting down beside her at their dining table. "Are we sure this is where we want to put people?" he asked, eyeing the seating chart. "Do we even really _need_ to invite Krum to the wedding?"

"Yes," Hermione said firmly, running the tip of her quill across her lip. "Draco, are you listening?"

"Yes, my dove," he said instantly, but at her silence, he looked up. "Sorry," he said guiltily. " _Now_ I'm listening."

"So," Hermione said, patting his hand, "I was telling your mother today about how happy I am with the direction you've chosen with regard to your family's business ventures - "

"Are you?" Draco asked. "I suppose I've been meaning to ask. I know the last six months were strange, what with me leaving the Ministry to take over my father's role - "

"No, no, you did the right thing," she assured him. "I love the philanthropy you've added to the company's portfolio - and anyway," she said quickly, shaking her head, "that's not what I wanted to bring up - "

"As long as you're happy - "

"I am," she said, giving his forearm a squeeze. "Truly. I mean it. This is the right place for you," she said, smiling affectionately at him, and he, warmed by her reassurance, was relieved. "But anyway," she continued. "I was telling Narcissa about how you're so diligent about the Christmas cards - "

"Oh, right, camera," he determined, rising to his feet to fetch it. "Keep going," he called over his shoulder.

" - and she, _interestingly_ , informed me that she has never asked you to make a Christmas card," Hermione concluded.

"So?" Draco asked, flicking his wand to levitate the camera.

" _So_ ," Hermione said emphatically, "you told me that we had to do them for _her_. "

"Did I?" Draco remarked absently. "Well, Granger, perhaps I'm just vain and wish all of our friends to envy us," he determined, throwing an arm around her. "Pretend to like me, would you?"

"Everyone knows we're engaged," she reminded him, rolling her eyes. "Can't we just skip this year?"

"Granger," he said, turning to face her, "and skip a year of reminding people how much better my life is than theirs?"

She laughed; "¡Que linda!" the camera crooned, flashing brightly.

"Ack," Draco said, making a face. "I suppose I'll have to fix that."

 **o0o0o0o**

 _ **December 1st, 2007**_

"You know, now that our friends have such cute babies, it's kind of nice getting Christmas cards from them," Hermione said fondly. "Theo and Daphne's twins are ridiculously photogenic."

Draco looked up, holding his breath.

"James is cute, too," she sighed. "An absolute menace, but cute."

Draco waited.

"Pansy mentioned the other day that she and Ron were thinking about trying," she added offhandedly. "Hard to imagine what their offspring would be like," she joked, sifting dreamily through the mail. "Best case, Pansy's hair and Ron's personality. Worst case, the opposite."

Draco swallowed.

"I don't know if it's even possible to end up with a kid that's cuter than Alessia," Hermione continued, chattering to herself. "She's so sweet, and she looks _just_ like Daphne - "

"Granger," Draco erupted suddenly, upending everything on the table as he stood. "Granger, stop."

"What?" Hermione asked, eyes wide as she faced him. "What are you - "

"Let's make a baby," he interrupted breathlessly, " _please._ "

She gaped at him.

"I don't care whose hair it has," he said quickly, then paused. "Mine would be preferable," he admitted, "but if it had yours, I would love it. I would fucking _love_ it."

"Draco," she began, and he cut her off.

"Even if it had my horrible, unbearable, _truly_ abhorrent personality, I would still love it, Granger, because it would be _ours_ , " he said. "And I swear, it can even be a Gryffindor - it can even be a fucking _Hufflepuff_ \- "

"Draco," she said, and he realized she was crying. "Yes."

"Yes?" he asked, shoving the chair aside and running to her. "Yes? Really? You want to?"

"Yes, _yes_ , I want to," she exclaimed, laughing through her tears, and he ran to her, picking her up and spinning her until they had both collapsed, panting, onto the kitchen floor.

They stayed that way for several minutes, her head against his chest.

"I know it's Christmas card picture day," she murmured to him eventually, "but let's just use one of the wedding pictures, okay?"

"Yeah?" he asked, smoothing a hand over her hair. "Do you have other plans?"

"Yes," she said, twisting around to look at him. "Let's start today," she added with a grin, and he, euphoric, pressed a grateful kiss to the center of her lovely forehead.

"Que bueno," he murmured, and she rolled him over, pulling his shirt over his head.

 **o0o0o0o**

 _ **December 1st, 2008**_

"Just in time for the Christmas card," Hermione whispered, sitting up and reaching for her son. "Are you sure you want to name him Scorpius?" she asked, making a face. "I mean, I get the significance and everything - "

"If you really hate it, we can name him something else," Draco assured her, settling the newborn in her arms. "But personally, I've always liked the constellation thing."

"No, I like it too," she said, distracted as the baby cooed softly in his sleep. "I suppose Scorpius is a strong name," she conceded after a moment, looking up with a smile. "Powerful, like his father's."

"Granger, you told me from the start that my name was ridiculous," Draco reminded her, scoffing, and she smiled.

"Well, I wouldn't have it any other way," she decided, then tilted her head thoughtfully. "Though that might just be hormones and exhaustion talking."

"Might be," he agreed, but smiled, relieved that she was on board. "Scorpius, then?" he asked, flicking his wand to move the camera slightly to the right before settling himself beside his wife and son. "You're sure?"

"Yeah, sure," she said, shrugging. "Fuck it, let's name him Scorpius."

"Granger!" Draco exclaimed. "Language!"

She laughed - a stifled, joyous laugh that she fought, so as not to wake the baby - and the camera flashed.

"Magnifique!" the camera sang.

"Oh, fuck me," Draco sighed.

"Language," Hermione murmured, and he turned, cradling her and Scorpius in his arms.

 **o0o0o0o**

 _ **December 1st, 2009**_

"Draco," Hermione called as she sifted through the mail, "Narcissa is watching Scorpius, so I thought we could - "

She stopped, catching sight of oddly familiar handwritten script on an envelope marked with Muggle postage. She paused for a moment, breathless, before quickly tearing it open, her hands shaking as she read the note.

 _Dear Hermione and Draco,_

 _This must seem very odd to you - it certainly does to us - but after nearly ten years of receiving your Christmas cards by mistake, we felt we owed it to you to return the favor. No idea who you were trying to reach, of course, but after this long, we feel as if we know you! Frankly, we might have better correspondence with you than most of our other friends - well, we do now, at least, since we're finally writing back._

 _This image on the front is of us in Melbourne; you probably don't care, of course, but at least now the contact is mutual. Thank you so much for sharing your lives with us, however unintentional it was - it was a joy to see your many accomplishments and life changes (though what is a Wizengamot? Is that a branch of Parliament? Also, how do you get the pictures to move like that? Do you order through a website?) and congratulations on your son; he is absolutely beautiful, and - just like the two of you - perfect in every way._

 _Needless to say, we look forward to your card this year._

 _Sincerely,_  
 _Monica and Wendell Wilkins_

By the time she reached the end of the letter, she was sobbing; the door behind her fell shut and then Draco's arms were around her, holding her against his chest.

"Why," she gasped, when she could manage a breath, "why didn't you just tell me _this_ is what the cards were for - "

"I didn't know if they would write back," Draco murmured in her ear. "I didn't even know if they were receiving them, but I had to keep trying - I wanted them to be part of your life somehow, even if they didn't remember - "

Hermione cut him off, turning in his arms to press her lips to his.

"Thank you," she said, wiping at her eyes. "Thank you, Draco - "

He kissed her again, fully this time, spelling the many ways he loved her into the pressure of his lips against hers.

"God," she said tearily, rubbing furiously at her cheeks. "And to think that all these years I've given you such a hard time about them."

"Yes, well, Granger," he said airily, "perhaps it's best you finally learn to accept my excellent judgment unconditionally and without question, then."

"Alternate offer," she ventured hesitantly, and he raised an eyebrow, inviting it. "Blow job," she suggested.

"Done," he said instantly, scooping her up in his arms and grinning mercilessly. "Magnifico."

* * *

 **a/n:** Thanks to Sally and UnicornShenans for their alpha eyes on this, and to aurorarsinistra for the PERFECT aesthetic she made for it during her Aesthetic Advent. Find it (and all her pretty things) on Tumblr!

Update info for _Amortentia_ : Next week I will post two incredibly smutty rare pair one shots and the dark Harmony I've been hinting at, so this collection is less on hiatus than one might think. My other works will each receive one update over the next two weeks (except for _Nobility,_ which will get two, one coming shortly) because I am going to focus on finishing up a novel manuscript the first week of January. Thanks for your patience, thanks always for reading, and here's to a happy 2017!


	61. Movements

**Movements**

 _Pairing:_ Black Pansy (Sirius Black x Pansy Parkinson)

 _Universe:_ Post-War, Sirius Lives AU

 _Rating:_ M for language, sex

 _Summary_ : A response to thewaterfalcon's prompt for the Quills and Parchment 'Under the Mistletoe' collection on AO3: _He's leather, she's lace. He's young at heart, and she's all grown up. A room at the Leaky, a full bottle of Ogden's Finest Firewhisky, and the promise of a Christmas Eve neither will forget..._

This is the least plot I've ever written in a one shot. Happy 2017!

* * *

 _ **Scene I: Prelude**_

"You're too young for me," he says, though the way his tongue drags across his lip as he mentally undresses her says otherwise.

"Then you're too _nice_ for me," she sniffs, grabbing her drink and walking away.

He reaches out then, gripping her wrist, and she turns in time to see him look down at his own hand, eyeing it like it has acted - _highly irresponsibly_ \- of its own accord.

"Well," she murmurs, fighting a smile. "Isn't that interesting?"

 **o0o0o0o**

 _ **Scene II: Accelerando**_

"This dress is _French lace,_ " she hisses, biting down on his lip as he throws her onto the cold porcelain edge of the sink. "Be a little more fucking - "

He snarls as she pulls away, choking on the effort of ' _I don't give a shit'_ as her quick fingers flutter to the button of his trousers.

" - _careful,_ " she finishes, freeing his cock and taking it in her hand. "Unless you plan on buying me a new one."

"I don't," he growls, shoving her legs apart to force himself between them, not wanting to be gentle; wanting to be _just rough enough_ to turn the self-indulgent whine between her fucking princess lips to something more manageable - something more brittle - something more _wild._

A gasp floats to a moan as she lets her head fall back; he brushes his lips against the ivory arch of her throat and then looks up, watching her. Her eyes are closed, her fingers pressing down on his hips, and in a moment of wanting to own her he bites down, _hard,_ sinking his teeth into her and then taking a long, gratifying suck, revelling a little in the thought of marring the flawless, privileged sheen of her.

"You'll leave a mark," she groans, taking hold of his hair and pulling it.

"That's the idea," he rasps, smiling a little. He runs a finger over it, the red mark that will bloom in a matter of minutes, and thinks about her finding it in the morning; thinks about her living her life - making coffee, eating breakfast, maybe going home to someone else for all he knows, though the fuck he gives is minimal - with the shadow of his imprint there to haunt her. He decides he finds this - the concept of her being burdened by her thoughts of him - to be strangely alluring, and so he bends his head to the curve of her breast, leaving a little more of tonight for her to come upon tomorrow.

She smirks; as though she _knows_ , she knows what he is doing, and she is generous, charitable, fucking _benevolent,_ as she sits back and lets him do it. "Don't you dare come on my dress," she warns, punctuating the threat with a languid stroke along the length of his cock.

 _Fuck,_ he thinks. _She's trouble._

 **o0o0o0o**

 _ **Scene III: Meno Mosso**_

"I have a bottle of Ogden's in my room," she murmurs, and he glances up, surprised; maybe he thinks she's the kind of girl he can fuck once on the bathroom sink.

He's wrong.

"I'm not done with you," she clarifies, leaning forward to snatch a breathless kiss from his still-parted lips. "I want to see if the extra ten years you've got on me did you any good in the bedroom."

"Ten?" he croaks, and shakes his head. "Twenty, at least."

"Tell it to my cunt," she whispers, and he shakes his head.

"Kids these days," he mutters, sweeping an arm around her to lift her to her feet. She leans forward - "Room 305," she says, pausing to suck a little on his ear lobe because fucking _why not_ \- and then shoves him brusquely out of the way, forcing herself back into the noise and the heat of the Leaky Cauldron to saunter slowly up the stairs, slipping her key into the lock and tossing her purse - _expensive_ , she knows, _but who cares_ \- down on the chair beside the fireplace.

She throws herself onto the bed next, trying not to watch the door. If he had any fucking sense he'd take his time, anyway, and she wants him to, in a way; she wants him _here,_ obviously, she wants to watch the flicker of surprise show up again in his grey eyes and she wants to put it there; _and_ , of course, she wants him - _bad_ \- but she doesn't want it to be _too_ easy. She stands after a moment, transfiguring two glasses, but pours only one.

 _One,_ she insists quietly to herself. Just in case he didn't -

A knock at the door. She smiles. _He did._

"Come in," she says, flicking her wand to undo the latch. She makes a point not to watch as he slips inside, ducking his head as he enters, but _does_ decide to turn to catch him pausing at the door, his back pressing against it after it closes.

"This is a bad idea," he mutters, shaking his head; but now, like before, he's eyeing her, his eyes and his mouth in total disagreement as he stares.

She smirks. She knows she has this effect.

"Cheers to that," she agrees, levitating the glass and nudging it towards him. "Drink," she suggests. "It'll make it seem better."

"You're awfully cavalier about this," he comments, bringing the glass to his lips. _His lips,_ she thinks, watching them. There's a dark scruff that frames them, the barest scrape of facial hair, and it's not like Draco's, which over time has felt very _for show._ This is different; it's careless and brooding and _adult_ , and his lips are still full from kissing her, from being held hungrily between her teeth. He takes a sip, shutting his eyes for a moment, and then looks up at her, waiting.

"Finish the glass," she demands, a little snottily, and he flashes her the briefest half smile.

"Why?" he asks. "Don't you want me in control of my faculties?"

"If you can't handle the _glass_ ," she says impatiently, gesturing to it, "you're not at all the type of man I thought you were."

"The type of man who would come on your dress, you mean?" he prompts, knocking back a gulp of firewhisky and then shaking it off - _a little like a dog,_ she thinks, and then abandons the thought as he steps towards her, daring her with the slightest lift of his brow.

"You seem like the kind of man who knows his way around lace," she tells him carefully, which, in her view, is a compliment. He seems to know this, which she appreciates. " _That_ was just pre-emptive strike."

"What else do I seem like?" he challenges her, and feeling a game afoot, she takes a long, indulgent sip of her firewhisky, settling into her move.

"You think I'm too young," she says, "which means you have a conscience. And it upsets you," she adds carefully, offering him a smile, "because you _also_ want to know how your cock feels in my mouth."

He swallows. She glorifies in his discomfort.

"Which is convenient," she assures him, picking up the bottle of Ogden's and walking towards him, "as I find myself with certain corresponding curiosities."

She fills his drink and undoes his trousers in nearly the same movement but she takes her time sinking to her knees, making certain his eyes are following the swell of her breasts as they press against his chest on the way down to his cock.

"Hm," she says, taking a lick. He's already hard - or _still_ hard - and whatever the case is, she likes it. She licks again, letting her tongue linger around the head of his cock, and _fuck,_ he's coming undone, and she fucking loves it.

"Tastes like" - a long lick up his shaft, and then she takes him in her mouth - " _mm._ "

"What," he pants, barely managing the word. "What does it - "

"Like _experience_ ," she informs him primly, "and a sleepless night."

"Fuck," he remarks, and she silently agrees.

 **o0o0o0o**

 _ **Scene IV: Allegretto**_

He looks down and immediately regrets it. She's just fucking _asking_ for him to come on her tits. Dress be damned.

He yanks her up and turns her, his fingers shaking a little as he undoes the zipper. _Lace,_ he thinks, and wishes he could rip it, wonders if she's -

 _She is,_ he sighs internally, glimpsing the thin lace of her obviously expensive lingerie; he thinks about ripping that, too, but she takes advantage of his pause, shimmying out of the dress and letting it fall to the floor.

He looks. He fucking takes a good, _long_ look.

 _She knows,_ he thinks, watching her watch him; she _fucking_ _knows_ how good she looks, and the same piece of him that wants to rip the lace she's draped in roars in his head, demanding that he take her down a goddamn peg. What he wants, for a moment - just a _moment_ \- is for her to say she's sorry, in some horrible, twisted way; to apologize, to assure him that she knows he's a good man that's just trying to get by, but then she's done this _-_ _exist_ , that is, exuding this awful tease of perfection that's as if she's been drawn from his own mental pornography, all pureblood privilege wrapped up in things he can _tear apart_ \- and he wants her to be as uncertain as he is, if only for a moment.

But he also wants her to scream his name; so, priorities.

"Get on the bed," he growls, and she sniffs her opposition - as he knew she would - wanting, in her privileged, princess way, to be convinced.

"I don't think," she begins, but she has no option but to stop talking as he kisses her again, stealing the words right off her tongue as he backs her against the bed, collapsing on top of her and then slipping an arm under to lift her - _toss_ her, really - back onto the bed.

"These," he mutters, gesturing to the bra and underwear she's got on. "Can I come on them?"

"No," she says.

"Fine," he decides, unfazed. "But _you_ will."

He parts her legs, pausing to bite down on her thigh - _for tomorrow,_ he thinks, and then, wanting to be thorough, he bites again, _for the next day -_ and lets his tongue drag against the impossibly thin material. She whimpers, so he sucks her clit through the fabric, letting the added friction do its job.

"Oh," she gasps, but this is not what he wants to hear from her; he slips a finger inside her, and then another, and his mouth goes to work on her clit as his fingers hit _that spot_ and she's arching her hips up and it's fucking _blissful torture_ for her now, and he knows this, because yes, he's got twenty years of doing this under his belt.

More than that, probably. He's been doing this longer than she's even been alive, he thinks, and shoves it aside.

 _This_ one will be particularly enjoyable, he knows.

She comes with a strangled yell and he strokes her clit with his thumb, coaxing her through it.

"Oh?" he asks, peeling her bra away to scrape his teeth against her nipple.

"Fuck," she breathes, and he agrees.

 _ **o0o0o0o**_

 _ **Scene V: Agitato**_

He pulls her up and tears the bra and panties away from her; _they might be ripped_ , she thinks, and privately she feels victorious, as though in ruining them she's ruined a bit of herself. But in a good way.

She thinks he might understand what that feels like, and resolves never to ask.

She peels the leather jacket from him - _she's fucking naked,_ how does he still have a _jacket_ on? - and throws it on the ground, still smelling it on him. _Hot,_ she thinks, and wonders if she has daddy problems, and decides she doesn't care, pulling down his trousers and his trunks and then feeling halfway to orgasm just looking at him.

Tattoos. _Prison_ tattoos.

But also, muscles. _Yes._

"Yes," she murmurs, spreading her fingers out over his chest, and he grabs her hips - _he's grabby_ , she thinks, and loves it - and maneuvers her against the vanity. She thinks he will set her on top of it - _fine,_ she concedes internally, _if a little lacking in creativity -_ but she is wrong, and she is thrilled, as he turns her to face the mirror.

"Look," he says gruffly, his hands on her breasts and kneading her nipples between his fingers. " _Watch,_ " he clarifies, and _fuck,_ she thinks, as he presses her forward, braced against her elbows on the surface of the vanity as he lines his hips up with hers.

Her hair is a mess, she's got bruises forming on her chest and her neck, and she can see it all in the mirror; she looks back at him and he is staring, first at her face, and then, as he spreads her legs apart again, at his cock as it nudges at her entrance. He is watching himself enter her and she is watching his wild grey eyes widen, his fingers spreading across the curve of her arse and his tongue flicking over his lip.

She shuts her eyes for a moment as he thrusts inside her. It's a _close your eyes and feel it_ kind of event, and so she -

"Watch," he growls again, taking hold of her hair and pulling it back so she's looking at herself, at the way her eyes are glassy and unfocused, and so she's looking when he drops his hand to her cunt, sliding his fingers along her clit. "Look at me," he says, and she does - because she's a little bit erotically terrified, if such a thing exists - and he's gritting his teeth and she understands implicitly that he wants her to see _two things_.

One, that this is what she did to him;

And two, that _this is what she does to him._

"More," she moans, and he tugs a little harder on her hair, pushes her a little further forward, his hips smacking against her arse as he picks up the pace. She shoves his fingers away from her cunt, bringing his hand to her breast as she begins to rub her clit herself. He looks, if anything, impressed, and she locks eyes with him in the mirror as she lets her lips part, accommodating the thin, breathy " _yes_ " that escapes them.

She knows, somehow, that there is enough ego between them that even _this_ is a game; she decides, however, as he throws his head back to choke on a sputtered groan in the same moment she cries out in a shockingly carnal whine, that in this game, they both win.

 **o0o0o0o**

 _ **Scene VI: Dolcissimo**_

"Not bad for a first go," she taunts, panting, and as punishment he yanks her head back by a fistful of her hair (because _of course_ ) and she smiles at him in the mirror (because _of course_ ) _._

"You're trouble," he mutters in her ear, brushing his lips against her neck.

"You have no idea," she whispers back, turning over her shoulder to kiss him; it's slow for a moment, and sweet, and then, _abruptly_ , the sweetness turns to venom as she sinks her teeth in, and his fingers bury themselves in her hips as she bites down.

"I'd like to," he offers after a moment, "have an idea, I mean. If you've got the time."

"Nothing but time," she says, "and the rest of that bottle."

He tastes her on his lips and smiles. "Get on the bed," he says again.

This time, she listens.

* * *

 **a/n:** So, I have a few darker one shots that need to be posted (i.e. the dark Harmony and the Theocissa that some of you have read from the Q+P collection) and am considering posting them - and moving some of these, including _Birds_ (the Regulene) and _Perchance to Dream_ (the Sleeping Beauty Pottgrass) - to a new collection, as this collection was always intended to be for fluff and humor. If you have thoughts on this, do share.

Also, January 7th is the anniversary of _Clean,_ aka my first fanfic-iversary! One year in the books, hooray. What should I do to celebrate? A drunk rewrite? A scene re-written from Theo's perspective? If you have thoughts, feel free to let me know.

Happy new year, and all the best for 2017!


	62. The List

**The List**

 _Pairing:_ Pottgrass (Harry Potter x Daphne Greengrass)

 _Universe:_ Post-Hogwarts, EWE

 _Rating:_ M for language, sex (like, a lot of sex)

 _Summary:_ This is my entry for the Quills and Parchment Lemonade competition, which received Fan Honorable Mention, Most Creative Plot, Best Banter, and Best Dirty Talk along with a slew of wonderful runner up-manships including Character Chemistry and Best Smut. Sadly for all (read: me) - I was only runner up for Best Blow Job, but we can't all have the things that we want (she says, with gentle devastation). In any case, a massive thanks to all who participated, judged, and voted! And without further ado: _Nobody taught them how to be young and irresponsible, so they'll have to teach each other._

* * *

Ginny bit her lip, eyeing the ring.

"Aren't we a little - _young_?" she asked faintly.

Harry blinked at her, beginning to sweat from his position on his knee. "We're the same age my parents were when they got married," he explained slowly.

"Well, _you_ are," Ginny amended tentatively. "I'm not - but, even still." She shifted uneasily. "There was a war then," she reminded him. "You know?"

"Yes, I'm aware," he agreed tightly, swallowing uncomfortably. "Can I, er - " he sighed. "Can I stand?"

"Yes, yes, stand," she urged him, reaching down to grip his wrists and pulling him to her. "It's lovely, Harry, it really is - but I just - "

She sighed. "Can't we just, I don't know - _be_?"

His head swam with uncertainty. _Get the stone, Harry, find the chamber, save the hippogriff, win the tournament, slay the dragon, save the prophecy, find the horcruxes! Stab the diary! Stab the cup! Stab the snake!_

 _Can't we just, I don't know, be?_

"I don't know how," he confessed quietly, wondering where he'd gone wrong.

* * *

"Daph, look!" Astoria squealed, unleashing her hand from her glove and brandishing the ring in her face. "Isn't it _gorgeous_?"

"It is," Daphne agreed, eyeing the somewhat gaudy diamond that she knew to be a Flint heirloom and smiling her - mostly false - approval. "I'm so happy for you, Astoria, truly."

"You just wish we were a little older, I'm sure," Astoria sighed. "But I keep telling you, Daph. I know what I want."

"I know," Daphne said, her voice a pitch too high to be fully genuine. "I know, and I know I worry about you too much, but - "

"It's not your job to worry about me anymore," Astoria reminded her, reaching out to tuck a loose curl behind her ear. "That's Lucas' job now, Daph."

 _Right,_ Daphne lamented to herself with an inward sigh, wondering when her little sister had gotten so . . . _adult_.

 _So attached to someone who wasn't me_ , Daphne amended sadly.

"Anyway," Daphne continued, forcing a smile. "I'll get everything together," she said brightly,  
"and the two of you won't have to worry about a _thing_ \- "

"Actually," Astoria cut in, looking a tad sheepish, "Mother's said she'll take care of everything, and Lady Flint has offered to help with the planning, so - "

 _So you don't need me_ , Daphne realized, wilting a little. After years of responsibility for her sister _\- mind Astoria, Daphne; take care of Astoria, keep Astoria safe, get Astoria out of the castle! -_ it came down to this.

"I think it's time to focus on _you_ , Daph," Astoria attempted comfortingly, slipping an arm around her waist. "Isn't it time you start, you know," she paused, "living your own life, instead of making everything about me?"

Daphne leaned her cheek against her sister's silky dark hair. _I don't know how,_ she thought, even as she smiled her feigned agreement.

* * *

Harry was on his third drink when he saw her.

He didn't fully recognize her at first; they hadn't exactly run in the same circles, after all, but there was no forgetting her entirely. She was extraordinarily attractive - even more now than he remembered, particularly as he was finally seeing her out of the emerald green robes he'd tended to generally dismiss - and was wearing a Muggle dress, some little silk number with an appealing swipe of berry-red across her lips, and he realized he was staring only as her eyes met his from across the bar.

He supposed it said a lot about him (and his intoxication level) that he didn't stop to wonder if she'd recognized him, too.

"Hi," he said uncertainly, walking over to join her. "I, um - wasn't expecting to see anyone I knew here."

"And I wasn't expecting to speak for the next several hours, but here we are," Daphne Greengrass muttered back, glancing up at him. "What are you doing here?" she asked, running a finger along the lip of her glass.

He shrugged. "Needed to get away," he explained. "Muggle bars are usually good for that."

"Usually," she sniffed, shaking her head. "But I suppose there are worse people you could be."

She leaned back, squinting at him.

"You look upset, Potter," she commented offhandedly.

"Ah," he said. _About that._ "Well, I proposed to my girlfriend this evening - "

"Fucking _of course_ you did," Daphne muttered into her glass. "Because matrimony is contagious."

" - and she, very politely, declined," Harry finished with a grimace, holding up his drink. "Cheers."

To his surprise, Daphne's expression softened. "Oh no," she murmured, biting lightly on her lip. "And I assume you've - "

"Broken up? Yes," he confirmed curtly. "But it's fine. I've a new love affair," he said cheerily, gesturing to his glass. "Perhaps this is what she meant by telling me to 'just, I don't know, _be_ ,' or something," he muttered, bringing his glass to his lips.

"Oh, what a dreadfully inane thing to say," Daphne determined, making a face as she watched him swallow a gulp of whiskey. "Doesn't she know you've been busy?"

"That was my thought!" Harry huffed, coughing as the liquid went down. "Nevermind the whole Chosen One thing," he mumbled. " _That_ was very fun and entertaining, and not _at all_ damaging to my later life."

"Well, if it makes you feel better, I'm not exactly loving my life at the moment either," Daphne sighed. "My sister's getting married - "

"Marriage," Harry scoffed, shaking his head. "What tit-witted fool would _possibly_ want such a thing."

" - and _now_ , it seems, I'm to find myself some other purpose," Daphne concluded, staring moodily at the bottom of her glass. "Find a life of my own, she says - "

"What, has she forgotten that we've all lived through hell and it's a _tad_ difficult to adjust?" Harry demanded stiffly. "Or," he amended, eyeing her, "is it that you protected her from all that, and so she barely even knows what you've done?"

"That!" Daphne proclaimed loudly, setting her glass down on the wooden counter. " _That_ , Potter, is _it -_ "

"How can they _say_ those things?" Harry protested indignantly, leaning against the bar and permitting himself to mope. "They insist that we behave young and irresponsibly, and somehow can't fathom that we don't _know how_ \- "

"Yes," Daphne trumpeted, her hazel eyes widening in agreement. " _Yes_ , they want us to be reckless and selfish - despite telling us our entire lives not to be that way," she added sulkily, "and then are surprised to discover it's really _rather difficult_ for us - "

" - and now how are we supposed to learn?" they exclaimed in unison, and stopped abruptly.

They locked eyes for a moment, both faces flushed; he watched Daphne swallow, her gaze traveling momentarily to his lips and then hastily back up, measuring him with a look.

"In fairness to them," she offered slowly, considering him, "I _have_ always been a quick study, I think."

Harry, who had never been particularly good at reading people, managed - for once - to grasp her intent quite clearly. "I'm certainly open to trying," he agreed, and a smile spread across her lips.

"Well, then," she said, with a brush of finality. "I suppose we should start with a drink."

* * *

"You know what I've never done?" Daphne said, and Harry swallowed his gulp of whiskey.

"What?" he asked, shaking off the burn as it went down.

"Shots," Daphne said, pointing to the rowdy group of businessmen beside them. "It's undignified, you know," she explained, "and despite Pansy's best efforts, I was always trying to behave myself in front of Astoria."

"Easy enough to rectify," Harry declared, waving to the bartender. "Two shots, please."

"Of what?" the bartender prompted impatiently.

Harry glanced at Daphne, who shrugged. "Alcohol," she said, and the bartender rolled his eyes.

"Here," he said, sloppily pouring two shot glasses worth of the vodka he held in his hand. "Have these."

"Lovely," Daphne said, slurping at the lip of the glass as the liquid sloshed onto her hand. "Cheers, I suppose," she offered.

"Cheers," Harry agreed, clinking his glass against hers and bringing it to his lips.

Daphne shut her eyes as she tossed it back, feeling a moment of victory that rapidly devolved to disgust as the vodka settled roughly into her stomach. "Yuck," she ruled, laughing as she met Harry's eye, his nose wrinkled in displeasure.

"Yuck," he agreed, "but at least you can cross that off the list now."

"List," Daphne echoed brightly, an idea clanging in her head. "A _list_!" she exclaimed, reaching out to grip Harry's arm. "Potter, what if we made a list of stupid things and then" - she paused, leaning in - "we _did them_?"

"Greengrass," Harry said solemnly, "I think that is a thing." He finished his glass of whiskey, setting it triumphantly on the bar. "A _marvelous_ thing," he clarified grandly.

"Tremendous," she proclaimed, and then grabbed a napkin from behind the bar, scribbling _shots_ and then sketching a hard line through it. "What else?"

Harry sobered for a moment, pursing his lips. He eyed her carefully, and she, feeling bold, offered him a particularly suggestive smirk she'd learned from Pansy.

"Hm," he murmured appreciatively, and then smiled. "I'm sure we'll come up with something."

"Should we get out of here?" she suggested innocently, and he smiled, glancing around.

"Just one thing before we go," Harry murmured, and before she could ask - in the moment that the bartender's back was turned - he snuck his wand from his pocket, flicking it surreptitiously to cast an _Accio_ on the bottle of whiskey.

" _Run_ ," he whispered, and Daphne giggled as she jumped down from the barstool, reminding herself to add petty theft to the list.

* * *

"Oh, stop whinging, Potter," Daphne said, making a face at him as he winced. "You're _fine._ "

"It hurts," he said, flinching a little as the tattoo artist dug the needle in further. "And I'm practically sober again - "

"You said you weren't drunk," the tattoo artist admonished him, pausing his work, and Harry sighed.

"I say a lot of things," he muttered, and Daphne giggled.

"Come on, mine's finished and I hardly complained at all," she reminded him, slipping the strap of her dress down her arm and turning to look at it in the mirror. "You like it, right?"

Harry eyed the rose on her bare shoulder and swallowed, the abrupt twitch of his cock combated by the punishing buzz of the needle.

"I do," Harry said carefully, as the tattooist gave a final jab.

"Done," he said. "The, uh - "

"Hungarian Horntail," Daphne informed him, coming over to look at it. "We love dragons," she explained, winking at Harry.

"Nerds," the tattooist muttered under his breath, shaking his head as he walked away.

Daphne looked around for a moment - waiting for the sound of retreating footsteps - before pulling her wand from her purse, flicking it against Harry's back.

" _Tergeo_ ," she murmured, running her finger over his shoulder as it healed. Harry shuddered under her light touch, holding his breath.

"Do you like it?" he forced out, turning onto his side to look up at her.

Her gaze slid to his bare chest for a moment, her tongue slipping between her lips and passing quickly over them before she bit down, considering her answer. "Let me see it again," she suggested, and he sat up, turning so she could see it.

"Well?" he asked, shutting his eyes as she brought her fingers to his shoulder again.

She was quiet for a moment.

"I want to bite it," she whispered, and he nearly choked, suddenly finding it difficult to breathe.

"Ah," he finally managed, clearing his throat. "Perhaps we might, um - consider making some additions to the list, then?" he suggested faintly.

"Perhaps we might," she agreed, a smile spreading across her lips.

* * *

"Say it," she instructed him primly, crossing her arms over her chest. "Just _do it_ , Potter."

"You fought a dragon once," she watched him mutter to himself, "you beat a maniacal serial killer, and you just got a tattoo." He shook himself briefly. "I can do this," he announced to her, and she fought a smile.

"Would you like me to start?" she ventured. "Penis," she began, and then made a face.  
"No. _Cock_." She licked her lips, starting over. "Show me your thick, hard cock, Potter - "

"Okay, okay," he said hurriedly, pressing a finger to her lips. "I get it, you're filthy, but it's _my_ turn - overachiever," he muttered under his breath, and she grinned.

"Ooh, so close," she teased, holding back a laugh. "Tell me I'm filthy again," she advised primly, "but _this_ time, say - "

"Pussy," Harry attempted forcefully, before wrinkling his nose. "I don't like it."

She made a face, nodding her agreement. "Try the other one," she suggested, and he sighed, closing his eyes.

"Cunt," he announced, swallowing comically. "I - um." He sighed. "Cunt."

"Yeeees?" she prodded, nudging him. He opened his mouth to continue but seemed to think better of it, pausing, and she sighed in exasperation. "Do it," she insisted, swatting at his shoulder, "or I'm not crossing dirty talk off the list!"

"It's just," he began, hesitating, "isn't it sort of . . . not a nice word?"

She threw her head back, groaning. "I'm not a nice _girl_ , Potter - that's the point of dirty talk!" Daphne said, waving her hands about. "I'm _filthy,_ remember?"

"Fine," he grumbled, "I want to see your _cunt,_ then - "

"See it what?" Daphne prompted, nudging him again. "Do magic tricks? File your taxes?"

"I want to see it wet for me," he growled, taking hold of her shoulders and sitting her down on the park bench. "I want to see it wet, Greengrass," he muttered to her, dragging his tongue over his lips, "I want it fucking _soaked_ \- I want your legs spread out in front of me like my goddamn dessert and I want to lick your cunt until you fucking scream for me, until you're fucking _begging for it -_ "

"Holy shit," she murmured, but he clearly had far too much momentum to stop there.

"I want you so wet my fingers slide right into your tight little cunt," he continued breathlessly, his green eyes wide, "I want my cock in your mouth while you take me so deep I can feel you swallow - I want you to say my name when you come with me inside you - "

"Potter," she whispered approvingly, impressed, but he shook his head.

" _Harry,_ " he corrected, straightening abruptly. "And I want to make you say it, over and over, until your throat hurts," he finished, suddenly looking very much like a man who'd killed a Dark Lord as they paused for a moment, staring at each other.

He looked out of breath; a little dazed. Seconds ticked by as she watched him, seeing something she hadn't before.

"Did you say you wanted your cock in my mouth?" she asked eventually, glancing up at him. "Because that can be arranged."

She watched the muscle twitch hungrily around his jaw. "Is it on the list?" he asked hoarsely.

A slow smile spread over her lips. "Funnily enough," she said, "it is now."

* * *

"Here, really?" he asked, peering over the ledge of the roof terrace. "I mean, someone could see."

"That's sort of the idea," Daphne reminded him, placing a cushioning charm on her knees and then settling herself in front of him. "There," she said, glancing up. "Good view?"

He looked down, watching the silk of her dress slip against the curve of her breast.

"Ideal," he agreed, and she grinned.

"I meant," she said emphatically, gesturing behind her, "the _view._ "

"Oh," he said sheepishly, glancing out at the city lights. "Right."

When he glanced back down, she was eyeing the zipper of his trousers. "Right," she murmured to herself, reaching up to undo the button. "You're ready, then?"

"Uh," he said, chewing his lip. _Yes,_ he thought desperately, excitedly, humiliatingly; _yes, please_. "I, um - "

She slowly dragged the zipper down, taking his cock in her hand. "Mm, you _are_ ," she murmured appreciatively, running her thumb over his tip. "Good," she declared definitively. "Nothing more disappointing than coming face to face with a flaccid dick, honestly."

"True," he acknowledged gruffly, coughing as he adjusted his stance. "I hate that."

She, to his relief, laughed.

"Shut up," she instructed him affectionately, leaning forward; she licked his tip - _fuck,_ he thought fiercely, _fucking hell_ \- and then smiled as he emitted an indistinct choking sound. "Been a while, Potter?" she asked innocently, tilting her head to look at him.

"Harry," he corrected her, "and, er - yes. This wasn't - " he broke off, hissing as she wrapped her lips around the head of his cock, sucking lightly. "This wasn't - Ginny's favorite thing."

 _I mean, if you want,_ he heard Ginny say; watched her glow with relief as soon as he would have inevitably said _no, no, it's fine_. He shook his head briskly, shoving her out of his thoughts.

"Don't know why," Daphne commented, rubbing her thumb in a circle against the head of his cock. "She could have done a lot worse. In fact," she added, nudging his knees apart to lean in further, pumping him in her hand, "this might be the nicest penis I've ever seen."

"Have you seen a lot?" he asked hazily, and she glanced up, smirking.

"Enough to have a fair idea," she ruled. "Now shut up," she said again, licking her lips. "I'm busy."

She leaned forward again, gripping his hips; he tangled his fingers in her hair as she slid her lips over the length of his shaft, her tongue dragging along the underside. She moved slowly, deliberately, like she was savoring the taste of him; her fingers pressed into his hips and then slid to his arse, her nails digging in through the fabric of his trousers.

He held his breath as she brought her hand up, releasing him to wrap her fingers around the base of his cock; she worked her hand in time with her mouth, sucking at him with fascinating fervor before slowly glancing up, her wide hazel eyes locking on his.

"Daphne," he stammered, "it's - fuck, Daphne, you're really - "

 _Really fucking good -_

She said nothing, staring at him as she took him deep in her throat; he felt her swallow against his tip and then watched her lips move up his painfully throbbing length, the entrancing pinkness of them gliding along his shaft.

She released him for a moment, pulling back to take him in her hand, languidly stroking him. "Would you like to come on my tits?" she asked, ruthless with her nonchalance. "Or is it sufficient for me to swallow?"

"Oh _fuck_ ," he groaned, fighting his sudden imminent release. "I - I can't, I don't - "

She slipped her lips around his cock again, looking delicately satisfied as he tightened his grip on her hair.

"I'm - " he choked out, "I'm going to - "

He came in her mouth - which was really his preference, anyway - and she smiled, slowly licking him clean, before rising gracefully to her feet and daintily running a finger over her bottom lip.

"I think," she announced, clearing her throat, "that I'm next, aren't I?"

* * *

"I don't know about this," Daphne said, frowning as she looked around the Muggle club. "Isn't this rather public?"

"It's the _young and irresponsible_ list," Harry reminded her. He looked around, finding a darkened corner. "There," he said, taking her hand. "Let's go."

"Here?" she asked, her heart pounding as she followed. "Are you sure?"

"You just blew me on a roof, Greengrass," he reminded her, glancing back and tossing her a very un-Potter-like smirk. "I think I can handle this."

"It's Daphne," she reminded him, and then sighed as he spun her against the wall. "And _fine,_ " she said, more resignedly than she actually felt.

"Here," he said, positioning himself against her and maneuvering her leg over his hip. "Like this."

"Okay," she agreed, trying not to fidget as he slid his hand under her dress. "Wait, hold on - " she nudged him back a step, shimmying out of her lace thong and putting it in his trouser pocket. "There," she said, patting it with a merciless grin. "Making things easier."

"Well, stop it," he instructed, grabbing her thigh again and shifting her against the wall. "I'm sort of an impressive public figure, Daphne," he informed her. "I hardly need you to make things _easy._ "

"You're terrible," she muttered, sucking in a breath as he slipped his hand under her arse, reaching the slickness between her thighs and circling a finger at her slit.

"Not nearly as terrible as I could be," he murmured, brushing his lips against her neck as she nodded her vacant agreement. "Is anyone watching?"

She glanced up at the sweaty bodies around them. "Nope," she said, letting out a thin hiss as he suddenly buried two fingers inside her.

"Too bad," he lamented, kissing her shoulder. "They're missing it."

"Missing what?" she asked vacantly, mewling a little as he found _that spot,_ sliding his fingers in and out and pressing against it. "Me getting fingered by the Chosen One?"

"No," he said, shifting her in his arms again to bring his thumb up to her clit. "Me kissing the prettiest girl in the room."

She frowned, confused. "But we're not - "

He cut her off, pressing his lips to hers. "We are," he muttered against her mouth, and then he began thrusting faster as he kissed her, his lips pulsing at the same pace as his hand; she lifted her hips, inviting him, and slipped her tongue along his.

"More," she whispered, and he pressed the flat of his hand against her clit, letting her grind against him. She whimpered, shamelessly rubbing against his hand as she rode his fingers, and he let out a growl of frustration against her lips.

"Hold on," he said, looking around before pulling out his wand and muttering a disillusionment charm.

"Harry," she whispered in confusion, "what are you - "

But faster than she could say _this isn't part of the list_ he was already on his knees, his head under her dress; he nudged her leg over his shoulders, shifting to take her clit between his teeth as she let out an audible gasp, taking a fistful of his hair between her fingers.

"Overachiever," she panted, feeling him smile against her skin.

He brought his fingers back to her cunt, continuing to fuck her with them; she felt herself shake, felt time come to a screeching halt, felt herself shatter around him as she threw her head back against the wall. "Harry, _fuck_ , Harry - "

She came with a loud gasp, the words _holy fucking shit_ dying on her tongue.

"Maybe," he suggested, ducking his head out from under her dress and looking up at her, "we should consider finding a hotel room."

"Good idea," she said weakly, and he stood up to kiss her again, letting her taste herself on his lips.

* * *

"Would you like to be tied up," he asked, squinting at the clumsily scribbled list, "or gagged, or, I suppose, handcuffed - "

"Tied up, I think," Daphne said, leaning back against the bed of the not-altogether unpleasant Muggle hotel room. "Seems like a safe place to start."

"Unless you'd rather tie _me_ up," he offered, and she grinned.

"It's _your_ turn," she admonished him, standing and walking barefoot towards him to press a kiss to the base of his jaw. "Dress," she whispered in his ear, bringing his hand to the strap of it. "On or off?"

He groaned a little as her lips brushed his neck. "Off," he croaked, and she smiled, stepping back to let the straps fall from her shoulders.

She was wearing nothing underneath; his hand went instinctively to her panties in his pocket as he stared at her, his gaze raking over her inviting hips, her flawless breasts, the blissful curves and angles of her.

"I suppose I'm not much compared to a professional quidditch player," Daphne ventured uncertainly, "but - "

"What?" Harry asked, tearing his gaze away from her body - he'd been imagining the soft curve of her thigh against his cheek and considering the undeniable benefit of having sight added to the equation - to look her in the eye, shaking his head. "Daphne," he murmured in disbelief, stepping towards her. "You can't possibly think you're anything but perfect, can you?"

"I can," she began stubbornly, but he shook his head again, silencing her as he leaned forward, pressing his fingers covetously against the slim curve of her waist.

"Get on the bed," he whispered in her ear, "so I can fuck your perfect cunt."

She gave him a radiant smile, taking a few steps back to fall against the duvet. "It's wet for you," she informed him wickedly, pushing herself up against the pillows. "I'm so fucking wet, Harry - "

"Stop it," he groaned, forcing himself to concentrate long enough to transfigure two silk ties before approaching her on the bed. "Overachiever," he muttered, and she smiled as he climbed over her, dropping a kiss against her lips and pushing her hands over her head.

"How's this?" he asked, tying her wrists loosely to the bed frame. "Is it too tight," he asked hesitantly, "because I can - "

"Harry," Daphne said, squirming beneath him as he straddled her. "Would you just fuck me, please?"

He laughed, leaping deftly from the bed and tearing his shirt over his head before slipping out of his trousers and trunks, standing before her with his hand on his cock.

"Ask me again," he suggested, sliding his hand along his shaft.

She swallowed, staring. "Fuck me," she rasped, "Harry, _please -_ "

The plea became a breathless sigh as he slid against her, slowly kissing his way up the inside of her legs; he brushed his lips lightly against the inside of her thigh before rearing up on his haunches, nudging the tip of his cock against the slickness of her cunt.

She writhed against him and he, panting, leaned forward to take her nipple in his mouth; he scraped his teeth against her breast and she arched her back with a tormented whimper, drawing him into her.

"Please," she begged as his thumb circled her swollen clit, " _please_ , Harry - "

 _Oh, for fuck's sake,_ he thought, pressing his forehead to hers and gasping as he slid himself inside her.

* * *

She could tell he was trying to take it slowly, to time his thrusts - _to torture her_ , she thought with a moan - and she pulled impatiently at her ties as he roughly grabbed her arse; he lifted her hips as he drove into her, filling her completely and then withdrawing with a miraculous - _demonic_ , she amended desperately - restraint, wretchedly immune to her mounting urgency.

"Harry," she choked out as he shifted her leg higher, positioning himself masterfully against her clit, "for _fuck's sake_ , Harry, _more -_ "

"More?" he asked, a glimmer of mischief in his green eyes as he lifted her leg onto his shoulder, bending over her. She struggled against the ties, feeling her legs shake and suppressing a near-desperate sob.

"Please," she moaned weakly, "I'm - I'm right there - "

"Are you going to come?" he asked in her ear, laughing a little, and she wanted to slap him for the unforgivable improvement he'd made to his dirty talk - _or else_ , she thought, _at least make him suffer equally_ \- but he carried on, effortlessly comfortable with control. "Do you like the way my cock feels inside you, Daphne? Am I making you c- "

"Oh, fucking hell - _yes_ ," she cried out, feeling the coil he'd built inside her break; she came with a stuttered convulsion, her head lifting from the bed to gasp against his mouth. He kissed her slowly, riding her through it, and she bit hard on his lip, feeling a wave of incomprehensible euphoria wash over her, escaping in an ardent sigh.

"Harry," she muttered, suddenly remembering it was her second orgasm and hardly likely to be her last, "untie me, Harry, _now -_ "

He reached over, pulling at the silk and letting her flip him onto his back, gripping her hips as she straddled him. "My turn," she whispered devilishly, removing his glasses - askew as they already were - to wrap the silk tie around his eyes, tying it loosely behind his head; they both gasped as she drew him inside her again, his fingers feverishly burning against her thighs.

He bucked his hips against her from beneath, his hands traveling blindly over the shape of her and digging in, driving forcefully into her like he _couldn't get enough_ \- "you wanted me to say your name," she murmured, leaning forward to whisper a laughing taunt in his ear, "so _make me_ say your name" - and suddenly the sheets that twisted around them were balled in his fists, holding her in place, tight around her waist as he rutted against her clit and she bounced on his cock, and it was everything good about sex - friction and sweat and utter fucking _penetration,_ in the most literal sense of the word.

For a moment it flitted through her mind to cross _one night stand_ off the list until Harry reached up, tearing the blindfold from his eyes and running a finger across her lips in awe - "I have to see you," he choked out, and she nodded, too out of breath and _too close, too close, so fucking close_ to speak - and it occurred to her to do so would be a lie.

But then she came - _hard_ \- and abandoned thought entirely.

* * *

"What on earth," Daphne panted when they'd fallen back against the pillows, "are we going to do tomorrow?"

For a moment Harry was silent, watching her breath rise and fall; and then he pulled her against him, tucking his legs under hers as he drew her back to his chest.

"I think," he murmured, feeling recklessly content as he pressed a kiss to the rose on her shoulder, "we'll just have to throw the list out and take things as they come."

"How irresponsible of us," she murmured, and they basked in a lesson well learned.

* * *

 **a/n:** Psst . . . if you like this pairing, you should definitely be reading _Prince_ by DrSallySparrow, and you might also be interested to know that Daphne and Harry are a background pairing in my multi-chaptered version of _Ride or Die._ Also, I happily lost this round to Sally's stunning Harmony AU, so if you're in the business of seeking out beauty in the world, I encourage you to hop on over to _Sally Drabbles_.

SPEAKING OF SALLY, for Valentine's day we are doing a little OS exchange, because we are fucking adorable loons. She has written me what promises to be forbidden love/poetic genius, while I will be bringing some AU Dramione banter with a healthy side of HEA to the table. Stick around for that update tomorrow, and watch for _Drunk History: Part I_ coming sometime this week, with _Part II_ to follow shortly.


	63. Pirate Queen

**Pirate Queen**

 _Pairing:_ Dramione (Draco x Hermione)

 _Universe:_ Pirate AU, but with Potterverse magic

 _Rating:_ T for language, some sexual content

 _Summary:_ My offering as part of a Valentine's Day exchange with DrSallySparrow. As she requested, I now present a Dramione pirate AU.

* * *

When the blindfold was ripped from his eyes, Draco Malfoy was surprised to find that he was in precisely the same chair he had been sitting in mere hours earlier - of course, when he had first taken the seat, he had still possessed full mobility of his hands - but it still took a moment to adjust to the dim light of his captain's quarters. He jerked his wrists up instinctively, testing the magical restraints, but wasn't surprised when they didn't move.

He sighed.

"What do you want?" he asked, squinting around his cabin. "Is this some kind of trick?"

"No trick," a feminine voice replied from behind him. He tried to turn his head to catch a glimpse of her face but she gripped his neck tightly, holding him in place. "A very serious matter, in fact."

"Deathly serious," a male voice said from his right, and Draco eyed him from his periphery, catching a glint of messy black hair and less-than-reassuring smile that suddenly looked hazily familiar. "I hate to tell you this, Mr Malfoy," the man remarked, breaking Draco's reverie, "but unfortunately you're no longer the captain of this ship."

"I'm not?" Draco echoed skeptically, scoffing in annoyance. "Seems unlikely."

"Well, we'd both be pretty shit at our jobs if it had ever seemed _likely_ ," a third voice muttered, materializing from Draco's left and emerging from the shadows to reveal a lanky redheaded man. "Seems bloody reasonable to me."

"So," Draco said, his head suddenly starting to throb, "you're saying I've been kidnapped, then?"

"If it helps, you've also been robbed," the woman said airily, stepping around the chair and prompting Draco to helplessly follow her movements with an unsubtle sidelong glance as she came into view. She was wearing _trousers,_ he noted, making a face, though in all fairness they _did_ serve to accent her form quite nicely; _quite_ nicely, in fact, and as she took a few calculated steps to face him, he processed the overlarge brown eyes, the particular angle on the pert bow of her lips, the barely visible dusting of freckles across the bridge of her sun-tanned nose.

"Why would that information help?" he asked warily, a little dazed.

She examined him through narrowed eyes.

"I said _if,_ " she murmured, frowning, before leaning entirely too close to his face and prompting him to inhale sharply.

"Now," she said sternly, "where's the diadem?"

"What diadem?" Draco asked indignantly, and her eyes narrowed further.

"Ronald," she sighed, glancing at the redhead, "did you not give him the Veritaserum?" She looked back at Draco, her brow furrowing as she eyed his face. "He doesn't seem particularly forthcoming to me."

"Oh, did I not tell you?" the redheaded man said, eyeing his fingernails. "We're out."

She let out a frustrated groan.

"That didn't seem relevant to mention?" the woman demanded, leaning away from Draco to put her hands on her hips. "For heaven's sake, Ron - "

"It's not his fault," the dark-haired man interrupted. "I forgot, too. _But,_ " he continued, with a rather distinct shamelessness, "I'm sure we can think of other ways to get the truth from this one."

"Ugh, Harry, you always get so messy _,_ " the woman sighed. " _Just once_ I'd like to get through the day without having to break anyone's thumbs."

"Excuse me," Draco interrupted, having had about enough of whatever was going on, and the woman turned back to him.

"Lovely," she muttered, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at the man she'd called Ron. "Look what you've done. Now we just look unprofessional."

"In what world were we ever considered professionals?" Ron countered, and the woman let out a surprisingly vicious growl.

"Ronald, I beg you," she sighed, as Draco watched the man she'd called Harry duck his head to hide a laugh. "And _you,_ " she said, rounding on him. "Don't think I'm letting you slide on this, either."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Harry said drily. "But, for the record, I'm afraid we might be boring our guest," he reminded her, gesturing at Draco.

"Oh," Draco said, as the woman's eyes fell on him. "No, that's - "

"I hate it when you're right, Harry," the woman muttered, and the other man chuckled, inclining his head. "Hold on," she sighed, rounding on Draco. "We'll have to revisit the situation once we've regrouped."

Draco frowned as she suddenly brandished her wand from nothing. "What does that - "

" _Stupefy,_ " she said primly, and everything went black.

* * *

 _ **12 hours earlier**_

* * *

"Ah, Captain Malfoy," Rosmerta said briskly, offering him a wry smirk as she came up behind him. "Getting a bit wet before you head out from dry land, I gather?"

"Stop trying so hard," Draco muttered, his glass of Firewhisky hitting his teeth with a dull clang. "I'm drinking. We get it. There's no need to reach for subpar pun work."

"How many of these have you had?" she asked, picking up an upended glass and arching a brow at him.

"How many of you are there?" he countered, closing one eye to focus, and she sighed.

"You'll have to stop coming in to make a mess of my pub," she said, giving him a light smack across the back of his head. "Your father would _die_ if he knew - "

"Yes, from lack of surprise," Draco muttered, toasting her. "Always said I was a little shit, and now look at me - " he paused to empty the liquid into his mouth, slamming the glass down on the wooden counter. "Living up to expectations in truly spectacular fashion," he ruled with misery, licking the burn of whisky from his lips.

Rosmerta sighed, stepping behind the bar to charm the dishes. "Where are you headed in the morning?" she asked, and Draco let his forehead slap against the wood of the bar, suddenly exhausted by the prospect of maintaining control of his posture.

"Back to Diagon," Draco replied, his voice muffled. "Apparently His Eminent Voldyship needs me to bring something back for him."

"From the castle?" Rosmerta asked, glancing at the outline of it through the window of the pub.

"No, Rosmerta, the Dark Lord wanted me to pick up something from the vast treasury of your opulent establishment," Draco drawled sarcastically, jolting upright to glare unevenly at her. "Fucking _of course_ from the castle - "

He broke off as someone clipped his shoulder; he glared suspiciously at the man who walked by, squinting at the hazy formation of light around his messy black hair. " _Excuse me_ you little shit, do you have any idea who you just - "

"There's no need to get snippy, Captain Malfoy," Rosmerta said quickly, brandishing a dull kitchen knife in his face from behind the bar. "Either with me or my patrons."

"This place is disgusting," Draco announced loudly, disrupting the scattered handful of people in the pub. "Inimitable vermin underfoot - "

"That's about enough, Captain," Rosmerta hissed, swapping out the kitchen knife for her wand and flicking it to let the door burst open, ripping his stool from beneath him and leaving a clear path for his exit. "You're cut off," she informed him bluntly, "and I shall have to ask you very firmly to get _out_ \- "

"Now who's snippy," he sniffed, making a face at her. "What's that?" he asked innocently, gesturing behind her.

"I'm not falling for that, Captain," Rosmerta growled, and he shrugged.

"Fine," he said neutrally, reaching behind the bar to grab a bottle of Firewhisky and strutting unsteadily out the door with it. "Charge it to my account, would you?"

"You haven't paid in two months," she called after him, to which he raised the bottle in acknowledgement without looking over his shoulder.

"Probably should stop kicking me out, then," he yelled back, but the door slammed behind him, leaving him to shiver in the cold night air.

"Well," he muttered to himself, "I take it my room reservation has been nullified." He looked around, stumbling through the snow. "Ship it is, then," he mumbled, and made his way there, his fingers tightening around the bottle of Odgen's he'd stolen as he raised it to his lips.

* * *

 _ **And then -**_

* * *

Draco struggled to lift his head, coming back to life as the woman's face slowly swam before him.

"Sorted - " he began, coughing on dryness in his throat. "Sorted it all out, then?"

"What is it that Lord Voldemort asked you to bring back to Diagon?" she asked, and suddenly Draco remembered the pieces of his night, turning his head to eye the messy-haired man who stood beside her.

"You," he said accusatorily, feeling his eyes narrow. "You're the one shoved me at the pub."

"You deserved it," Harry returned, unfazed, and the woman sighed.

"Focus," she said, snapping her fingers in front of Draco's face. "The thing that Voldemort asked you to bring - "

"How did you manage this?" Draco interrupted, glancing from Harry to Ron to her and gesturing to the magical shackles around his wrists.

"Your crew doesn't like you," Ron supplied flatly. "One of our easier abductions, truth be told. They were happy to leave the ship in our hands."

"So you're pirates," Draco sighed conclusively, shaking his head. "And you," he added, glancing up at the woman. "What are you, the Pirate Queen?"

"I," she retorted, teasing her shoulders back, "am merely a person looking for something, and it's a something which I suspect you know how to find."

"Well, you're wrong," Draco said testily. "A diadem, was it?"

"Yes, a diadem," she confirmed. "And you, Captain Malfoy, are going to help us find it."

"And if I don't?" he prompted. "If I _can't_?"

Her lips curled up in a smile as she leaned forward, resting her hands on the arms of his chair and staring intently at his face. "Then," she said quietly, "to that, I'd ask you how you wish to die, Captain Malfoy."

He swallowed, staring back at her. "Peacefully in my sleep," he commented, aiming for nonchalance, "when I'm about a hundred and fifty."

To his surprise, she scoffed. "How conventional."

"Have you given this much thought, Pirate Queen?" he asked, tilting his head, and her smile condescended to a smirk.

"Yes, actually," she said without hesitation. "I think I'd like to die mid-orgasm, with a handsome man's head between my legs. Ideally while wearing a tiara," she added, her brown eyes glinting, "or a diadem, which brings us back to the subject at hand."

On their right, Harry chuckled.

"You have issues," Draco informed her.

"I have your ship," she replied.

"They're not mutually exclusive."

"Perhaps not."

"Perhaps you might consider mercy."

"Perhaps I wouldn't," she said crisply, "as like I said, nobody seems to like you, and therefore perhaps sparing your life wouldn't be much of a favor to anyone."

"I didn't realize likability was such a factor," Draco retorted. "You don't seem to care much for either of your companions, after all."

Ron opened his mouth to argue, but the Pirate Queen cut him off.

"You misunderstand, Captain Malfoy," she told him. "I very much need them both. Harry, for example, is brave and fierce and loyal," she said, nodding to him, "and more importantly, when he takes aim, he never misses. And Ron," she added, with a playful glance at him, "is a fair hand at chess."

"Thanks," Ron said, rolling his eyes.

"Altogether," she continued, turning back to Draco, "they're men with a variety of talents."

"I have many talents," Draco offered carefully.

Her smile broadened, slipping delicately over her lips.

"I bet you do," she murmured, her gaze raking over him in open appreciation.

Behind her, Harry let out a small cough.

"Shall we do this," he asked, eyeing the small dagger that Draco realized with a jolt he had been holding in his hand, "or would you like to continue toying with him?"

She paused for a moment and then straightened, leaning away from Draco.

"Neither," she said, placing her hands on her hips. "I think we should leave Captain Malfoy here to his thoughts for a while, personally."

"Fine by me," Ron determined, coming to his feet. "Let him sweat until we get to Diagon, anyway, as it's no skin off my back."

"I love when you're given to fits of flexibility," she remarked, throwing an arm over his shoulder as they and Harry headed towards the door. "Truly looks ravishing on you, Ronald."

"You're incorrigible," he said, ruffling her hair as she ducked.

"Wait," Draco called, pulling helplessly at his restraints, and she turned. "You clearly know who I am," he said. "Who are you, Pirate Queen?"

She smiled.

"I'm Hermione Granger," she said over her shoulder, "and I'm nobody of consequence."

* * *

As they shut the door behind them, Harry immediately crossed his arms, lifting one brow as he stared at her.

"What," he began steadily, " _the fuck_ was that?"

"What?" Hermione said, playing at innocence. "The interrogation, you mean?"

"It was bloody _flirting_ is what it was," Ron said, the words pouring out of a listless yawn. "You could at least _try_ for subtlety, Mione."

"It's not flirting, it's manipulating," Hermione chided him, tossing her long braid over her shoulder. "You'll see. He could turn out to be useful."

"Even if he did, it's nothing a broken arm couldn't accomplish," Harry muttered. "I don't see why feminine wiles are your method of choice."

"Well, what exactly is the point of being a pirate if I can't have any fun?" Hermione said, giving his shoulder a little shove.

Ron shrugged. "I don't know," he guessed, "gold?"

"You don't get it," Hermione sighed, and he shrugged again. "Just give me a little time, would you? He's obviously got _something,_ " she said, glancing at Harry. "There's something on this ship that Voldemort wants."

"True," Harry said. "He did say he was delivering something."

"Nothing valuable on the ship, though," Ron reminded them. "We already checked."

She grimaced in agreement, but then brightened in her unfailing optimism. "Maybe Captain Malfoy is cleverer than we think," Hermione said hopefully, to which both Harry and Ron scoffed loudly.

"Doubtful," Harry said, "but if it's fun you want, I'll let you have it. Just make sure you don't lose your grip on the situation," he warned, tapping Hermione's nose. "I know how soft you really are, Miss Granger."

"I'm not soft," she snapped indignantly. "I've no interest in him, whatever you two goons might think."

"I hope not," Ron remarked. "He seems like a bit of a dickhead."

"You think _everyone's_ a dickhead," Hermione reminded him, and he nodded, serving the impression that this were not a statement of relevance. "But I promise, I have this under control."

Harry threw an arm over her shoulder, kissing her forehead. "Best of luck," he murmured dubiously, at which point she obligingly backhanded him in the stomach and sighed with satisfaction as he choked.

* * *

When the door opened again, she came in alone.

"Pirate Queen," he remarked in somber acknowledgement, offering her an irreverent bow of his head. "Your Majesty."

"Captain Malfoy," she returned. "I see you're in high spirits."

"Oh, the highest," he muttered sullenly, trying not to think of his sore wrists. "An ideal day."

"So," she said, wandering in and glancing down at the nautical charts on his desk. "You're headed to Diagon."

He shrugged, or tried to. "No secrets there," he said. "Main port and all that."

"Mm," she agreed. "But you're also carrying something," she remarked, glancing up at him. "No point denying it," she warned, picking up his compass to jab it accusingly in his direction, "as Harry already heard you say it."

"No denial," he confirmed. "I was instructed to retrieve something, and I did."

"Well," she said, looking expectantly at him. "What is it?"

He licked his lips. "Not telling," he said. "Not until you let my hands loose, that is."

She scoffed. "And why would I do that?"

"It's a _boat,_ " he reminded her, "on the _open sea_ , and you've taken my wand. Where am I going to go?"

"Say I don't wish to have you wandering about my new ship," she offered. "What then?"

"Then," he reminded her, "I suppose I just won't tell you what I have."

She narrowed her eyes for a moment, but then reached into the pocket of her trousers, taking a few steps to brandish her wand at his forehead. " _Legilimens,_ " she said, and waited.

He laughed.

"So you're an Occlumens," she commented, lowering her wand. "And to think I thought you were just an unlikable imbecile."

"Sorry to disappoint," he said. "Though the offer stands. Cut me loose," he offered, using his chin to gesture to his hands, "and I'll tell you what I'm carrying for the Dark Lord."

She shook her head. "No."

"Don't you trust me?" he asked, smirking at her.

"Not at all," she quipped easily, and then tilted her head, thinking. "Tell me what you're carrying for him," she countered, "and _then_ I'll cut you loose."

"Why should I believe you?" he prompted. "You're a Pirate Queen. A practiced liar."

"Practiced at a lot of things," she confirmed, leaning towards him. "Quite a few, in fact," she murmured, and just as he felt his brow furrow in confusion - _is she saying what I think she's saying? -_ she had settled herself on his lap, straddling him in the chair.

"Tell me what you have for Voldemort," she whispered in his ear, the smell of gardenias and the sea carrying from the wayward curls that had sprouted free of her long plait, "and I'll cut you loose."

He forced a swallow. "Who says I have any interest in being cut loose?"

She laughed, rolling her hips a little and prompting him to jolt forward, biting his lip as he felt himself stir. "Don't you?" she prompted sweetly.

 _Touché._

"This isn't fair," he managed hoarsely, clearing his throat. "You can't do this."

"Why not?" she asked, adjusting to slide a little lower on his lap and smiling as he held back a choked out groan. "I'm just sitting."

"No, you're seducing me," he growled. "And I have to say, it's very rude."

"Why, because you can't touch?" she murmured, reaching up to the buttons of her blouse. "You could use your hands, you know," she said, slowly undoing one button and then another, his eyes falling helplessly down the line that parted against her cleavage, "if you just tell me what it is you're keeping safe for him. I promise," she added, leaning forward to improve his view, "I'm a woman of my word."

"I doubt that very much," he said, fully hard now. "But you drive a difficult bargain."

"You have your expertise, Captain Malfoy," she said, shrugging. "I have mine."

"Fine," he said, grimacing. "It's - I don't know. A diary," he explained. "A book of some kind. Handwritten."

"Hm," she said, leaning back to frown in thought. "Where is it?"

" _That_ wasn't part of the deal, Pirate Queen," he growled in frustration, bucking his hips up beneath hers. "You asked what, and I answered. Let me go."

"Oh, but surely the intent stands," she demurred, fixing her laughing gaze on him. "Why would I ask what if I had no aim to lay claim to the item?"

"Not fair," he insisted, and she shrugged.

"Pirate," she reminded him with a smile, and he sighed.

"Not telling you where," he muttered, forcing himself to look away. "Certainly not now."

She pursed her lips in a beautiful portrait of sympathy.

"Oh, Captain Malfoy," she sighed, leaning forward to whisper in his ear. "It's just one more thing," she murmured, her breath skating along the line of his neck. "Obviously this diary means nothing to you, and I - " she shifted, her breasts flush against his chest as she brushed her lips against his jaw, "I would so prefer it if we both got what we want."

"Stop this," he muttered, squeezing his eyes shut as her hands slipped to his waist, finding the strip of skin between trousers and the untucked material of his shirt. " _Stop it_ \- "

"Don't you trust me?" she whispered, her fingers dropping lower until -

"ALL RIGHT," he said quickly, "stop, it's - it's over there," he said, jabbing his chin towards his small set of drawers on his writing desk. "Top middle drawer. Wrapped in parchment - "

"Thank you," she said delightedly, pulling the thin chain from his neck that held the key - _damn it,_ he thought, hoping she wouldn't have noticed it - before kissing his cheek and leaping from his lap, buttoning her blouse as she strode over his desk. She made quick work of opening the drawer and quickly taking hold of the diary, nodding in satisfaction and heading for the door.

"Fucking _excuse me_ ," Draco said, glaring at her. "What about cutting me loose?"

"Mm, changed my mind," she said, flipping the pages. "Have to see if this pans out first, I'm afraid. Sadly," she added, glancing up at him, "since it's blank, I'm afraid I might have to kill you anyway. Which is a real shame," she clarified, looking him up and down. "I'd have liked a very different outcome."

"You're - " he sputtered. "You - "

"Not to worry, I haven't decided," she assured him spiritedly, closing the few quick strides to the door. "Sit tight, would you?" she asked, her smile merciless as she threw open the door. "Don't go running off."

"I hate you, Pirate Queen," he spat at her back, but she had already gone, her melodic laugh carrying in her absence.

* * *

"It's blank," Harry said with a grimace. "Kill him and get it over with."

"Well, maybe it's got magic of some sort," Hermione countered, running her finger across the page. "Try writing in it."

"Oh, you just don't want to admit you've been conned," Ron told her, patting her head. "I'm sure it was a delightful effort, Mione, but - "

"I haven't been conned," she cut in irritably, bristling. "Whatever it is, _he_ thinks it's important, and I could tell."

Harry sighed, humoring her. "Hand me a quill, would you?" he asked, reaching out for one, and Ron placed it in his hand. "Let's see," he said, bending his head over it and scrawling into the page.

 _Hello,_ he wrote.

Instantly, the ink dissolved.

 _Hello,_ another set of words appeared. _And you are?_

"Bloody hell," Ron remarked, and Hermione nodded her tentative agreement.

 _Nobody important,_ Harry wrote back.

 _I doubt that, considering you have my diary,_ the words responded.

"Ask them what year it is," Hermione suggested, and Ron scoffed.

"Boring," Ron said. "Who cares?"

"Wait," Harry said. "I have a thought."

 _Where are you?_ he asked. _Are you trapped?_

 _I'm at Hogwarts Castle,_ the curling letters responded. _Perhaps you should come and find me._

Harry glanced at the other two.

 _Do you know anything about a diadem?_ he wrote.

 _Yes,_ the diary replied. _It's here, too, and it is also mine._

"Well," Hermione said, after about a minute of silence. "I guess we should stop for a moment and think about how we plan to - "

"TURN THE SHIP AROUND," Harry interrupted, barking at Ron. "Go. Head back to Hogwarts, _now_."

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, as Ron diligently headed off to charm the sails. "What can you possibly - "

"There's a ball at the castle this evening - some kind of gala," Harry supplied neutrally. "I saw it on a parchment in Malfoy's office."

"You know we'll need someone to get us into that party," Hermione said in disbelief. "You _know_ how strict they are - "

"We already have someone that's invited," Harry reminded her, jutting his chin out at where Malfoy was still restrained in his quarters. "We'll just have to use some polyjuice, and then - "

"We're out, mate," Ron said, having returned from altering their course. "And anyway, Malfoy would know everyone there, and vice versa. None of us could get away with pretending to be him."

"Well," Harry said, leaning back to rest his head against the wall. "We'll have to break in, then, while the party's going - "

Hermione smiled. "Or," she offered neutrally, "perhaps something a little easier."

* * *

"We're going to a ball," she announced, bursting in through the door.

"A pirate ball, Your Majesty?" Draco asked grimly, making a face. "No, thanks. I'm otherwise occupied."

"You certainly are," she agreed, "as you're to be my escort to the ball at Hogwarts Castle this evening."

Draco stared at her for a moment, and then promptly burst out laughing.

"What?" he demanded. "Are you serious?"

"Quite serious," she supplied. "Do you take issue with the proposition?"

"Do I take - " he broke off, shaking his head in disbelief. " _Yes,_ I fucking _take issue_ with it," he snapped. "You know who's throwing that ball, don't you?"

"Does it matter?" she asked, and he let out another mirthless laugh.

"My _father,_ " he said. "Lucius Malfoy, the fucking Minister for Magic."

"Oh, lovely," she determined, shrugging, and he growled his annoyance.

"You don't understand," he told her. "My father _hates_ me, and I hate him, and if I show up there tonight there will be questions - "

"So lie," Hermione said. "It's really quite fun."

"Yes, well, you would know, wouldn't you," Draco muttered, not having quite forgiven her. "And as I presume you wouldn't let me have my wand back - "

"I wouldn't, no," Hermione agreed.

" - then I don't really see why I would ever choose to do such a thing," he finished, sitting back conclusively. "Fuck that, I'm out."

"Let me be clear, Captain Malfoy," she said, taking a few long strides to reach him and whipping her wand from her trousers again. "You _will_ do this," she murmured, "and you can do it of your own volition, _or -_ "

She paused, letting the tip of her wand spark against his forehead. "Have you ever been under the Imperius Curse, Captain Malfoy?" she asked carefully, prompting him to force a heavy swallow.

"No," he admitted.

"Well, I have," she said softly, "and I'll tell you, I don't care for it. If you think you are restrained now," she added, tapping the shackles at his wrists, "I assure you, you will not care for an _Imperio._ "

He swallowed.

"Fine," he muttered. "But you'll need a fucking nice dress if you're going to meet my father and get away with it. And do something about your hair," he added, eyeing a tendril of it that he momentarily wished to tuck behind her ear before brusquely shaking himself of the thought. "It's an unmitigated disaster."

"Mm," she knowingly agreed, having caught his lingering glance. She straightened, smiling brilliantly. "Delightful," she determined. "See you in a few."

* * *

When the door opened again, it was to a blur of crimson silk lined with gold, a flawlessly cut gown set against a petite, alluring figure that he scarcely believed belonged to her.

"Better?" she asked, tilting her head at him, and he stared.

Her unruly hair had been expertly tamed, pulled back into a low chignon with curls that whispered fashionably around the delicate edges of her face. She'd been slightly made up, a little rouge applied to her cheeks and a swipe of color on her lips, and the gown floated above her curves like it had been charmed to wrap around her, the entire effect making her without a doubt the most beautiful woman he'd ever set eyes on.

"Well," Draco managed with difficulty, "you look - "

"We know," Ron informed him, stepping through the door in formal attire. "Don't think for a bloody _second_ that we don't know what you're thinking, or that we won't be watching you this _entire night_ \- "

"Or that we're okay with this," Harry added firmly, appearing beside him. "Let's be very clear about that."

"How did you get this?" Draco asked, staring at her. "That gown had to have cost a fortune - "

"I'm a very rich woman, Captain Malfoy," Hermione reminded him airily, and in spite of his awe at her he managed a huff.

"That's not your money," he reminded her, and she shrugged.

"You and I have very different definitions of possession," she informed him. "Now," she added, "are you ready?"

He made a face. "Of course I'm not - "

She flicked her wand quickly and he felt his hair slick back from his face, his clothes transforming to his formal attire and something that felt like a splash of cold water serving to startle something he guessed to be a semblance of color to his cheeks.

"You'll behave, won't you, Captain?" she asked, her wand pausing in the air as she made to tap it against his restraints. "I'll have my wand if you don't," she reminded him, "as will Harry and Ron, and I just want us to be very clear. No running," she instructed firmly, "no looking for help - "

"Nobody would help me," he said honestly. "Nobody likes me."

Her lips quirked up slightly; gentle amusement, he judged. "Too true," she said, and then his shackles were gone.

He raised a hand in relief, rolling out his wrist before bringing it up to his face; she'd shaved him, he realized, laughing a little as he touched the polished smoothness of his cheek.

"Well," he said, looking over at her. "Any final instructions?"

"Behave yourself," Ron snapped instantly. "You're there to help us get in and nothing else. Act normal."

"Or not," Harry interjected, "seeing as your normal gets you kicked out of pubs."

"Oh, you're coming too, wonderful," Draco muttered, but lost his concentration as Hermione stepped in front of him, adjusting the state of his collar.

"There," she said, and he inhaled the scent of gardenias from her hair. "Ready, Captain Malfoy?"

He sighed. "Ready, Pirate Queen," he said reluctantly, offering her his arm.

* * *

"Ah, Draco," his father said, looking less than pleased to see him. "And I see you've brought friends."

"This is Hermione Granger," Draco said neutrally, and she offered a surprisingly excellent curtsy. "And her two associates, Harry and Ron - "

"You brought three companions," Lucius commented. "How very . . . inconsiderate," he finished, and as Draco felt his cheeks flush in irritation, Hermione's hand tightened warningly on his arm. "Well, so long as you all behave yourself, I suppose there's no harm in a few too many uninvited guests," Lucius ruled obnoxiously. "And you _will_ behave yourself, won't you, Draco?"

"Yes, Father," Draco replied tersely. "With pleasure."

"I thought you had left for Diagon, by the way," Lucius remarked, suddenly frowning as he remembered. "Didn't you?"

"Had a problem with the ship," Draco lied. "It - " he glanced at Hermione, who nodded in subdued encouragement. "Sank," he finished.

Behind him, Harry let out a loud cough.

"Sank?" Lucius returned skeptically, his grey eyes narrowing in suspicion. "But isn't it currently docked at - "

Draco heard a rustle from Hermione's free hand, and then Lucius' face went blank.

"Your ship sank," Lucius agreed mechanically, gesturing inside the castle. "Enjoy the party."

"Thank you," Hermione said sweetly, winking at Draco before prompting him to lead her inside.

"What did you do to him?" he murmured to her, and she shrugged.

"Nothing he didn't deserve," she whispered back. "Your dad's an utter cunt, Malfoy."

He had to fight a laugh as he nodded politely to Avery and Mulciber, trying to maintain his composure.

"Too true," he agreed, and felt a rush of warmth as Hermione gently squeezed his arm.

* * *

"We're going to search the castle," Harry had said, and immediately disappeared into the crowd with Ron.

Hermione had nodded, looking around the room. It had been a while since she'd attended any sort of party, either invited or otherwise, and she felt oddly uncomfortable; the gown was tighter than her britches, uncomfortable and heavy and _ungodly_ hot - though, in terms of temperature, that may have partially been due to her proximity to -

"Well, Pirate Queen?" Malfoy said, leaning over to speak in her ear. "Shall we dance?"

"Dance?" she asked, slightly taken aback, and he nodded.

"You need to blend, don't you?" he reminded her, gesturing to the other couples on the floor. "Surely you realized this was part of your obligation."

"Of course I did," she snapped, glaring up at him - _so tall,_ she thought, _so much taller on his feet,_ and now that he'd sobered and been cleaned up, he was really rather -

"Then dance with me," he instructed, leading her to the floor with an impeccable grace and resting one hand on her waist. "Your Majesty," he added, laughing a little in her ear, and she sighed, placing one hand on his shoulder.

It was a waltz, thankfully, and so no great feat; he was an excellent partner, quick and practiced, and she had no trouble following his lead. She caught occasional glimpses of Harry and Ron in the crowd but it was particularly difficult to focus with Malfoy's gaze following the angles of her face, and then, as more dancers joined the floor and she was forced to hold herself more tightly against him, when he bent his head to let his cheek brush against hers.

The music changed; something faster, more complex, and she struggled a bit more, pulled flush against him and stumbling a little as he led her through a complicated series of steps. She hesitated, nearly colliding with another set of dancers, when he pulled her close again, speaking in her ear.

"Don't you trust me?" he whispered, and she felt her breath catch.

"Yes," she said uncertainly, and then he promptly spun her to her left, gripping her left shoulder with his right arm before leaning her back and dipping her - his eyes following the line of her neck - as he supported her shoulder, his grip strong and reassuring.

When he brought her back to his level, she was breathless, staring at the color of his eyes as they darkened, a grey that cooled and stormed before her.

"If you trust me," he said, his eyes falling to her lips, "ditch your chaperones."

She swallowed, pausing in indecision just in time to catch Harry eyeing her from afar.

"Where do you want to go?" she asked neutrally, and felt the surprisingly unsettling blow of Malfoy's smile.

* * *

"Where are we going?" she whispered nervously as they reached the seventh floor. "Won't somebody notice?"

"Where I've gone?" Draco asked dubiously. "No, certainly not." He glanced up at the wall, waiting for the door to appear. "Here it is," he said, gesturing to it. "Open up."

"What's this?" she asked, frowning, and he smirked at her.

"You look a bit nervous, Pirate Queen," he said. "Surely Her Majesty isn't suffering from any misgivings."

"Could be a trap," she said, and he shrugged.

"You have a wand and I don't," he reminded her. "And anyway, I thought you trusted me."

"I shouldn't," she said grimly, but sighed. "Fine," she agreed, taking a deep breath before pulling open the door.

The inside of the room, as he recalled from his time there in the past, was about as disastrous as it had been the first time he'd seen it; equally worth marveling at, he thought, eyeing the towers of _stuff,_ the many vials and books and trinkets that were piled towards the vaulted ceiling, but certainly no different.

He watched her face as her lips parted in wonder, fighting a smile at the hungry look in her eye.

"I forgot I'd brought a pirate in here," he murmured. "I assume this awakens the thief in you."

"How did you find this?" she asked, her eyes wide as she stared around the room.

"Well, as I've mentioned, nobody likes me," he said effortlessly, "so in the times I have been here with my father, I've done quite a bit of wandering around by myself. This room" - he gestured around it - "appeared one day when I was very distressed over misplacing my father's pocketwatch. I ended up finding one just like it, and he, thankfully, didn't notice."

"This is incredible," Hermione said, a little awestruck; then she glanced at him, her gaze softening as it met his. "Why did you take me here?" she asked, and he shrugged.

"You're looking for a diadem," he reminded her. "I imagine it will be here somewhere."

"Why not tell Harry?" she asked. "Or Ron?"

"Because they're terrible," he said without hesitation. "And I'd rather you find it."

She stared at him, resolute in her confusion. "Why?"

He sighed. "What was it you said?" he asked facetiously. "Ah, that obviously this diadem means nothing to me, and I - " he took a careful step towards her, relishing her sharp intake of breath. "I would so prefer it if we both got what we want."

"And what do you want, then?" she asked, her tongue tracing across her lip.

"Come on, Pirate Queen," he murmured, backing her against a large black cabinet. "Don't you know what it's like to look at something and want it for your own?" He stepped in closer, as close as he'd been when they were dancing, watching the hesitation on her face. "Don't tell me you're not familiar with the feeling," he added, brushing his lips against her neck.

"I will hex you where you stand," she warned him, delicately placing her palms against his chest. "Careful, Captain Malfoy - "

He moved quickly, taking hold of her hands and pressing them back against the cabinet, his fingers wrapped around her wrists.

"Kiss me and I'll cut you loose," he said quietly, watching her eyes widen as she looked at him. "I'll even help you find the diadem, I swear."

"A kiss," she echoed, breathless. "That's what you want?"

He nodded. "And then I'll cut you loose," he promised. "And I, being a captain and not a pirate, will keep my word," he added pointedly, "unlike some other people who have found themselves in similar situations."

"There's no need to be such a snot, Malfoy, no wonder people don't like you," she whispered, and as he opened his mouth to argue she leaned forward, catching his breath of indignation between the soft curves of her lips.

He leaned into the kiss, deepening it; he felt her breath rise and fall heavily against his chest as she kissed him with the fierceness he'd come to associate with her, the fire with which she burned. He released her wrists, freeing her - because he, unlike _her,_ was actually a person of his word - but she only brought her hands to his face, her fingers twisting in his hair to pull him impossibly close, permitting his hands to travel to her waist and then rising on her toes, letting him sweep her up in his arms.

After a moment, dizzied, they broke apart, staring at each other.

"We should find the diadem," he said, forcing himself not to think about how badly he wanted to continue, to rip the shreds of fabric from her skin -

"We should," she agreed, and he let his grip slacken to lower her back to her feet. He pressed his forehead against hers and she closed her eyes, sighing.

"I still might kill you," she whispered.

"Good," he agreed. "I'd hate to lose the element of surprise."

* * *

"Where'd you find it?" Harry asked, leaping forward to take the diadem from Hermione once they'd returned to the ship. "I swear, I looked _everywhere -_ "

Hermione shrugged. "Malfoy here has a way with concealed rooms," she said, glancing at him. "Or at least, he seems to know the castle fairly well."

"Told you I had many talents," he drawled, leaning against his desk. "And to think you deviants thought I meant sex," he added, lamenting obnoxiously and prompting Ron to roll his eyes.

"Well," Ron said, glancing at Hermione. "We have the diadem."

"And the ship," she reminded him. "So get to sailing, would you, Ronald?"

"Wait," Malfoy interrupted, staring at them. "What about me?" he asked. "Going to kill me, are you?"

"Oh, of course," Hermione said, glancing at Ron. "Right?"

"Right," Ron lazily agreed, throwing an arm over her shoulder. " _Finally_ , I might add."

"Right," Malfoy muttered, glancing at his feet.

Hermione looked questioningly at Harry, who tilted his head, considering her.

"Well," Harry ventured, "maybe we shouldn't be too hasty."

"What?" Ron and Malfoy asked in unison.

"Well," Harry said again, locking eyes with her, "there _are_ other things we need, after all."

She felt herself smile.

"True," she confirmed.

"Wait," Malfoy said. "Are you - " he paused, shaking his head. "What are you saying?"

"I'm _saying_ ," Hermione told him, "that maybe you should stick around. To help," she clarified. "I mean, you _do_ have the diary Voldemort wants - "

"And you do get us into parties," Harry said. "So you have your uses."

"I have uses?" Malfoy repeated, glancing between them before settling his gaze on hers. "You," he added quietly, nodding towards her. "You want me to stay, Pirate Queen?"

"I mean, it wouldn't be the worst thing," she permitted, fighting the flutter in her chest.

A smile pulled at his lips.

"That's not enough," Malfoy said, lurching forward to stand in front of her. "You're a pirate, after all," he reminded her. "You know how this works." At her silence, he slipped a hand under her chin, lifting it to look her in the eye. "What are you offering me?"

She blinked.

"I have a ship," she supplied.

Draco sighed, rolling his eyes. "This is not your ship."

"You and I have very different definitions of possession," she reminded him, and he smiled.

* * *

 _ **Six months later**_

* * *

Lord Voldemort strode through the doors of his office, taking a seat at his desk and propping his feet on top of it.

"Lucius," he yelled, sorting through the papers on the desk. "Have you arranged for Draco to go back to Hogwarts? There's something I need to - "

He broke off as the heavy doors suddenly fell shut; he lunged forward in alarm and was instantly jerked back as a conjured set of shackles materialized around his wrists.

"Pardon me," someone said, tapping him on the shoulder. "I'm afraid the Minister is otherwise occupied at the moment."

"Wha- " Lord Voldemort spun around, looking for the source of the voice. "Who - "

"Ah, here it is," a female voice said, slender fingers reaching under his shirt to yank at the chain around his neck. "Thank you, Harry," she added, stepping out from behind his chair to head towards the door. "Proceed," she added, gesturing to where Lord Voldemort sat at the desk. "As you were."

"Many thanks," the man called Harry said, suddenly yanking Lord Voldemort's chair back to look him in the eye. "Things will get messy, I'm afraid," he informed her, as Lord Voldemort stared helplessly into the man's laughing green eyes.

"I expect no less," the woman agreed, sparing a chuckle. "I'll catch up with Ron and meet you back at the ship."

"Who are you?" Lord Voldemort asked, staring between the man called Harry and the woman who stood at the door, poised to exit. "You," he shouted wildly after the woman, "you - you can't just _leave me -_ "

"I can, and I will," she countered. "Harry's been waiting a long time for this, Lord Voldemort," she informed him, feigning a regretful sigh. "What kind of friend would I be if I didn't permit him his entertainment?"

As she stepped forward to reach for the handle of the door, Lord Voldemort caught a glimpse of something sparkling from where she stood, a glimmer that was perched within the clutches of her unruly hair.

"My diadem," Lord Voldemort growled, realizing now what she had taken from around his neck. "And my locket - "

" _Mine_ , actually," she said, shaking her head. "But, in fairness, I've recently been given to understand my concept of possession is somewhat more malleable than others', so - "

"Who are you?" Lord Voldemort demanded, frantically hurling the question at her as she threw open the door.

She stopped, a smile spreading across her lips as she paused.

"I'm Hermione Malfoy," she said over her shoulder, "and I'm the Pirate Queen."

* * *

 **a/n:** Happy Valentine's Day! And head on over to _Sally Drabbles_ for a Harcissa that will surely murder us all.


	64. Better If You Run

**Better If You Run**

 _Pairing:_ NottPott (lol, Theo Nott x Harry Potter), Dramione (Draco Malfoy x Hermione Granger)

 _Universe:_ Non-Potterverse magical AU, monarchy AU

 _Rating:_ T for language, violence

 _Summary:_ This oddity of a plot is based on two things: a Theo x Harry request from Jelibean323, and another thing I will list in the end notes. This AU is … difficult to explain, but suffice it to say this: not everyone is powerful, but those who are are much more powerful than they seem. Aside from the main cast, there is a Dark Lord, a troubled (and troubling) monarchy, a horcrux hunt, and a lot of sassy banter.

* * *

It starts somewhat ordinarily, or so Theo thinks at the time.

"Well," he remarks to Draco, nudging him as he catches sight of a head of messy black hair that is trying unsuccessfully to hide somewhere it shouldn't. "This is new and interesting."

"Don't touch me," the man says, scowling at him. "Or her."

"Oh," Theo replies, adjusting his periphery to take note of a very small girl with hair that floats around her head like an absurdly mismanaged halo. "Well, I'm so glad you've set some ground rules. Normally I just carry on without any sort of restriction, which I'm told makes me somewhat unbearable."

"It's exhausting," Draco agrees, eyeing his fingernails. Theo notices he is pretending not to look at the girl's face.

Theo inwardly laughs.

"What do you want?" the man demands; upon closer inspection, Theo can see that he and the girl are likely the same age, but that the dark-haired man has a certain sense of trauma carved into his features. An anger, Theo thinks, that buries itself in a scowl. "Are you Snatchers?"

"We are," Theo says, settling agreeably into the lie; he finds it to be as good as any. Draco leans forward like he might suggest otherwise and Theo promptly buries his elbow in the blond's ribs, cutting him off. "And you, evidently, are either worth something or worth nothing, as either is as good a reason as any to hide aboard a train." He pauses, lifting a brow. "I'm going to guess it's something, though."

The man instinctively steps in front of the girl - _woman,_ Theo corrects himself, as the longer he's looked, the more he's noticed she's not unremarkable herself - and holds a dagger out, brandishing it at them.

"I'll kill you," he warns, pulling the woman protectively behind him. She narrows her eyes at Theo and Draco, consenting to remain in the man's protection; Theo can see, however, that she's not particularly worried about her own safety. Another woman of her size and slightness might cower, might tremble in fear - but Theo watches her toy with her fingers and notices that she has a defensive stance of her own. He considers also that perhaps her weapon is different, but no less devastating.

He knows it. He's seen it before.

"That's very hospitable," Theo comments slowly, offering them a show of quiet applause. "Top form."

The man frowns. "What are you - "

"I'll get to the point," Theo announces. "In a moment, this train is going to run off its tracks." He pauses, waiting for a reaction that doesn't come. "It will be very unfortunate for anyone still on board, I assure you," he says, somewhat warmly.

Draco glances warily at him, but shrugs. "Yes," he says. "I wouldn't advise you being here."

"I have to be here," the man says stubbornly. "I have unfinished business with a man on this train."

"I'm sure you do," Theo says smoothly. "Personally, I like to maintain a healthy level of unfinished business myself. Gives me a reason to get up in the morning, or else why bother?" He shrugs. "Vengeance, I find, is a crucial motivator, or else I'd never manage anything at all."

"Vengeance," the girl - _woman,_ Theo says sharply to himself, _by god, Nott, get a hold of yourself -_ echoes with confusion. "Do you mean you're here to - "

"Kill Lord Voldemort?" Theo says, fighting a yawn. "Yes."

"But you're … Snatchers?" she says, her gaze darting between them. "What on earth do you have to gain by killing him?"

"What do you have to gain by being on the baggage compartment of one of Lord Voldemort's trains?" Draco counters, and she demurs, scowling.

"Who are you?" the man demands, and Theo shrugs.

"A pair of witless fools with access to explosives," he supplies, as Draco nods his head slightly in acknowledgement. "And you, of course, are Harry Potter and Hermione Granger."

"What?" Harry says, his green eyes widening. "But how did you - "

"Oh, it took me a moment, but I eventually arrived there," Theo says, shrugging. He points to Harry, gesturing. "The scar, for one thing, and her - " he gestures to Hermione, "general air of sorcery - "

"General air of - " Hermione breaks off, staring. "What?"

"Well, you're the witch Lord Voldemort's after, aren't you?" Theo prompts her, crossing his arms over his chest. "You have a sort of unhinged quality about you," he tells her with a wave of his hand, delighting internally at how Harry's gaze instantly becomes murderous. "Something that crackles of power," he adds with a respectful nod, "in addition to overall insanity."

"Excuse me," Hermione says loudly, frowning. "But - "

"What's your name?" Harry accuses, jabbing the dagger at Theo's chest.

"Steve," Theo lies. Draco groans quietly into the palm of his hand.

"Steve," Harry echoes skeptically, with a hint of a scoff.

"Hey," Theo protests, drawing a hand to his chest in offense. "I don't make fun of _your_ name."

"First of all," Harry begins brusquely, "fuck you - "

"Thank you, I accept."

"Second of all," Harry continues, "your name is not Steve."

"Rupert, then," Theo amends.

"No."

"Carl?"

"Stop," Harry grumbles, just as Hermione steps forward.

"Harry," she says softly, staring at Theo. "I think we should listen to them."

"Why?" Harry demands, and Draco and Theo exchange a glance.

"I just think we should," Hermione says, nodding to herself. "Whatever their names are," she adds, though the knowing look she gives Theo - _she can't know, of course,_ he reminds himself, _that would be highly improbable_ \- is slightly unnerving. "If they say this train is about to explode, I'm going to err on the side of caution and say we should probably listen to them."

"They're certainly crazy enough," Harry agrees, his mouth tightening in indecision. "How are you two getting off the train?" he asks, brandishing the dagger at them again.

"Uh," Draco says, glancing at Theo. "We should probably review that."

"I was thinking a combination of havoc and hoping for the best," Theo says. "Right?"

"Well, sure," Draco agrees slowly, and Hermione sighs.

"Look," she offers. "If you don't tell anyone we were here - "

"Alternate offer," Theo interrupts. "You're now our hostages."

"What?" Harry and Hermione demand in unison, while Draco plants his hands on his hips, releasing a loud, exasperated sigh.

"You really must stop this," Draco mutters under his breath. "Almost no one can follow your insane plots."

" _Almost_ no one," Theo reminds him. "And then there's you," he adds, pulling the gun from his waistband as Draco moves to do the same, "who seems to perform so beautifully to my exact specifications. Oh, watch it," he warns, gesturing to the tentatively quick motion of Hermione's hands. "I'm fully aware you can't actually _use_ any magic, you know, so I'd rather you not threaten me with it."

"She doesn't need to," Harry grounds out, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his dagger. "You still have me to contend with."

"Oh?" Theo asks, tapping the trigger of his revolver. "You're literally bringing a knife to a gunfight?"

"If I throw this knife," Harry informs him with breathtaking certainty, "I promise you, I won't miss."

"Can you throw faster than I can pull a trigger?" Draco counters.

"Yes," Hermione assures them, narrowing her eyes at him .

"Well, perhaps I can appeal to your logic," Theo suggests. "Or at least the part of you that wishes not to die."

"Big words," Harry mutters.

"A variety of big things," Theo agrees, and Draco casts him an irritated sidelong glance. "Anyway," Theo continues, ignoring him, "how about this: _she_ can't do magic, because then Lord Voldemort will know she's on the train - " he stops, looking pointedly at Hermione. "Yes or no?"

She grits her teeth, but concedes. "Yes," she mutters.

"And you, apparently, can kill _one_ of us," Theo reminds Harry, "and while that's not ideal, it's certainly not going to win the hand." He pauses, grinning. "Yes or no?"

"Fuck you," Harry says.

"That's a yes," Draco murmurs, and Theo nods.

"So, instead," he offers, "you can come with us, and we'll take you to our employer."

Draco lifts an eyebrow, but Theo resolutely ignores him.

"Yes," Theo prompts, "or no?"

"Who exactly is your employer?" Hermione asks, shaking her head. "You can't really expect us to take that deal, can you?"

"You won't even tell us your names," Harry reminds them gruffly. "What are we supposed to call you, the blond one and the idiot?"

"Okay, now you're being intentionally hurtful," Theo warns him, tapping the trigger of his gun. "And that's just rude."

"Hey," Draco says, catching Theo's attention. "We're a little short on time, don't you think?"

"Fine," Theo agrees, sighing. "So," he offers to Harry and Hermione again, "get blown up on the train, or live another day?"

Harry and Hermione glance at each other.

"What if," Hermione suggests, "we decide to go, but opt not to be hostages."

"I think you misunderstand the term 'hostages,' but go on," Theo says.

"Clearly you know who we are," she says, and they nod, "and so you know how much we're worth. Unfortunately," she continues grimly, " _we_ happen to know that your attempts to kill Lord Voldemort will ultimately prove unsuccessful."

"That's disheartening," Theo says, just as Draco demands "What does that mean?"

"He can't exactly be killed," Hermione says slowly, glancing again at Harry. "Which I don't have time to explain at the moment - "

"But you will," Theo realizes aloud, "if we agree to work together?"

"We clearly want the same man dead," Harry rumbles. "And since you're obviously deserters of some kind - "

"Something like that," Draco says smoothly, and Theo nods, a little impressed with the philosophical accuracy.

" - maybe we can come to some kind of agreement," he concludes. "We get off this train, we meet your employer - "

"And I assume you know how to actually kill Lord Voldemort?" Theo presses, and Hermione nods. "Well," he decides, tucking his gun back into his waistband. "That's settled, then."

"Wait," Draco says, his gun still in the air. "How do we know we can trust them?"

"Because they're not idiots," Theo says smugly, gesturing to them. "Are you idiots?" he prompts. "Yes or no."

Hermione sighs. "No," she says tartly.

"Still," Draco protests, and Theo interrupts.

"And," he adds, "we now know that there are fingerprints from our little witch all over this compartment." He winks at her, and she grimaces; he knows she is aware what this means. "So if she doesn't agree to come with us, we can always use any one of them to find her for a profit."

"Wait a minute," Draco says accusatorily, dropping his gun. "Did you have a plan when you came in here?"

"No," Theo assures him. "Never," he adds admonishingly. "You know this."

"Oh good," Draco says. "Shall we go, then?"

"Put the knife down, Harry," Hermione sighs, taking his arm before holding out her hand. "Hold on," she warns, offering it to Draco; Theo notices with a heightened degree of amusement that Draco holds his breath as he accepts, his fingers brushing hers with a careful, deliberate caution. "And you hold him," she bossily tells Theo, who nods once, smirking as he grips Draco's shoulder. "Ready?" she asks primly. "One - two - three - "

* * *

Lord Voldemort somehow manages to survive an explosion that takes out the entire train, not to mention perhaps a mile of track; news reaches them that he is alive and well, residing comfortably in a manor house in one of the northern regions.

"Told you," Hermione says smugly. Theo rolls his eyes at her.

"What's the deal?" he asks, looking up to watch Harry run some kind of fighting drill with a tree in the forest they're currently hiding. "Why can't Lord Voldemort die?"

"He's got these things called horcruxes," she explains. "Pieces of his soul that keep him alive. We've destroyed most of them," she adds, wincing a little. "There's one left. At least, we _think_ there is," she corrects herself. "We think the sword of Gryffindor is the final horcrux, and then he can be killed."

"I take it that's what you were looking for on the train?" Theo prompts, and she nods.

"Yes," Hermione sighs. "We'd heard there was train departing and thought he might have been in the process of transporting it elsewhere, as it wasn't among the other horcruxes."

"Sword of Gryffindor, huh?" Theo asks, glancing up at where Harry has taken aim at a tree trunk. "That one certainly seems to have an affinity for pointy things," he says, gesturing to Harry.

"He's got a bit of a vendetta," Hermione agrees, her expression darkening. "As do I."

"Is it true that Lord Voldemort taught you magic?" Draco says, reappearing from the woods. "They say you're as powerful as he is."

"They're not wrong," she admits slowly. "But they're not right, either."

"Oh good," Draco says. "I was worried you'd be overly specific."

"Yes," Theo agrees. "We hate clarity."

"Look," she says, sighing in what strikes Theo as moodily feigned exhaustion. "Yes, he taught me. Yes, I'm powerful. But in the end, I can't do what he does," she says, shaking her head. "He's willing to do anything for power." She throws a branch at the fire, letting it rise. "I'm not."

"Where exactly do you draw your limits?" Draco asks drily. "I heard you were there while he took over the orphanage at Hogwarts."

"No," she says, her cheeks flushing a violent shade of plum, "I was the _reason_ he took over Hogwarts. He was looking for me," she murmurs, looking enraged in a way that Theo has not yet witnessed from her. "He got what he wanted, and about a hundred deaths on top of it, too," she finishes darkly.

Draco has the grace to look sheepish, catching the barbed tone of her voice. "I didn't mean," he begins, stammering. "I wasn't - I didn't mean to - "

"Sure you didn't," she says angrily, scuffing her foot in the dirt. "I'm _sure_ you didn't mean to imply that I _wanted_ him to kill off everyone but Harry and me," she adds spitefully, glaring at him. "And I'm _sure_ it never crossed your mind that I barely sleep at night knowing that I put all those people in danger by stupidly trying to hide from him there."

Theo arches a brow warningly at Draco, who looks incalculably frustrated; he has always struggled with sympathy, and has an even harder time expressing it when he feels it. "Look," Draco starts, a bit too roughly for an apology. "I only meant - "

"What's your deal?" Hermione interrupts, ignoring him in favor of interrogating Theo. "Who did you desert, the King or Lord Voldemort?"

"I dislike being made to choose," Theo tells her. "Does it really matter which I deserted?"

"How could it not?" she counters, her expression hardening. "How can it not matter where you stand?"

"You mean how can it not matter who I prefer between a weak King and a tyrannical wizard?" Theo murmurs, tilting his head. "Hm, yes, how utterly foolish of me."

"At least the King isn't a murderer," Hermione mutters, sulking.

"Yes, well, what an excellent standard to live by," Theo says roughly, rising abruptly to his feet and stalking away, feeling a brush of irritation that compels him towards Harry.

"Hey," Theo calls, ripping his shirt over his head. "Fight me. The tree's had enough."

"Who says you're any better an opponent, _Steve,_ " Harry counters, sweat already pooling at his chest. "And if I say no?"

Theo promptly makes a fist, aiming for Harry's nose. Harry ducks.

"You don't hear 'no' often, do you?" Harry asks drily. Theo punches him again, or tries to, except Harry really is unnaturally quick, even for as trained as Theo is.

"I find people actually enjoy saying yes to me," Theo informs him, leaping out of the way as Harry lunges forward. "It's much more satisfying for all parties involved."

"More satisfying for _you_ , you mean," Harry mutters, hooking his heel behind Theo's knee. Theo falls forward but catches himself, twisting to pull Harry in a headlock.

"Yes, me," Theo confirms. "But people tend to prefer me in a good mood."

"I'd prefer you on your back," Harry says, throwing him. Theo quickly clambers out of his hold, darting away.

"Would you?" he asks mischievously, and Harry turns red.

"I," Harry begins, but he's lost focus, and Theo knocks him over easily, promptly propelling him backwards before pausing to step lightly on Harry's chest.

"You're good," Theo says, wiping sweat from his brow. "But I'm better, of course."

"You're a cheat," Harry tells him, and Theo shrugs.

"I've been called worse," Theo says, reaching down to help Harry up.

"I'm sure you have," Harry agrees, pulling Theo to the ground and rolling over him, promptly producing a small knife and holding it expertly to Theo's throat.

"Huh," Theo comments wryly, staring down at the tip of the blade. "Where'd you get that?"

For a moment, Harry smirks, and Theo finds it difficult to swallow.

"You're good," Harry acknowledges indifferently, suddenly retracting the knife and leaping to his feet. "But I'm better," he calls over his shoulder, walking over to kiss Hermione on the cheek before settling himself in front of the fire, leaving Theo to stare at his back from afar.

* * *

"So the sword isn't at Hogwarts," Hermione sighs. "We found the diadem there. And it's not at Gringotts," she adds, crossing that off on the makeshift map they've drawn in the dirt, "which is where the cup was - and it wasn't with the locket - "

"It's in Godric's Hollow," Draco says, biting into an apple. "Obviously."

"What?" Harry asks, jolting upright. He and Hermione exchange a glance.

"That's Godric Gryffindor's birthplace," Theo says. "If it's anywhere you haven't already looked, then it's probably there."

"Godric's Hollow," Hermione says, blinking rapidly. "But - "

"Why do you think it's the sword?" Draco interrupts listlessly, taking another overlarge bite.

"He had something from every other Hogwarts founder," Hermione replies. "That place meant something to him." Harry looks down; Theo notices Hermione does the same. _It's an orphanage,_ he recalls, and then feels an odd moment of sorrow for them.

Then he notices Draco noticing Hermione, and he arches a curious brow. Draco shakes a head in warning. _Shut up,_ he mouths.

"Well, we can certainly go there," Theo says, clearing his throat. "Find you your little sword thing - "

"And then?" Harry asks, glaring at him. "We've been traveling together for three days," he mutters. "Are you ever going to tell us who you work for? Or who you _are_?" he prompts, his expression tightening.

Theo holds up a hand as Draco opens his mouth to protest. "We will," he says simply. "We'll do your thing first, and then we can have a nice celebratory meal. To which we can all wear name tags," he says jauntily, offering Harry a wink.

"You know, I've known a lot of shady people," Harry says, rising agitatedly to his feet. "But you are by far the shadiest."

"If by that you mean most interesting, then yes," Theo says placidly. "Fair enough."

Harry stares at him for a moment, considering something, and then his grimace tightens.

"On your feet," he says, picking up his dagger. "Hermione," he adds, turning over his shoulder. "Make this a sword?"

She hesitates. "Harry, I - "

"Do it," Harry says, and she sighs, waving a hand. In an instant, Harry's dagger has been replaced, a standard Royal Army replica in his hand. Harry stares at Theo, who knowingly rises to his feet. Hermione sighs in resignation, recognizing the challenge for what it is and levitating a rock in the air, turning it into a sword that matches Harry's.

"Don't kill each other," she murmurs, as Theo moves to mirror Harry's stance.

"What is this?" Theo asks, but Harry lunges forward, nearly nicking Theo in the ribs. Theo parries expertly, darting away. "Ah, you could have just said so," he laughs, slapping Harry's arm with the broad side of his sword. He enjoys sparring with Harry; the other man is a natural, quick and precise, and it is more enjoyable a challenge than any other he faces these days. Harry whips around, raising the hilt above his head before bringing it straight down, the point of it aimed at Theo's torso. Theo cuts him off with a practiced defensive arch, waiting for the next move, when -

"I knew it," Harry says bitterly, throwing his sword to the side and walking away, not looking over his shoulder.

"What?" Theo asks, blinking; he is more than a little unsettled. He turns to find Draco and Hermione staring nervously at him, though they seem no more informed than he feels. "What did I - "

At their vacant looks of confusion, Theo throws his hands in the air, jogging after Harry.

"What's the deal?" he demands, yanking Harry's shoulder to pause his progress. "I thought you wanted to - "

"You're Army," Harry growls, practically spitting at his feet. "You're a soldier, aren't you?"

"I - " Theo pauses, realizing the move Harry just employed is a standard in the Royal Military Academy. "You've always known I was a deserter."

Harry hesitates. "Yes, but - " he clenches a fist. "I thought better of you."

"Better of me," Theo repeats, frowning. "What - " he stops. "Are _you_ a deserter?" he asks, watching Harry's face.

Harry winces, and Theo remembers who he is. _The Boy Who Lived,_ they whisper, _stopped Lord Voldemort's reign, and then disappeared along with him - resurfaced decades later as the consort of a witch, the most powerful in the land, destined to run -_

It has never occurred to Theo that perhaps Harry was a soldier at some point during his 'disappearance,' or that perhaps he had once taken pride in being one.

"I had to leave the Royal Army," Harry says, somewhat defiantly. "Hermione needed me."

There is a ferocity of devotion in Harry's green eyes that for some reason causes a sharp pain in Theo's chest.

"Oh," Theo says, as patiently as his personality allows. "Okay, but - " he stops. "Did you say you thought better of me . . . than _you_?" he asks, squinting at Harry in confusion.

Harry glares at him. "Go the fuck away, Steve," he says, disappearing into the trees.

* * *

"So," Theo says. "Does she hate you any less yet?"

Draco bristles, making a face. "Who says I want her to hate me less?"

"Only me," Theo offers. "Your best friend for the entirety of your lifetime."

"Eh," Draco says, shrugging. "Expendable."

"Just be yourself," Theo suggests gleefully.

"And then what?" Draco asks. "She'll like me?"

"No, certainly not," Theo replies. "But it will be more fun for me to watch."

Draco stops abruptly, sighing.

"Sometimes," he says slowly, "I think it might be fun to stab you."

"I'm sure it would be," Theo agrees. "Very satisfying, I'd imagine."

"Think of all the blood," Draco sighs dreamily. "Just smeared all over your smarmy face."

"God, delightful," Theo permits with a nod. "Plus, I mean, the stabbing itself - "

"Agh," Draco pronounces with incoherent delight. " _So_ satisfying."

"Where are they?" Theo asks, stepping into their camp and looking around for Harry and Hermione. "I would have thought they'd - "

"Put your hands up," a voice sneers, interrupting them. Theo and Draco glance at each other, reaching around for their guns as the faces of several Snatchers appear around the forest clearing. One, Theo notes, has his knife to Hermione's throat; the other points a gun at Harry's head.

"Careful," the Snatcher warns, tutting as Theo's hand closes around the handle of his revolver. "I wouldn't."

He and Draco look at each other, sighing.

"Well," Theo says lamely. "It's been fun."

"Sort of," Draco agrees.

"They do this," Harry mutters to the Snatcher whose gun jams against his temple. "I agree, it's the worst."

"Put your weapons down," Theo announces, reaching up to rub the bridge of his nose. "Now," he adds, in case the command requires a sense of urgency.

"Says who?" the Snatcher demands with a dubious snarl.

"Says Prince Theodore," Draco informs him, stepping forward to pull his shirt aside, brandishing the tattoo with the royal seal. "And Captain Malfoy of the Royal Guard."

"God, it sounds so ridiculous when you say it," Theo mutters. "Remind me to rehearse it the next time we have to do a big reveal."

"It's not my fault that's _your name_ ," Draco tells him, rolling his eyes. "Anyway, let them go," he says, gesturing to Harry and Hermione, whose mouths have fallen open. "Royal orders and all that."

"Fuck, we really need to rehearse," Theo says. "This is an absolute massacre of amateurish proportions."

"You're - you're not the prince," the Snatcher says in disbelief. "Prove it."

"Wait a minute," Hermione says, looking furious as she struggles against the Snatcher's hold. "You're Prince Theodore?"

"I prefer Theo," he replies. "Theodore is my father's name, and anyway," he shrugs, "it has a ring of douchery to it."

"It does," Draco agrees. "I hate it."

"Not the time," Theo reminds him sternly.

"You're the prince," Hermione repeats, and though Theo would expect her to find this information surprising and at least a little bit arousing, she looks as though she will strike him down where she stands. "You weren't trying to kill Lord Voldemort on the train at all, were you?"

"What?" Harry asks, staring at him. He looks betrayed; Theo feels a tinge of guilt.

"He wasn't even _on_ the train, was he?" Hermione demands. "You were there to kill _us,_ weren't you?"

"Oh, so you're an extraordinary witch _and_ inhumanly clever," Theo says, throwing his hands up. "Wonderful."

"Well," she says, her cheeks flaming. "Why didn't you?"

"He needs you," Harry realizes aloud, and now the betrayal on his face has turned to rage. "You need her on _your_ side, don't you?"

"Well, now that you mention it, yes," Theo confesses, and now even Draco looks hurt, which is not helpful. "Though you've not asked what my side is, have you?"

"The King's, obviously," Hermione grits out. "Your _father's -_ "

"Nah," Theo says, shrugging. "He's a little too into Lord Voldemort. I find it discouraging."

Harry gawks. "Wait - "

" - what?" Hermione finishes for him. "So that means - "

"That means," Theo supplies for her, "I need you to choose me so that we can defeat Lord Voldemort and then take over the country together. Oh, but since this is such a sensitive topic of conversation," he adds, leaning over to nudge Draco. "We should probably kill all these Snatchers, just in case."

"Just in case," Draco agrees, quickly drawing his revolver and firing on the one who holds Hermione, prompting her to stagger forward as chaos erupts around them.

She's quick, though, and no less clever than Theo has estimated, and so she takes out a few Snatchers of her own as Draco and Theo open fire, turning the gun that belongs to the Snatcher holding Harry to point into his own forehead, pulling the trigger with a twitch of her finger from afar. From there Harry makes quick work of the remaining Snatchers, pausing only when the four of them are the only remaining figures standing in the clearing. Harry stops abruptly, his knife pointed at Theo's head as Hermione knocks the gun from Draco's hand.

Draco, who has never been disarmed before, lets her do it, Theo notes; _some captain of the guard,_ he thinks, shaking his head.

"When you say you need her," Harry says, panting a little, "you mean - "

"I need to marry her," Theo admits, and Draco looks more than a little wounded, which Theo tries to ignore.

"Let me get this straight," Hermione says furiously. "You knew we were on that train."

"Yes," Theo says curtly. "Sorry, but you didn't hide very well - and more to the point," he adds emphatically, " _Lord Voldemort_ knew you were on that train."

"You knew, too?" Hermione asks, glaring at Draco.

He looks uneasy, which tickles Theo. "Yes," he admits. "I didn't realize we were going with any sort of hostage scheme," he adds hopefully, but Hermione isn't thrilled.

"Lord Voldemort wouldn't want me killed, though," Hermione says uneasily, glancing at Harry. "It doesn't make sense."

"Oh, no, he didn't want you killed," Theo agrees. "He wanted my father's Royal Guard to take you to him."

Recognition dawns on Harry's face. "But then - "

"I saved you," Theo cuts in gleefully. "Really, you should be thanking me." He pauses as Draco glances broodily at him. "Sorry," he offers, gesturing to Draco. " _We_ saved you."

"You manipulated us," Harry corrects him, scowling. "Excuse us if that doesn't sit particularly well, considering I thought you were - " he stops, hesitating.

"Honorable?" Theo offers bluntly, and shrugs. "Not particularly."

"So you're the captain of his father's guard," Hermione says. She's still somewhat unnecessarily fixated on Draco, in Theo's opinion, considering she's just discovered he's a prince. "You were told to bring me to Lord Voldemort?"

"Yes," Draco says, somewhat miserably.

"And instead," Hermione says with a thoughtful frown, "you blew up a train?"

"Yes," Draco says, looking at his feet.

Hermione gapes at him. "Why?"

"Well, if I might step in," Theo says, holding up a finger for pause. "Primarily, I wanted a reason for Lord Voldemort to think you were dead. At least temporarily," he assures her. "To give me time to do whatever it took to get you on board with overthrowing my father and using you as a means for public support. But also," he adds cheerfully, "because I have a tendency to make a larger mess than necessary of any given situation."

"That's true," Draco says.

"Why go against your father?" Harry demands, and Theo remembers suddenly that he has served under the name of King Theodore I, and likely felt it worth doing at one time.

"Well, unfortunately, my father's crawling into bed with Lord Voldemort where it comes to kidnapping and torturing innocent people to get what he wants," Theo laments facetiously. "Besides," he adds. "Haven't you ever looked at your father and thought 'you're a little shit'?"

"My father's dead," Harry says flatly.

"Huh," Theo comments. "Lucky you."

"He means," Draco sighs, "that Lord Voldemort's about to become a lot more powerful with King Theodore's support. So," he adds slowly, "he thought he could do with having a witch on his side."

"You want me to marry you?" Hermione asks, staring at Theo. Beside her, Harry's fists clench, accenting the sleek muscle of his forearm. "But - but I'm - "

"Beloved," Theo provides for her. "Adored? Surely you've noticed," he adds. "The people practically uphold you as a martyr, and if you were Queen - "

"I can't be Queen," Hermione stammers, glancing fearfully at Harry. "I'm - I can't - "

"You can't marry her," Harry says sternly, reaching instinctively for her hand. Beside Theo, Draco wilts almost imperceptibly. "I won't let you."

"Well," Theo sighs, "this is why I was hoping to have more time to win her over. You," he says apologetically, bowing slightly to Hermione. "Win _you_ over."

"I'm not a prize to be won," she tells him, making a face, and he shakes his head.

"You certainly are," Theo informs her. "Though, in case you missed it, I'm a _prince_ ," he reminds her saucily, "and thus not entirely prizeless myself."

"But," she says, glancing between Harry and Draco. "But I don't - "

"Oh, fuck, you don't have to love me," Theo assures her, laughing a little. "But my offer is this - agree to marry me," he suggests, and then nods to himself, deciding to get down on one knee for poetry's sake, "and I'll help you find this Sword of Gryffindor you're after."

He tries not to look at Harry, whose face is pulled into a tight mask of misery.

"Prince," Theo reminds her, pointing to himself as she bites her lip. "Handsome, some say."

"Ha," Harry mutters to himself, which Theo ignores.

"You'll help us," Hermione says slowly. "You'll help, and if I marry you" - Draco inhales sharply, staring at his feet - "then - "

"You'll only have to bear royal heirs," Theo assures her, forcing a smile. "Other than that, your time is your own."

"Fuck this," Harry says, kicking moodily at the ground and walking away.

Theo does everything he can not to look over his shoulder at Harry's exit; he focuses instead on Hermione's brown eyes, hoping she can feel his resolve. She glances up, looking at Draco; Theo can tell, knowing Draco as he does, that Draco has also turned away.

"Okay," Hermione whispers, staring after Harry and speaking more to the distance between them than to him. "I'll do it."

* * *

Hermione's magic takes them straight to Godric's Hollow, but they decide to wait until nightfall to venture into town; Theo is less likely to remain anonymous now, but darkness will do most of the work for him.

He finds Harry at the outskirts of a small town graveyard in the peak of the afternoon and joins him, saying nothing.

"My father," Harry says after a few minutes, pointing. "My mother." He sighs, closing his eyes. "Lord Voldemort murdered them."

Theo forces a swallow. "I'm sorry," he murmurs, and Harry shakes his head.

"I was born here," Harry says. "In Godric's Hollow." He gestures over his shoulder, nudging his chin at the town. "I went to Hogwarts when my parents died, and then I served in the King's army until Hermione needed me to come back."

"Draco and I served, too," Theo admits. "Until we, um - took up other posts," he says awkwardly.

"You're not a deserter, then," Harry says, glancing at him. "I guess I was right the first time."

"No, not a deserter, technically," Theo agrees with a laugh. "A traitor, actually, which bears a slight distinction."

Harry turns, looking at him. "You wear so many faces," he says, and Theo wonders if it is an insult, or merely an observation.

"Which is your favorite?" he asks, half-teasing.

Harry stares at him. "Say something that is not a joke," Harry says, "and not a lie."

Theo swallows, weighing his worth.

"I'm afraid," he says eventually. "Afraid that I will take the throne and fail. But I am more afraid," he continues, "that if a man as weak as my father joins up with a man as corrupt as Lord Voldemort and I do nothing to stop them, then I will face my own inadequacies for eternity, and - " he stops abruptly, letting out a sharp exhale. "And I will lie awake at night," he finishes, "with the blood of thousands on my hands."

Harry says nothing for a moment, his green eyes fixed on Theo's.

"You're very dramatic," he says eventually.

Theo lets out an uncomfortable peal of laughter. "Yes," he agrees.

Harry nods, seeming to have cemented something for himself. "But you're right," he says quietly. "And I would rather fight for a man like you than a man like your father."

Theo bows his head, surprisingly speechless.

"Thank you," he murmurs.

Harry reaches out, gripping his arm tightly; then, as though he has been stung, he quickly withdraws his hand, pulling it back to his side.

"I wouldn't let her do this if you were any less," Harry says gruffly, and Theo is reminded with a somewhat graceless jolt who is the priority in Harry's life. "Don't disappoint me."

"I could say the same," Theo sighs, feeling the moment slip irretrievably between his fingers. "But as I'm such a gentleman," he says airily, falling back on his more impervious nature, "I won't."

He swears he sees Harry fight a smile.

"Shut up, Steve," is all he says.

* * *

"I feel it," Hermione whispers, her hands outstretched in the dark. "It feels like - " she frowns. "It feels like the magic at Hogwarts," she says, looking distressed. "It has that same ancient hum to it - it's reverberating, and it's somewhere nearby, but - "

"But what?" Draco asks, standing at her side; Theo notices he has been making a habit of this. Hermione's eyes flutter open.

"It doesn't feel right," she says, biting her lip. "Not like the others. It feels more like Hogwarts than like" - she pauses, shuddering - " _him_."

Theo watches Draco reach out a hand to comfort her and then retracts it midair, cringing instead.

"Well," Theo suggests, "perhaps it's still worth seeking out?"

Hermione nods, chewing her lip. "This way," she says, her fingers moving slowly through the air; deliberately, with a sense of return, like she's running them through an ocean current. "Towards that house," she says, pointing, and Harry suddenly stops.

"What?" Theo asks, glancing at him, but when he looks back he knows. "It happened there, didn't it?" He chews his lip. "Your parents?"

Harry nods, but swallows. "Keep going," he says roughly.

In two words, Harry is braver than Theo feels he has ever been.

The house is abandoned, set up like a memory, with a ghost of magic all around it; Hermione feels around the preserving wards, finding a spare bit of vacancy for them to enter. They are slow to climb the stairs, hesitant to follow her; Theo and Draco, who are accustomed to traps, constantly look over their shoulders. Harry, who seems to recognize the place, looks around, his green eyes settling with longing on the pictures on the frames, the furniture, the spectrals of lives that once filled these four walls.

"There," Hermione says, pointing, though they can all see it when they arrive. The room is empty except for the glow of the sword in the center, which seems to pulse as they come nearer.

"Wait," Draco says, pulling her back. "Are you sure - "

"It's not a horcrux," Hermione says sadly, shaking her head. "It has Godric Gryffindor's magic on it, but nothing else."

"I remember it," Harry says suddenly, stepping forward. His eyes catch on the gold of the hilt; _he likes pointy things,_ Theo thinks, and stores the joke away for a more appropriate time. Harry crouches to touch it, reaching out -

And as his fingers close around the hilt, Hermione shudders, falling to her knees.

"Hermione," Draco says in panic, catching her and sinking to the ground with her. Theo watches them, feeling his brow furrow as he watches her struggle to take in breath, her brown eyes fixed on Harry from across the room.

Harry is momentarily entranced by the sword, but he turns when he notices that she is in Draco's arms. "Hermione," Harry says with a frown, turning over his shoulder. "Are you okay?"

She can't speak; Theo feels a rush of knowing dread.

"We should go," she whispers.

* * *

"It's him, isn't it?" Theo asks her when they are alone, and she manages a nod.

For a day and a night they travel, leaving Godric's Hollow behind but taking with them the sword. Theo leaves Harry to his silence until he finds him by himself in the center of a clearing, staring at a tree.

"Is it not hitting back today?" Theo asks.

Harry doesn't look over his shoulder.

"I'm not very good at this sort of thing," Theo tells him. "It's why I only have one friend, and even with him I'm fairly inept." He pauses. "I think if the opportunity ever arose, Draco really would enjoy stabbing me."

Harry swallows, but doesn't speak.

"How long have you known?" Theo asks, and then permits the question to rest in the air between them.

Harry eventually sighs. "It feels different actually knowing," he finally says. "But I've always thought there was something … odd," he admits. "There were moments when I thought I could feel him, the way Hermione can, but - "

He trails off. "He disappeared after killing my parents," Harry says. "Hermione seems to think that after splitting his soul so many times, maybe that last piece of him just sort of ricocheted around until it settled in me."

He shudders. Theo wants to reach for him, but doesn't.

"Is there anything you can do?" Theo asks, and Harry lets out a startlingly hollow laugh.

"Die," he says simply. "At the right time."

"I meant," Theo begins, but Harry cuts him off.

"I know what you meant," Harry says, with a rough edge of meanness. "You want to be helpful?" Harry asks, turning to face him. "Fight me," he says, putting up a fist. "We're soldiers, aren't we?"

"Harry," Theo warns, but Harry throws a punch, and Theo instinctively shifts to avoid it. Harry laughs, somewhat maniacally, but the essence of a smile is on his lips and Theo is at a loss, so he raises his fists, beckoning.

The sparring is conventional at first, like Army practice drills, with more mechanical repetition than creativity; but then Harry suddenly hits harder, and then Theo is gritting his teeth, and then there is a blow to Harry's stomach that is met with an elbow to the back of Theo's neck and they are on the ground, Harry's fist poised at Theo's face.

"If it will help," Theo rasps. "Just do it."

Harry stares at him, breathing hard. "You wear so many faces," he says hoarsely, and Theo, who has calculated at least three ways to slip out of Harry's hold in the last five seconds, chooses not to move; he chooses not to breathe, not letting his gaze falter.

"Bash them all in, then," Theo invites him. "If that's what I can do for you, then- "

He is cut off as Harry yanks him forward by the collar of his shirt and kisses him, a kiss that tastes like salt, a metallic drip of sweat and a coppery hint of blood. Theo's hand drops to Harry's chest and he can feel his heart beating, can feel his lungs stretching to take in air, can feel him bone by bone and every strand of muscle, and thinks with an inward laugh that no Dark Lord could have ever taken up residency there and survived it.

He thinks, for a moment of insanity, that Hermione must be wrong; she must have miscalculated, misjudged, she must be mistaken - because there is no fiber of this man's being that is anything less than a warrior, no less than a hero, no less than a _god_ -

Harry pulls away with a soundless twist of anguish; he turns his back on Theo and rakes a hand through his hair, shaking his head.

"You're supposed to put up a fight," Harry snarls, and then he gets up, and he doesn't come back.

 _Good,_ Theo thinks with brutal satisfaction, letting his head fall. _Better if you run._

* * *

They decide to part ways; it seems only fitting, knowing one of them is meant for death and the other is meant for arranged marriage. Theo figures they need time to grieve.

"I'll need three days to put together something of an army," Theo says, and Draco nods his tactical agreement. "Then we'll meet you at Malfoy Manor."

"Malfoy Manor," Hermione repeats, looking startled. Draco's mouth twitches unhappily.

"Yes," he confirms grimly. "That's where Lord Voldemort generally resides."

Hermione reaches towards him for a moment, like she'll cup her hand around his cheek; she doesn't, and they both look disappointed.

Theo grips Harry's shoulder, offering him a smirk that is really more of a grimace. "When you come back," he says, aiming for airy indifference and discovering with bitter amusement that he can still so easily find it, "I'll give you a palace. Or two," he suggests. "Depending how much you suffer while you're gone."

"I don't want anything," Harry grits out, his mouth tightening. He glances behind Theo at Hermione, his eyes lingering helplessly on her face. "Just deserve her," he says quietly.

 _Deserve her._

Theo nods, and his heart doesn't break.

It shatters.

* * *

But there is no time to build an army; no time even to escape.

"Prince Theodore," Lord Voldemort says, his raven-black hair winking in the light with his hoard of Death Eaters at his heels. "How kind of you to lead me to my wayward protégé." He turns his head, smiling slyly. "And young Captain Malfoy," he says, the words slithering off his tongue. "I wondered where you'd been."

He abandons both Draco and Theo in favor of Hermione, who is staring up at him defiantly. "Hello, little one," he coaxes her, an eerie tenderness to his voice. "Haven't you run far enough?"

"Don't touch me, Tom," she hisses, and Draco and Theo exchange a look.

"Hermione," Lord Voldemort whispers, curling one long finger under her chin. "Surely you knew you would leave traces in Godric's Hollow." He leans forward, speaking in her ear. "Are you sure you didn't wish me to follow you?" he murmurs, brushing his lips against her cheek. "You know I'm drawn to your magic."

Beside him, Theo can feel Draco stiffen in anger; in rage. He moves to take a step forward, but then -

"Ah, and Harry Potter," Lord Voldemort says, turning to him. "Lovely," he murmurs. "I'm so thrilled to have a complete set. To be done with all of you," he says with a laugh, "minus you, of course, Hermione."

"You can't have her," Draco snarls, and Lord Voldemort raises one brow.

"You misunderstand, Draco," he tuts quietly. "She is already mine." Lord Voldemort laughs, yanking the sleeve back on her shirt and exposing the snake and the skull, the Dark Mark on her wrist. "I put it there myself," he tells Draco, taunting him. "Tell him, Hermione," he adds, curling her under his arm, stroking a finger along the edge of her cheek. "It seems you've garnered yourself yet another little admirer, haven't you? Tell him," he murmurs again. "Tell him that you are not yours to give away."

She shrinks from his touch, not looking at Draco. "I had no choice," she whispers to him, and Draco stares at her, speechless.

"We're connected, Hermione and I," Lord Voldemort tells them gleefully. "We possess power that calls to the other, and there are none equal to us." He turns, cupping her face in his hands. "None of your pets can save you from what you are," he murmurs to her. "Not Harry Potter, not Draco Malfoy - not even young Prince Theodore," he taunts, "who's even less of a man than his father - "

"Hermione," Theo interrupts, calling to her. "Don't listen to him - "

"Silence," Lord Voldemort says, making a slashing motion with his hand that eliminates Theo's ability to speak, leaving him to paw helplessly at his throat. "You've been running for too long, Hermione," he tells her, his voice like a lover's; like a twisted lullaby. "I'll always belong to you, Hermione, and you to me - "

"Yes," she says suddenly, gazing up at him. "I am yours, aren't I?"

Beside Theo, Draco's hands shake.

"I'm yours," Hermione says, stepping towards him. "Everything I am."

"Yes," Lord Voldemort agrees, bending his head to press his forehead against hers; it is a caress, Theo notes, though a disturbing one. "Yes, everything you are - "

"And you are mine," Hermione whispers, and it is then that Theo realizes what she is doing; he turns to Harry, sees his green eyes go wide, catches the shimmer of a gold hilt that is slung across his waist -

"And everything you are, Tom," Hermione says, taking hold of Lord Voldemort's throat, "belongs equally to _me_."

Lord Voldemort lets out a terrible, inhuman scream as the earth suddenly thunders around them, a curtain of darkness falling as Hermione takes hold of Lord Voldemort's power and steals it from him, dragging him to his knees. Behind them, the other Death Eaters leap forward and Draco holds them off, his grey eyes narrowing as he takes aim.

Beside Theo, Harry is shouting -

"Do it," Harry begs, thrusting the sword at Theo. "You have to be the one - "

"I can't," Theo says, panicked. "I - Harry, I can't - "

"She can't hold him off for long," Harry pleads. "It has to be me first. Save her life, Theo," he says adamantly, "save Draco's - "

"I can't," Theo says desperately. "Harry, don't make me do this - "

"I will find you," Harry promises, reaching out to grip the back of Theo's neck. "I swear it," he says, his green eyes wild, his fingers digging into the ridges of Theo's skull.

Theo closes his eyes, broken beyond repair. "I'm sorry," he whispers.

He plunges the sword into Harry's chest, his eyes fluttering open as Harry staggers backwards and then falls, the hilt still gripped in Theo's hand. There is a moment - a rip in the fabric of time - and Lord Voldemort staggers forward, feeling the loss of whatever piece of him had taken residence in Harry, and this is the moment when Theo turns to Hermione. She takes the sword from him, swaying slightly, and then buries it in the side of Lord Voldemort's neck, panting as she stumbles backwards and falls.

Draco catches her and the others flee as she raises her hands; Theo knows she is too weak to conjure much of anything but _they_ don't know that, and so they run, and Theo falls to his knees beside Harry, clutching the head of messy dark hair in his hands.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, half a sob rising up to choke him. "I'm sorry - "

"Theo," Draco says, and reaches for him, one arm still wrapped protectively around Hermione; but Theo continues, shaking -

"I'm sorry - "

He feels something, a stirring in his chest; fear, he thinks, or trauma, or weakness, or simply an uninvited breath -

"I can't breathe, Steve," he hears, and when Theo opens his eyes, it is to a radiant view of emerald green, and he promptly collapses in the dirt.

* * *

Hermione Granger marries the newly-crowned King Theodore II in a very public ceremony, to great fanfare, and atop the shining steps of the newly rebuilt Hogwarts Castle. She announces shortly afterwards that as her first objective as Queen, her priority is to restore its glory; to make it a school for children like she once was, and like her dear friend Harry Potter, whose death in defeating Lord Voldemort is commemorated as though he were a martyr, or even a saint.

Theo permits this. He finds it keeps his wife happy, and there is much to be said for such things.

Theo nods to his guards as he moves to enter his chambers.

"Wait," one says. "There's someone in there to see you, Your Majesty."

"Well, is it a murderer or a thief?" Theo prompts irritably, pushing open the door. "Because either way, I'm already displeased."

"Neither, actually," a familiar voice calls from inside, and Theo freezes.

"Captain Malfoy said to let him in," the guard says uncertainly. "But if you'd like us to - "

"No, no," Theo says hastily. "Just - um." He swallows. "Don't interrupt," he warns, brandishing a finger at both guards before throwing the door open, wandering inside.

"King Theodore," Harry says, smiling at him. "Been a while."

"Don't call me that," Theo tells him. "It sounds ridiculous."

"It's _your_ name."

"Still," Theo mutters, and Harry smirks. "So," Theo ventures casually. "How's death?"

"Less exciting than you might think," Harry replies, yawning. "Easier this way, of course, but it's absolute murder to get anything done."

"Of course," Theo agrees, rolling his eyes. "And you would know murder."

"Not as well as you," Harry assures him with a wink, "but I'm familiar."

"Going to rub that in again?" Theo sighs, and Harry shakes his head, smiling.

"How's the Queen?" he asks.

"Honestly?" Theo says, and Harry shrugs.

"Why not?"

"Well," Theo informs him, "I think she's fucking the captain of my guard."

Harry laughs. "Are she and Draco happy, then?"

"Like little clams, the both of them," Theo informs him. "It's me who gets the shit end of the stick, really."

"Really?" Harry says, rising to his feet and joining Theo. "Unsatisfied, are you?"

"Quite," Theo replies. "Incredibly, actually."

"Poor King Theodore," Harry murmurs, leaning forward. His stubble rubs against Theo's cheek and Theo fights a shiver. "Always having to wear so many faces."

"Which is your favorite?" Theo asks, holding his breath, and Harry laughs in his ear.

"Tell me something that is not a joke," he suggests softly, "and not a lie."

"I miss you," Theo says.

"And?" Harry prompts, his hand traveling to Theo's trousers.

"Fuck," Theo groans. "Stay with me." He grabs Harry's hand, holding it still. "That's an order," he growls, feeling his breath catch.

Harry smiles. Theo wants to reach for him.

He does.

"This one," Harry says, brushing his lips against Theo's and closing the distance between them. "This one is my favorite."

* * *

 **a/n:** Inspired by my recent mostly-dissatisfied read of the Grisha Trilogy by Leigh Bardugo; a different plot and a vastly different ending, so not a spoiler for those who haven't read them. Thanks for letting me get this one out of my head! And onwards, I promise, to Drunk History, which is about halfway done and - of course - very very late. Thank you again to Jelibean323 for the pairing request; hope it was all that you wanted!


	65. Drunk History: The Voldemort Wars, Pt I

**Drunk History: The Voldemort Wars, Part I**

 _Pairing:_ None

 _Universe:_ Post-Hogwarts

 _Rating:_ M for language

 _Summary:_ Part I of two episodes of Drunk History: The Voldemort Wars. If you have never seen the show Drunk History, here is the actual synopsis: _In each episode, an inebriated narrator, who is joined by host [in this case, Lee Jordan], struggles to recount an event from history, while actors enact the narrator's anecdotes and also lip sync the dialogue._

* * *

 _[Camera opens to the Headmaster's office, where Minerva McGonagall sits behind what is now her desk. The room is mostly sparse, cleared of its former inhabitant's trinkets and occupied instead by volumes of large, distinctly heavy-looking books. Minerva delicately sips a glass of Ogden's in complete silence as Lee Jordan is perched awkwardly across from her. Every now and then she is heard to murmur "excellent year" or "full-bodied indeed," as Lee silently partakes in his own glass of Firewhisky._

 _After perhaps thirty minutes of this, Lee clears his throat.]_

Lee, anxiously: "So, Professor - "

Minerva: _[takes a long sip]_ "Drink, Mr Jordan."

Lee: _[nods quickly, taking a sip.]_ "I just wanted to thank you again for agreeing to this."

Minerva: _[shrugs]_ "I felt it was important." _[She leans back, eyeing the liquid in her glass.]_ "Well, _history_ certainly is, I should say."

Lee: "Yeah, I was sort of … surprised you agreed to the drunk bit, honestly."

Minerva: _[eyeing him hawkishly]_ "Mr Jordan, do you imagine me to be the kind of woman who cannot hold her alcohol?"

Lee: "I try not to imagine, Professor. I find I travel to disturbing places when I do."

Minerva: _[ignoring him]_ "I assure you that I will maintain a commendable - if not _heightened_ \- sense of integrity and decorum befitting both my age and my stature, immune as I have always been to any particular sway of intoxication."

Lee: _[shuddering]_ "Yikes."

 _[Fifteen minutes pass.]_

Minerva: "... the obvious thing being, of course, that I am highly respected, but also surprisingly not very polarizing. So really, the irony of me doing this job is that I was always extremely qualified for it."

Lee: _[hesitantly]_ "Is that technically irony?"

Minerva: _[Takes a long, deliberate sip, emptying her glass and then dropping it on the desk with a loud bark of laughter.]_ "It's fucking _truth_ is what it is, Jordan."

Lee: "Well." _[Tentatively]_ "Personally, I think you're a boss ass bitch, Professor."

Minerva: _[chuckles to herself, reaching up to vacantly touch her hair.]_ "Where's my hat?"

 _[Fifteen minutes later. Minerva is now wearing the Sorting Hat.]_

Minerva: "Do it. Tell him."

Sorting Hat: "No."

Lee: "Tell me what?"

Sorting Hat: "Don't."

Minerva: _[coaxingly]_ "Come on."

Sorting Hat: "Stop."

Lee: "WHAT?"

Minerva: "Come _on -_ "

Sorting Hat: _[to Lee]_ "She's telling a raunchy joke in her head."

Lee: "Really?"

Minerva: "Oh, it's not _that_ bad."

Sorting Hat: "The punchline is 'two lips on your organ.'"

Minerva: _[giggles]_

 _[Fifteen minutes later. Lee is now wearing the Sorting Hat.]_

Minerva: " . . . and I was like, _fuck goblins,_ you know?"

Lee: "Bro. Dudebro. My dude."

Minerva: "I fucking _know_ , right?"

Lee: _[lets out a sharp exhale]_ "Bro."

Minerva: _[nodding firmly]_ "Fucking - _exactly_."

Sorting Hat: "Gryffindor!"

 _[Fifteen minutes later. The Sorting Hat is sat on the desk, having been awarded its own glass of Ogden's.]_

Minerva: "You know what's like … hilarious?"

Lee: "Tell me."

Minerva: "You know who's got the biggest dick?"

Lee: "Snape." _[He pauses.]_ "No, Dumbledore. No, Filch. No - "

Minerva: "Stop talking, Jordan."

Lee: "Okay."

Minerva: "It's motherfucking Filius, Jordan." _[She pauses, smirking.]_ "Filius _Flitwick._ "

Lee: "You're joking."

Minerva: _[taking a loud gulp]_ "I'm fucking - _not_." _[She hiccups once.]_ "You know whose is second biggest?"

Lee: "Mine." _[He pauses.]_ "No, yours."

Minerva: _[nodding slowly]_ "Good wager, Jordan, but no." _[She leans forward conspiratorially.]_ "It's _Binns,_ Jordan. Fucking _Binns._ " _[She leans back, looking smugly delighted.]_

Lee: "Wait." _[He blinks.]_ "I think you forgot Hagrid."

Minerva: _[into her glass]_ "I didn't forget shit, Jordan, you cocksucking whore."

 _[Fifteen minutes later.]_

Minerva: "You know who my favorite student was?"

Lee: "Harry?"

Minerva: "Remus motherfucking Lupin, that werewolf son of a bitch."

Lee: "Did you know he was a werewolf?"

Minerva: "His name was fucking _Moon Moon_ , Jordan." _[She pauses, squinting at the bottom of her glass.]_ "Or is it Wolf Wolf?"

Lee: "Interchangeable, I say."

Minerva: _[sighs nostalgically]_ "I'd have stooped to deviance for Sirius Black, though."

Lee: "Oh, for sure. It wouldn't even really be stooping."

Minerva: "No. It would have been some unapologetic _schtoop-_ ing, though." _[She holds up her glass, emitting a strangely tinkling laugh before touching her finger to her nose, missing the orifice entirely.]_

Lee: _[blinks]_ "I don't say this a lot, but - " _[he takes a deep breath]_ " - you make me want to be a better person."

Minerva: _[nods]_ "I get that."

 _[Fifteen minutes pass.]_

Lee: "Ready, Professor?"

Minerva: _[blinks]_ "Yes. No." _[She pauses.]_ "Yes." _[She stares vacantly into space for a moment.]_ "What's that you're smoking, Jordan?"

Lee: "Me?" _[Looks around.]_ "I'm not smoking anything."

Minerva: "Oh." _[A pause.]_ "Okay then."

Lee: "Is that … okay?" _[He waits; she says nothing.]_ "Because if you want I can get you a - "

Minerva: "Yes. Do that."

Lee: "Oh - "

Minerva: "If you want to."

Lee: "Right."

Minerva: "No pressure."

 _[Fifteen minutes later.]_

Minerva: _[waving away a thick cloud of smoke]_ "If anyone asks, there's a fire in my office, Jordan."

Lee: _[smirking]_ "There's definitely something hot, Professor."

Minerva: _[Stops abruptly]_ "Jordan, you'd better be prepared to back that up."

Lee: "Oh." _[He pauses for a moment.]_ "That sounds scary."

Minerva: "Well, now we know who has the smallest balls."

 _[Fifteen minutes later.]_

Minerva: "Have a biscuit, Jordan."

Lee: "Where is it?"

 _[A long pause commences.]_

Lee: "We should probably start the show now."

Minerva: "That seems best."

 _[Cuts to Minerva interview segment.]_

Minerva: "Hello." _[She pauses.]_ "Did I say that right?"

Lee: "Did you say hello?"

Minerva: "Yes."

Lee: "How did you say it?"

Minerva: "Hello."

Lee: "Again?"

Minerva: "Hello."

Lee: "Okay." _[He nods.]_ "Keep going."

Minerva: "Hello, I'm Minerva McGonagall, and today we're going to be talking about the first Voldemort war." _[She takes a sip.]_ "Nailed it."

 _[Camera cuts to pan the outside of an old, rickety cottage.]_

Minerva voiceover: "So here's the fucking deal. There's some shitty purebloods, right? Because every story starts with some shitty purebloods. Fucking - _every story._ We all know this. It's widely accepted - "

Lee voiceover: _[interrupting]_ "Shitty purebloods. Got it."

Minerva voiceover: "So like, there's the Gaunts. Fucking Daddy Gaunt, Marvolo - "

 _[Viktor Krum steps into view, wearing a light brown wig and crouching, clutching an oversized gold cocktail ring.]_

 _[Editor's cut:_

 _Viktor: "Hermione vill vatch me, yes?"_

 _Lee: "I don't see how she could miss it, honestly."_

 _Viktor: [nodding] "Very vell."]_

Minerva voiceover: "Then Brother Gaunt, Morfin - "

 _[Irma Pince wanders on screen.]_

 _[Editor's cut:_

 _Irma: "Librarian: oddly not a lucrative post."_

 _Lee: "I'm really not in a position to make judgments."]_

Minerva voiceover: "And finally, Merope Gaunt, the daughter."

 _[Kreacher toddles into view, wearing a lank, dull wig and his usual garb in addition to a set of crazy-eyed false glasses that Muggles occasionally wear for children's birthday parties.]_

 _[Editor's cut:_

 _Harry: "What did you say you needed Kreacher for again?"_

 _Lee: "Nothing important."]_

Albus voiceover, via his portrait: "Oooh, are you telling Tom Riddle's backstory?"

 _[Camera cuts back to Minerva.]_

Minerva: _[leaping up in her seat]_ "Fucking hell, Albus, you cunting shit, I nearly spilled my drink."

Albus: _[sighs happily]_ "I love this story."

Minerva: _[scoffing]_ "Funny that, as you certainly never shared it with anyone while you were alive."

Albus: "I know. I still think about that and laugh."

Minerva: "You laugh?"

Albus: _[chuckling]_ "I was such a scamp."

Minerva: "Yeah." _[Sarcastically]_ "That's definitely the word I'd use, too."

Lee: _[whispering loudly]_ "It's not."

Minerva: _[sniffing]_ "Don't interrupt, Jordan, it's rude."

 _[Camera returns to the set of the Gaunt family shack, where Kreacher is being instructed to hold a broom and sweep the floor. He scowls.]_

Minerva voiceover: "So anyway, Merope is miserable. Her brother's a deviant little nut job and her father's a completely unhinged maniac who's even more obsessed with his ring than Gollum - "

Lee voiceover: _[interrupting]_ "Who?"

Minerva voiceover: "Don't worry about it. So like I was saying, Merope's all 'my life sucks' - "

 _[Camera closes up on Kreacher mouthing along with the voiceover, though he appears to say 'Mistress would be ashamed' before dead-eyeing the camera.]_

Minerva voiceover: " - and then she sees Tom Riddle - who, by the way, is a fucking panty-dropper - riding around outside on a horse all 'look at me, look at me' - "

 _[Camera pans out the window to show Cornelius Fudge in a wig and perched uncomfortably on horseback, repeatedly sneaking dubious glances at the ground below as though he expects to fall there shortly.]_

 _[Editor's cut:_

 _Lee: "Wow, so we're just … not even trying, are we?"]_

Minerva voiceover: " - and like any thirsty bitch, Merope's like, you know what? Love potion." _[Kreacher very unhappily mouths along with her narration, his ears drooping forward.]_ "I'm a witch, I'm fucking magic, he doesn't need to like my tits or my personality, he just needs to put it in me a solid twice a day. No, wait."

 _[Camera cuts back to Minerva.]_

Minerva: _[frowning]_ "Three times a day?"

Lee: "Is that real?"

Minerva: "I mean … have you ever seen young Tom Riddle?"

Lee: "No?"

Minerva: "Honestly, if you're not going to take this seriously - "

Sorting Hat: "I've seen him. Three times sounds reasonable."

Minerva: _[throwing her hands up]_ "Thank you! Anyway - "

 _[Camera cuts to a scene of Irma Pince being dramatically dragged away from the shoddily constructed set of an even more shoddily constructed Gaunt shack.]_

Minerva voiceover: "So there's a whole thing where Morfin gets arrested for fucking up some Muggles, and then Marvolo gets arrested for trying to curse the Ministry worker who shows up to be like okay, what the fuck - "

 _[Scene of Viktor Krum wildly brandishing his fists at Seamus Finnegan in costume as a Ministry worker. He swats delicately at Viktor's hand and then promptly runs away.]_

Minerva voiceover: "So then it's just Merope left alone with her thirst and her Muggle fuckboy."

 _[Cornelius tries tentatively to put his arm around Kreacher, who immediately curls into a ball and wails.]_

Minerva voiceover: "Eventually Merope is like 'ugh, I'm tired of sex, I want love now' - "

Lee voiceover: "Dumb."

Minerva voiceover: " - so she stops giving Tom Riddle Sr the love potion, and then he sees her crazy eyes and is like, 'holy shit, what' - "

 _[Cornelius and Kreacher relay this scene with great accuracy.]_

Minerva voiceover: " - and _he_ leaves, but _she's_ pregnant, so she gets all sick and gross from like, being sad or whatever, but she makes it to Wool's Orphanage to have the baby, names him Tom Marvolo Riddle in honor of both their shitty fathers, and then she dies."

 _[Kreacher staggers dramatically across the wooden floor of the orphanage set, pulls a toy doll from beneath his rags, and promptly lets his head fall against the floor. Seamus rushes out as a social worker, fanning himself and then collapsing atop Kreacher's chest, wailing.]_

Minerva voiceover: "Naturally, Tom Riddle is a weirdo right from the start."

 _[Gilderoy Lockhart bursts onto the scene in full costume, which includes a dark wig and a set of period-appropriate bloomers. He is joined by a cast of extras, among which is a reprised Seamus Finnegan and a deeply displeased Dean Thomas.]_

 _[Editor's cut:_

 _Lee: "You really went with Lockhart for this? You didn't think maybe we could find someone with a bit more … gravitas?"_

 _Muttered response._

 _Lee: "Oh, you couldn't? Well. Then this makes sense."]_

Minerva voiceover: "Tom gets in a fight with some kid and hangs his rabbit from the rafters - which, ew - "

Lee voiceover: "Ew."

Minerva voiceover: " - and then he did something else that was apparently _so unspeakably horrible_ that they literally could not speak - "

 _[Gilderoy leaps into view as the other extras, who appear to be eating lunch, are startled into dropping their food.]_

Minerva voiceover: "So anyway, obviously eventually Tom Riddle turns eleven, so Albus Dumbledore goes to see him - "

Albus portrait voiceover: "EHEM."

 _[Camera cuts back to Minerva's office.]_

Minerva, to Albus' portrait: "What?"

Albus: _[innocently]_ "Oh, are you going to tell it?"

Minerva: "I'm telling it. Right now."

Albus: "I mean, _someone else_ could always tell it."

Minerva: "What?"

Albus: "You know." _[suggestively]_ " _Someone else._ "

Minerva: "I don't understand what you're saying."

Albus: _[sighing heavily]_ "Right, right, carry on."

 _[Scene returns to the orphanage where Gilderoy Lockhart is now speaking to Luna Lovegood, who is wearing a full white beard and a Sorcerer's Apprentice hat.]_

Minerva voiceover: "So Dumbledore meets Tom, tells him he's a wizard, blah blah - "

 _[Gilderoy mouths along with the narration, giddily overemphasizing the words 'blah blah'.]_

Minerva voiceover: "Dumbledore, in the meantime, discovers that Tom's like, totally insane, and that he keeps trophies from all the little kids that he psychologically ruins - "

 _[Gilderoy leaps into the bathroom as Dean is brushing his teeth, startling him into dropping his toothbrush and then grabbing it and running away.]_

Albus voiceover: _[interrupting]_ "Which is very important to remember for later in the story."

Minerva voiceover: "Albus. Hush."

 _[On camera, Luna mouths Albus' incoherently mumbled response.]_

Minerva voiceover: "So Tom goes to Hogwarts and is sorted into Slytherin, though he believes for whatever reason that his father was a wizard and not his mother, since he clearly confuses magic with immortality - " _[Emphatically]_ "Which, by the way, is a misconception he absolutely _refuses_ to part with, though we'll get into that later - "

Albus voiceover: "You're not telling it right!"

 _[On screen, Luna admonishes Gilderoy.]_

Minerva voiceover: "Whatever. So Tom lassoes together this gang of Slytherin thugs, and they call themselves the Knights of Walpurgis - "

Albus voiceover: [ _hastily, as though he fears interruption]_ "And they are a motley composition of the weak seeking protection, the ambitious seeking some shared glory, and the thuggish gravitating toward a leader who can show them more refined forms of cruelty."

 _[Camera cuts to Minerva, who is scowling at Albus' portrait.]_

Minerva: "Are you done?"

Albus: _[indignantly]_ "You weren't crafting the scene."

Minerva: "The scene full of bumbling baboons?" _[scoffs]_ "I think the stage is sufficiently set, Albus."

 _[Scene cuts to Hogwarts, where the Knights of Walpurgis are being played by Dean, Seamus, and now Cormac McLaggen and Marcus Belby, who look deeply pleased with themselves.]_

Minerva voiceover: "Tom Riddle either proves everyone on earth to be a fool or himself to be a very good actor despite his latent psychopathy and performs brilliantly in his courses. At some point before his fifth year, after searching through countless records - " _[Scene shows Gilderoy searching vehemently through a pile of books, tossing them over his shoulder as he abandons them]_ " - he discovered that his father could not have been a wizard." _[Gilderoy sulks, swaying where he stands and holding his hand to his forehead in apparent lamentation.]_ "He _does,_ however, use his middle name to uncover his relation to the Gaunts, who are the last remaining heirs of Slytherin."

 _[The scene shifts to the girl's bathroom, where Gilderoy is shown to be poking indiscriminately at the handles until Lee Jordan walks on screen, gesturing impatiently to the correct faucet, which features a depiction of a snake.]_

Minerva voiceover: "He discovers he is the heir of Salazar Slytherin, and then manages to open the Chamber of Secrets in his fifth year of schooling."

 _[Gilderoy leaps dramatically onto a set that looks to be a poorly replicated imagining of the Chamber, looking immeasurably snotty as he does it.]_

Minerva voiceover: "Not sure how Tom did it, exactly. I mean, he's a fucking genius or whatever, so - that, I guess."

 _[It should be physically impossible for Gilderoy to look more smug, but he manages it.]_

Minerva voiceover: "In an effort to carry on Salazar's mission of fucking up Muggle-born students, Tom sets the evil snake - "

Albus voiceover: _[interrupting]_ "The _basilisk_ , Minnie - "

Minerva voiceover: "Shut your whore mouth, Albus, I'm talking."

 _[Gilderoy gleefully mouths along with this as someone levitates in a small garden snake, which is wearing the same crazy-eyed glasses that Kreacher was wearing earlier. Seamus, in a dress, appears as Myrtle Warren, meeting the snake's eye and collapsing in a heap.]_

Minerva voiceover: "So, Tom kills a student, which is just about the only thing that ever happens to make any school administrators pay attention to anything, and Tom, being smarter than just about anyone who has ever worked at Hogwarts - "

Albus voiceover: "Except me, right?"

Minerva voiceover: "Did I fucking stutter, Albus?"

Lee voiceover: _[whispering]_ "She didn't."

Minerva voiceover: "Tom blames another student, Rubeus Hagrid, whom Albus makes caretaker of the school." _[Seamus appears again, this time wearing an overlarge beard and entering on stilts.]_ "Which, if you're following, here - this kid gets expelled, right, and Albus Dumbledore decides it's not safe to argue that they should keep him as a student, but that it _is_ advisable to give him literally all the keys to the castle? OKAY, sure."

 _[Luna, still dressed as Albus, shrugs indolently.]_

Minerva voiceover: "So anyway, since Tom isn't allowed to murder people with his killing snake anymore - "

Lee voiceover: "Do you mean his - "

Minerva voiceover: _[interrupting]_ "No, I mean his literal snake that kills people."

Lee voiceover: "Right."

Minerva voiceover: "That summer, Tom goes to the Gaunt shack, where an even nuttier Morfin momentarily thinks he is Tom Riddle Sr - " _[Irma Pince sits on the floor, clawing manically at her face]_ " - thus unceremoniously informing young Tom Riddle that his father was a peacocking twat cannon who lives with his parents." _[Cornelius Fudge reappears as Tom Riddle Sr.]_ "Oh, and that he's a Muggle."

 _[Gilderoy leaps on screen, brandishing a wand at Cornelius. Behind him, Seamus pulls Dean into the frame as the elder Riddles. Dean is wearing an old-fashioned nightie.]_

Minerva voiceover: "Tom kills his father and his grandparents and modifies his uncle's memory so that Morfin takes the blame, and once Tom returns to school he uses his father's murder to create his first horcrux, which is an item that holds a piece of his soul." _[Screen shows Gilderoy at a Muggle chemistry set.]_ "He decides on a diary, which includes information about how to open the Chamber of Secrets for the next time a homicidal maniac comes along, or just some empty cannister of a dummy he can temporarily possess."

 _[Editor's cut:_

 _Ginny: "They're going to be sensitive about all the terrible things Voldemort did, right?"_

 _Lee: "Oh, for sure. Totally."]_

Albus voiceover: "See, the trophy thing is relevant now."

 _[Camera cuts to Minerva, who is laying face down on the floor with Lee sprawled out beside her.]_

Minerva: "What?"

Albus: "Tom Riddle kept trophies as a kid, right? So I was like, horcruxes." _[He snaps his fingers.]_ "Duh."

Minerva: _[lifts her head slightly]_ "Yeah. Duh." _[She reaches for her glass, taking a loud slurp.]_ "And how long did it take you to find and destroy them again?"

Albus: _[hesitantly]_ "Okay, _that's_ not relevant."

Minerva: "Suck it, Albus."

Lee: _[muffled into the carpet]_ "Yeah, suck it Albus."

Sorting Hat: _[hiccuping]_ "Gryffindor!"

 _[Scene cuts back to Gilderoy, who is now receiving a medal and shaking hands with Seamus, who is apparently now playing Headmaster Armando Dippet.]_

Minerva voiceover: "So Tom gets to be Head Boy, plus he receives the Medal for Magical Merit and also an award for special services to the school, proving that successful people everywhere are probably secret murderers." _[She pauses; Gilderoy blinks owlishly at the camera.]_ "No objections? Okay, moving on."

 _[Gilderoy pleads momentarily with Seamus in a recreation of the office Minerva is currently occupying, and Seamus very adamantly shakes his head.]_

Minerva voiceover: "Tom asks for a post as the new Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor, but in an odd moment of unusual clarity, Armando Dippet says no."

Armando Dippet voiceover, via his portrait: "Hey!"

Minerva voiceover: _[as giddily mouthed by Gilderoy]_ "God, I'm surrounded by idiots." _[Seamus brandishes an admonishing finger at Gilderoy.]_ "So Dippet says no, and then Tom gets a job working for Borgin and Burkes, where he meets and charms the panties off a variety of people, including a dumb cunt named Hepzibah Smith. Oh, but I should say - "

 _[Gilderoy pauses before walking into a set of an elaborately crafted manor house.]_

Minerva voiceover: "Sorry, sometime before this Tom murders an Albanian peasant and turns Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem into a horcrux."

 _[Gilderoy rushes into a different scene, the background of which is painted haphazardly with trees, strikes down a costumed Seamus and grabs a paper crown from his hands and then bounds back off set.]_

Minerva voiceover: "Anyway, back to Hepzibah Smith."

 _[Gilderoy sprints through the manor house, arriving at yet another costumed version of Seamus, this time with false lashes and a resplendent albeit archaic and yellowing gown.]_

Minerva voiceover: "She shows him her two most precious possessions - "

Lee voiceover: _[giggling]_ "Her tits?"

Minerva voiceover: "Her _most precious_ possessions, Jordan, not the ones she throws around for free."

 _[Seamus, on screen, glances down at his false breasts and shrugs, indifferent.]_

Lee voiceover: "Got it."

Minerva voiceover: "She shows him Helga Hufflepuff's cup and Salazar Slytherin's locket, and naturally, thieving little hot ass Tom kills her and steals them, and then he blames her house elf, because why not?"

 _[Gilderoy snatches a cup and a necklace from Seamus, but not before slapping his cheek and scampering away in a cloud of smoke.]_

Minerva voiceover: "He obviously turns these things into horcruxes too, in an effort to make himself impossible to kill. Which he sort manages, unless you think about the fact that he eventually fell at the hands of a seventeen year old boy - and one that I once had to teach how to waltz, for that matter. _And_ who once thought I would actually beat him? With … wood?" _[She lets out an undignified snort.]_ "Honestly, that little messy-haired bespectacled Potter menace was more afraid of _me_ than an actual evil wizard, so if _that_ doesn't prove that Voldemort's a little bitch, then I can't - "

Albus voiceover: _[gently]_ "Uh, Minnie?"

 _[Screen shows Luna mouthing along.]_

Minerva voiceover: "Yes?"

Albus voiceover: "You were saying? Horcruxes? Borgin and Burkes?"

Minerva voiceover: "I know what the fuck I was saying, Albus."

Sorting Hat voiceover: "Fight! Fight! Fight!"

Minerva voiceover: _[sighs]_ "Eventually, Tom comes back to Hogwarts to ask Dumbledore for a job as Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."

 _[Shows Gilderoy sitting on a desk, stretched across it and gazing imploringly at Luna, batting his lashes.]_

Minerva voiceover: "He uses this opportunity to stash the Ravenclaw diadem in the castle, and also puts a curse on the position, which is an _actual logistical nightmare._ Like, of everything he did, that was easily the most inconvenient. The shittiest non-murder move, frankly. Not to say murder isn't shitty, but replacing a teacher every year? Fuck. _Fuck_ , man. Just - curriculum, right? And human resources? Fuuuuck, man."

Lee voiceover: _[echoing]_ "Fuuuuck."

Minerva voiceover: "By this point, Tom Riddle was fully going by Lord Voldemort, which is an anagram of his full name, Tom Marvolo Riddle. Why not Thomas, you ask? Maybe because Merope was a dumb twit. Maybe because that's too many letters. Who knows? Mysteries. _Total_ mysteries. Lost entirely to history, I'm afraid - "

Lee voiceover: _[interrupting]_ "Hey, where'd you get that?"

 _[Scene cuts to Minerva, who is sipping an elaborate piña colada out of a straw while wearing sunglasses.]_

Minerva: "Transfiguration, bitch."

 _[Scene returns to Gilderoy, who is now dressed in flowing black garb and flanked by Cormac and Marcus, who are dressed as Death Eaters. They have elaborately painted Dark Marks on their wrists and are sneering delightedly at the camera.]_

Minerva voiceover: "Word starts to spread about Tom's magical exploration during the ten years or so that he's fucking around in Albania or wherever he is, 'pushing the limits of magic' or just like, smoking shit and tapping ass, who knows - "

 _[Gilderoy, dressed as Indiana Jones, wanders the conjured desert and smirks at the camera.]_

Minerva voiceover: "Oh, and then at some point he also becomes a really fucking pro-ass legilimens, too, and starts entering people's minds for torture and shit."

 _[Gilderoy presses two fingers to his temple and stares menacingly at Seamus, who withers to the ground clutching his throat.]_

 _[Editor's cut:_

 _Lee: "What is this?"_

 _Seamus: [shrugs] "Artistic license."_

 _Lee: "That's not a thing. You can't just say that."_

 _Seamus: [pulling something out of his pocket] "Look, see? This says I can do what I want for the sake of art."_

 _Lee: "Who gave you this?"_

 _Seamus: "Dean."_

 _Lee: "For fuck's sake."]_

Minerva voiceover: "As Voldemort, Tom also starts attracting other species to his cause - dementors, goblins, werewolves. Creatures who were persecuted by wizards for centuries but then were like, 'well, I guess this one seems to know what's up' - "

 _[Gilderoy appears on screen with a baby Teddy Lupin on his hip, wearing a furry wolf costume.]_

 _[Editor's cut:_

 _Andromeda: "What the hell are you doing with Teddy?"_

 _Lee: "We need a werewolf."_

 _Andromeda: "Teddy's not a werewolf!"_

 _Lee: "Eh, he's werewolf adjacent."_

 _Andromeda: "Why don't you just use Bill?"_

 _Lee: "Oh. Fuck."]_

 _[Gilderoy reappears, this time dragging a sulking Bill Weasley along behind him.]_

Minerva voiceover: "So basically people are really into Lord Voldemort at this point, for whatever reason. People like power, man." _[There is a brief sound of gurgling through a straw.]_ "Dunno. People just like it."

 _[Gilderoy tosses a cape over his shoulder, standing pridefully with his hands on his hips. Beside him, Cormac and Marcus participate in what appears to be a carefully choreographed dance routine a la Thriller, which is set to a montage of Seamus dramatically dying on a variety of different sets, representing Tom's rise to power. Cormac, dressed as Lucius Malfoy, happily punches Seamus in the face.]_

Minerva voiceover: "So, ten years into the war, things are shitty. Real fucking shitty. Meanwhile, people are begging Dumbledore to be Minister for Magic and fix all the fucking shit, but he decides to say 'fuck 'em, I'll stay at Hogwarts' - "

Albus voiceover: _[disgruntled]_ "Okay, that's not exactly how it hap- "

Minerva voiceover: _[interrupting]_ "Well, he does start the Order of the Phoenix, though it is admittedly a bunch of teenagers that I put in detention several times, so there you go."

 _[Seamus, dressed in tattered robes as Remus Lupin, once again drags a costumed Dean on screen.]_

Minerva voiceover: "Things escalate when one of the Death Eaters working for Tom, a young little shit-lord named Severus Snape, overhears a prophecy from Sybill Trelawney."

 _[Seamus, now dressed as Sybill, sits in a pub wearing a set of oversized spectacles, a gauzy, spangled shawl, and countless chains and bangles. Theo Nott, dressed as Severus, pokes his head on screen.]_

 _[Editor's cut:_

 _Theo: "Honestly?" [Shrugs] "I really had nothing better to do."]_

Minerva voiceover: "Sybill makes a prophecy that the Dark Lord can only be destroyed by someone who is born to parents who have 'thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies,' and Tom fucking - _freaks_. _Out_."

 _[Gilderoy enters the scene, clawing at his face and falling to his knees, cursing the heavens in an oddly Shakespearian manner.]_

Minerva voiceover: "For the record, this could have referred to _two_ inadvisably young newlyweds: Frank and Alice Longbottom, or James and Lily Potter."

 _[Seamus drags Dean back on set as the Longbottoms, while Theo, now playing James, appears arm in arm with Blaise Zabini, who is dressed in a simple blouse and skirt as Lily.]_

 _[Editor's cut:_

 _Blaise: "Frankly, I think I look fantastic."_

 _Theo: "You really do. Very tasteful."_

 _Blaise: [nodding] "That was my thought."_

 _Lee: "Why are you here?"_

 _Blaise: [shrugs] "Theo told me this thing had an open bar."_

 _Lee: "It doesn't."_

 _Theo: [drinking from a flask] "Semantics."_

 _Lee: "Nott, are you aware that you're playing both James Potter and Severus Snape?"_

 _Theo: "So?"_

 _Lee: [sighs heavily] "Nevermind."_

 _Theo: "What, did they not get along?"]_

Minerva voiceover: "So anyway, Tom aka Voldemort goes after the Potters first, which is weird since Frank and Alice were both purebloods so you'd think he would - well, you know what, nevermind. Honestly, if I had the chance to kill James Potter, I'd consider it. I wouldn't _do_ it, obviously, but, you know, he's a little shit. Love him, but he's a shit. Again, love him. Cherish him, adore him completely, but - "

Lee voiceover: "Shitty."

Minerva voiceover: "Affectionately shitty."

Sorting Hat voiceover: "Gryffindor!"

 _[Theo and Blaise as the Potters are sitting in their house, innocently having a tea party with Grawp, who appears to be playing baby Harry.]_

 _[Editor's cut:_

 _Lee: "Can we re-cast this?"_

 _Theo: "Why?"_

 _Lee: "Why is a baby being played by a giant?"_

 _Theo: [shrugs] "Why not?"_

 _Lee: "I feel like that should be obvious."_

 _Blaise: "This is discrimination."_

 _Lee: "It's honestly not."]_

 _[Grawp is replaced in the next scene by Fleur Delacour.]_

 _[Editor's cut:_

 _Lee: "Okay, really?"_

 _Fleur: "Thees ees fun!"_

 _Theo: "See? She's having fun."_

 _Fleur: "I 'ave talent, Lee."_

 _Lee: "I mean, I know."_

 _Theo: "You know?"_

 _Lee: "Well, yeah."_

 _Blaise: "Do you?"_

 _Lee: [uncomfortably] "I mean, not like personally or anything, but I would imagine - "_

 _Theo: "You imagine?"_

 _Blaise: "Do you … visualize?"_

 _Fleur: [confused] "What does thees mean, Lee?"_

 _Lee: "You know what? This is fine. This is great. Carry on."]_

Minerva voiceover: "The Potters were betrayed by their friend, Peter Pettigrew, who turned them over to Tom. He also later fucked over Sirius Black and sent him to Azkaban for twelve years while faking his death, which is proof that even if you're inordinately attractive you still can't afford not to keep a close eye on the weirdo who follows you around."

 _[Seamus, dressed as Pettigrew, shows up to duel an unenthusiastic Dean, who is dressed in a leather jacket and aviators and sighing deeply.]_

Minerva voiceover: "Anyway, in what is an actual tragedy, Tom kills James and Lily as they fight to protect their son, Harry."

 _[Theo pretends to duel Gilderoy and then is shoved; Blaise, who is clinging extraordinarily closely to Fleur, proceeds to dump her unceremoniously in a crib and then staggers slowly to his knees, dying in an extremely drawn out manner. Gilderoy waits for him to collapse and then takes a step, but is forced to pause as Blaise lets out another tremor of agony; this happens again, and then a third time, until finally Gilderoy steps on Blaise and advances to where Fleur is sitting in the crib, her legs hanging over the side as she innocently sucks her thumb.]_

 _[Editor's cut:_

 _Lee: "Fleur? Can you not do that?"_

 _Fleur: "Why not, Lee? Am I not_ _un bébé_ _?"_

 _Lee: "Yes, but - "_

 _Blaise: "What's wrong, Lee? Are you visualizing again?"_

 _Theo: "Fleur, can you maybe try yelling for Daddy?"_

 _Lee: "Stop."_

 _Theo: [shrugs, grinning] "I just think the part calls for it."_

 _Lee: "I hate you."]_

Minerva voiceover: "Nobody fully understands what happened, but for whatever reason, Tom couldn't kill baby Harry Potter. Instead he disappeared, and for a time, people thought that was the end."

 _[Cuts to Minerva, who is again wearing the Sorting Hat and sipping loudly on a needlessly ornate tropical drink.]_

Minerva: "So, that's basically it. That's the first Voldemort war."

Lee: "Wow. Shitty."

Sorting Hat: "The joke was 'what's better than roses on your piano?' in case anyone was wondering."

Minerva: _[pulling the hat over her eyes]_ "I need to lie down."

 _[Scene cuts to preview of Part II.]_

Lee voiceover: "Next time on Drunk History - "

Harry: "So, like, my question here is … I'm the Chosen One."

Hermione: _[pausing]_ "That's not a question."

Harry: _[laughs, hiccups, and then curls up under a desk.]_

Hermione: _[smiling vacantly]_ "He'll be back. It's fine." _[She climbs under the desk, joining him, and both disappear from camera view.]_

Lee: "Guys?"

* * *

 **a/n:** Thanks to ellesjourney for the Tumblr request, though it is admittedly turning out weirder than I could have possibly imagined. Part II to come soon enough.


	66. Paradox

**Paradox**

 _Pairing:_ Dramione (Draco Malfoy x Hermione Granger)

 _Universe:_ Deathly Hallows AU, Year 7

 _Rating:_ M for language, sex

 _Summary:_ This is my gift to Gaeleria for being the thousandth reviewer on _Nightmares and Nocturnes_. She asked for a Dramione where Draco "is forced to confront and change his blood status bigotry and/or step up to be the hero," and this, my darling, is my very strange interpretation of your request. Without further ado:

Draco Malfoy wakes up one night to find Hermione Granger in his bed. But she's really not Hermione Granger _at all_ , is she?

* * *

Draco Malfoy woke up at precisely 12:07 a.m. to a set of overlarge brown eyes and tickle of something soft beneath his nose, prompting a sneeze that was followed by a frantic scream.

"Shh," she said hastily, smothering his mouth with her palm. "You'll wake someone."

"Getoiergioffgme," Draco muttered indignantly, glaring up at her. Mudblood legend and Potter-loving idiot Hermione Granger was straddling him in bed, wearing a set of those Muggle jeans she apparently loved—tighter than he'd ever seen her wear, but that was an observation that would decidedly have to wait—and a shirt of soft grey material that drifted unpleasantly above his bare torso. She raised one brow, pursing her lips; a warning.

"Don't scream," she whispered, and he felt something cold slip against the sharply pebbled flesh of his abdomen. "If you do, I promise I'll leave a mark."

"Whaatuiyifr _fuck_?" Draco demanded, feeling his eyes widen as he took note of what she had so casually pressed into his stomach. "Isiyqfwirvbljknif?"

"Yes, it _is_ a knife," Granger replied, looking pleased. "Good on you for noticing, Malfoy."

He made a face— _fuck you,_ he thought furiously, since she didn't seem to be willing to let him say it out loud—and she narrowed her eyes. "Promise not to scream?"

He nodded. She slowly retracted her hand and he jerked up, reaching for his wand. "Ah-ah-ah, _nope_ ," Granger said quickly, shoving him down and then shifting the knife's edge, holding it to his neck.

"My fault," she said, breathing heavily as she grinned. "I suppose I didn't give you explicit enough instructions." She leaned forward, her hair tickling his chin as she spoke in his ear. "If you move," she whispered, "if you breathe, if you say anything, if you _try anything,_ I will stab you in the chest, pull apart your ribs, and feed your heart to the peacocks outside." She leaned back, smirking. "Got it?"

"Fucking hell, Granger," Draco exhaled, his heart pounding in his chest. "What on earth happened to you?"

"I need your help," she said quickly, glancing around, " _right now._ We need to get out, and then I'll explain everything—"

"Like hell you will," Draco retorted gruffly. "I'm not going anywhere with you, you—" he paused, flustered. "You intolerable little _mudblood_ —"

"What does that mean?" Granger demanded, grimacing. "Whatever it is," she sniffed, "I don't like your tone."

"Where's Potter?" Draco cut in, ignoring her. "And Weasley? Are they here?" His pulse quickened, realizing what her presence could mean. "Because if they are—"

Granger frowned. "Who?"

"Potter and Wea- " He stopped. "What do you mean _who_?"

"Potter?" she asked, blinking. "Wait, do you mean _Harry_ Potter?" She sat back, quietly marveling. "Am I friends with him here?"

Draco gaped at her. "Are you friends with—" He paused. "Did you say—"

She sighed impatiently. "I told you I would explain," she reminded him, "but we have to _get out._ There's something we have to find."

"What do we have t— _no_. You know what?" Draco interrupted himself. "No. _No_. I don't know what you're playing at, Granger, but I'm not just going to play guessing games with you all night. In case you've managed to forget, _I hate you,_ " he reminded her, "and secondly, the Dark Lord is living in my fucking _house_ , so I really don't think—"

"Dark Lord?" Granger repeated vacantly. "Who?"

"What?" Draco asked, and grimaced. "No, I—I literally _can't,_ " he snapped. "Even if I were buying into your little game, I can't say his name. There's a taboo."

"Oh, are you talking about Grindelwald?" Granger asked. "And what's a taboo?"

"Actually, just stab me," Draco muttered. "Seems easier."

"God, you're difficult," she groaned, redoubling her efforts on the knife at his throat. "And apparently this happens to you often," she added, glancing down at his chest.

"What?" he asked gruffly. "Being awoken by Gryffindor idiots in the middle of the night? No, frankly, that's new."

"No, getting stabbed," she said, running a hand over the lines of his _Sectumsempra_ scar. He shivered a little at her touch, hoping desperately that she wouldn't notice; she didn't seem to, or if she had, she didn't care. "This looks bad."

"It was," Draco grunted. "And you _know_ what it's from, Granger, so I don't know why you're—"

"Listen," she cut in. "If I explain myself, will you be less annoying?"

"No promises," Draco muttered, and at her menacing lean towards him, he shrank back against the pillow. "Fine, _yes_ ," he sighed. "Tell me what's going on and I'll be—I don't know." He offered as close a motion to shrugging as he could manage while pinned beneath her. "Better."

"Better?" she echoed skeptically.

"I'll ask fewer questions," he clarified, and she shrugged.

"Close enough. Well," she began, clearing her throat, "I'm Hermione Granger."

He rolled his eyes. "I know that—"

"I'm not _that_ Hermione Granger," she cut in, smirking. "Whoever she is."

Draco frowned. "Are you—is this Polyjuice, or—"

"I don't know what that is," she informed him bluntly, "because where I come from, I'm not magic. Well, I _am_ ," she clarified, "or I should be, anyway, but according to—" She broke off, shaking herself of whatever she'd been about to say. "There's a guy named Grindelwald in charge, apparently, and so I'm not allowed to become a witch."

Draco swallowed cautiously, feeling the edge of her knife tease the arch of his throat. "Where exactly is it that you're from?" he asked, suddenly finding his mouth quite dry.

She tilted her head thoughtfully. "I think it's technically a parallel universe. It looks like this," she added, gesturing around. "Same world, really. Just—totally different, also."

"So apparently Hermione Granger without magic is a total psychopath, then," Draco noted, gesturing to the knife. "Do I have that part right?"

"I'm not a psychopath," she informed him. "I'm perfectly capable of empathy, I just choose to discard it. Logically," she added, as though she felt he needed the clarification.

"Comforting," he scoffed.

"The thing is, I have to steal something," she said. "And I don't have a lot of time—I made a deal with someone." She shifted slightly, holding up a small silver pocket watch. "This thing," she explained, "is what lets me go back and forth. Well, it let me go _forth_ ," she clarified. "I assume it will work the same way going back."

"What is it you're trying to steal?" Draco asked, the gears in his head not turning quite fast enough to process what was happening.

But then there was a shout from downstairs, and they both froze.

* * *

It had been a long time since Hermione Granger had seen Draco Malfoy, but she'd _definitely_ never seen him like this. He was sweating, nervous, fumbling for words, fidgeting with his hands; his face was deathly pale, and he was visibly shaking.

Which didn't seem fair, really, considering _she_ was the one who'd been taken hostage, and Harry and Ron, too. If anyone was going to be dissolving to a puddle of nerves, it should have been them—not _him._

For a moment, she despised him. _Loathed_ him. But then she remembered where she was, and figured she really couldn't expend the effort at the moment.

Malfoy had done a somewhat shoddy job of denying that he recognized Harry—if that had even been his intent, which from her vantage point remained frustratingly unclear. The stinging hex she'd managed to hit Harry with had been relatively effective but far from miraculous, so Hermione couldn't imagine why Malfoy would not just identify them—unless, of course, he was having some sort of extremely slow-acting moral crisis. He kept glancing into a corner of the room, checking for something, like he was being watched; Hermione couldn't imagine what the problem was, but she did know that they were fucked.

They were _fucked,_ and that was not a sentiment she used lightly. Bellatrix had found the sword of Gryffindor, had panicked, had turned dangerously paranoid—which meant that she knew.

She _knew_ , and they were fucked.

"I'll take the mudblood," Bellatrix had hissed, grabbing her arm; Hermione felt her heart plummet somewhere into her intestines, trying to swallow her fear and failing miserably. Half a whimper wormed its way out of her throat before she managed to clamp her mouth shut.

She looked up at Ron, watched them drag him and Harry away, and then slowly let her gaze float to Malfoy.

 _Please,_ she thought, hoping he could read her intent. _Please, Malfoy, please_ —

But then he disappeared, and she was alone with Bellatrix Lestrange.

* * *

"You have to help her," not-Granger hissed, her fingers twitching around the worn handle of her knife. "Are you seriously going to let that woman torture her?" she added pointedly, jabbing the blade in the air between them. "Or _worse_?"

"First of all, 'that woman' is my lunatic of an aunt, and she's not exactly someone I want to mess with," Draco muttered. "And secondly," he reminded her emphatically, " _that wasn't the deal_."

Very much _not_ -Hermione Granger—the real one being downstairs, blistering his sensibilities with her screams and thus fully traumatizing him for life—had said she would answer his questions, would explain her presence, if he had just snuck down and kept quiet. She would have murdered his family if he did not, or so she'd claimed (and he certainly believed she was mad enough if she felt like following through, which she clearly did) but he'd hardly needed the threat. A _parallel universe_? And proven, too, by the convenient appearance of the real Granger herself? Draco would be a fool not to ask questions.

Specifically, the very significant question of whether there was a universe where he was not trapped in a house with Lord fucking Voldemort.

"Well, we obviously need a new fucking deal!" not-Granger spat furiously. "You have to do something," she said, her mouth contorting anxiously as the real Granger let out another excruciating scream that made both of them flinch.

"Perhaps I did not make it clear that I _hate Granger,_ " Draco reminded her. "And her friends, too, and everything that she is, and everything she stands for—"

"Maybe so, but you don't want her to die," not-Granger interrupted bluntly. "I know you don't."

He grimaced.

"Maybe I don't," he growled. "But there's still nothing I can do. The Dark Lord resides in this house, and as long as we're here, she's not safe—"

"Then we'll get her out of here," not-Granger determined firmly, her brown eyes widening to an unmercifully optimistic degree. "I can get us out, Malfoy."

"Out—you mean, _out_ out?" Draco asked, his gaze flicking to the pocket watch she'd shown him. "Out of this entire—"

 _Universe_?

He paused, swallowing. "You're joking."

"I don't joke," not-Granger informed him seriously, managing to cross her arms over her chest with the blade of her knife still aimed at him. "I find it a poor use of my time."

"Fuck, what are you even _like_?" Draco groaned. "I don't _know_ you, and I _hate_ her—"

"You _don't_ hate her," not-Granger corrected. "It's all over your face, Malfoy. You feel bad about this," she urged. "You know it's _wrong_ —"

"Yes, I fucking know it's wrong," Draco snarled, desperate, "but that doesn't mean that I can do anything about it!"

"But I just told you that you _can_ ," she urged. "Malfoy, come on—I _know_ you're not the massive shit you appear to be—"

"Oh, wow, flattery, nice," he muttered.

"—and I _know_ you want to save her," she insisted. "Just—just grab her, and I'll get us out—"

"You don't even know how to use magic!"

"No, but I know how to use a pocket watch," she snapped. "I'm not entirely devoid of thought Malfoy—and I swear," she said, her eyes narrowed with purpose. "If you can just get us in there, I promise, I'll get us out."

He felt the line of his mouth tighten, forcefully trapped. "I just—I don't know if—"

"Don't be a pussy," not-Granger interrupted, glaring at him.

"Don't be a cunt!" Draco retorted. She narrowed her eyes.

"Malfoy, if you don't—"

There was another scream, and then something in Draco withered.

"Fine," he snapped, scowling. "Let's go."

* * *

Hermione had been crying; trying not to, of course, but feeling the tears work themselves from her eyes, the pain immense and excruciating and _cruel_ —

And then there had been Malfoy again, more sure this time—almost angry, actually, had she been in the state of mind to gauge what she'd catalogued of the last six years of his emotions—and then there had been _her_? And then Hermione knew she'd gone mad with pain, gone absolutely _delirious,_ watching _herself_ spin the dials on a silver pocket watch and then swirling with Malfoy—and _herself_ —into nothing, nothing, nothing, and then landing somewhere, somewhere else, and yet—

"Where are we?" Malfoy asked, turning to the version of her who was holding the watch. _That_ Hermione was wearing a tight pair of jeans— _quite_ tight, though she really was pulling it off, wasn't she?—and a grey t-shirt, a knife clutched in her free hand.

A _knife_?

"Your house," the other Hermione replied, her voice snotty and clipped. Hermione forced her eyes shut, every fiber of her being resolute in its denial of her surroundings. _Is that really what I sound like?_ she wondered, and half-shuddered. _No, no, this isn't real_ —

" _My_ house?" Malfoy demanded, furious. "I thought you said you'd get us out!"

"We're _out_ , aren't we?" she countered. "Do _you_ see any insane women carving things into her arm?"

"Still, I thought you meant—"

"It's a _parallel universe,_ Malfoy," she retorted. "We moved somewhere _parallel._ "

 _No, no, it can't be_ —

"What," Hermione forced out, slowly dragging herself upright, "is happening?" She paused, frowning, as she realized they were indeed still in Malfoy Manor; only Bellatrix had gone, and Lucius and Narcissa, and that could only mean—

"Harry," Hermione gasped. "Harry and Ron, we have to—"

"Are you really friends with Harry Potter?" her other self asked her. "I've met him," she offered vacantly, "and I have to say, I can't believe that. I really can't."

"Neither can I," Malfoy muttered. "Not that it apparently matters what I think, as I've yet to have anything go my way today—"

"You are incredibly whiny," not-Hermione informed him, rolling her eyes. "You have no idea how close I am to slapping you."

"It wouldn't be the first time," Hermione murmured vacantly, hissing a little in pain as she shifted onto her left arm. " _Ouch_ —"

"Are you okay?" not-Hermione asked, and Hermione stared at her, wondering what on earth had happened that she would be staring at some animated version of her own reflection.

"I mean, I've been better, but—" She paused. "Who _are_ you?" she asked, squinting at her. "I assume this is Polyjuice, but I can't—"

"Why does everyone keep saying that?" not-Hermione snapped impatiently. "What the hell is Polyjuice?"

"It's a potion," Malfoy informed her, looking distinctly bothered at having to explain. "It lets you take the form of someone else. Which is the _logical_ explanation for this," he added, "but clearly I'm still waiting on the truth."

"I told you the truth," not-Hermione groaned. "This is a parallel universe." She shrugged. "A paradox, if you will."

Malfoy sighed. "Yes, I'm aware that you said that, but—"

"Paradox?" Hermione echoed, frowning. "That's nonsensical."

"Oh, says the _witch_ ," her worse version scoffed. "Are you really telling me that you can _do magic_ , and yet you don't believe there might be a way to transfer through universes?"

Hermione blinked. "That can't be," she croaked. "That's—"

"If you say impossible, I'll slap you," horrible Hermione sniffed. "I don't care that you look like me, or you _are_ me, or whatever this is—"

"She's you, but with magic," Malfoy muttered. " _And_ an overdeveloped sense of righteousness, _and_ a fucking unbearable hero complex, _and_ —"

"I have to go back," Hermione said suddenly. "I have to get Harry and Ron out of there."

"— _and_ the worst friends in the entire universe," Malfoy finished. " _All_ the universes," he corrected himself, and Hermione glared at him. "Look, you have a lot more questions to answer," he said, turning back to not-Hermione. "Like what, exactly, you were instructed to steal, and who it was that told you to find me—"

"I believe I can answer that," inserted a new voice—only it wasn't a new voice at all.

"Malfoy?" Hermione gasped, watching him come into view. He was wearing a uniform of some kind, looking even smarmier—and smirkier—than usual, his name and some unidentifiable rank stitched in prominent letters on his chest beside a symbol she'd seen before—something uncomfortably familiar—

"That symbol," she said, her right hand flying to her mouth. "That's—that's _Grindelwald's_ symbol," she realized. "The Deathly Hallows—"

"Very good, Miss Granger," not-Malfoy cut in, smiling. "And speaking of Miss Grangers," he added, his tone cooling as he turned to not-Hermione. "You'd better have good news for me."

"I—hit a bit of a snag," not-Hermione admitted, grimacing. "But—"

"Wait a minute," the real Malfoy interrupted, tugging at his tie— _his tie,_ Hermione thought, rolling her eyes; the middle of the night and he was in a _full black suit_ —"Are you telling me that _he's_ your source?" he asked, staring in disbelief. "Me?"

"Ah, lovely to meet you," not-Malfoy said, taking a jaunty step forward and extending a hand. "Charmed, I'm sure."

"I am _not_ charmed," Malfoy retorted. "You decidedly do not charm me."

"Well, that's just as well, I suppose," not-Malfoy said, grinning. "But as it happens, I _will_ need you to cooperate."

"Are you threatening me?" Malfoy asked, his brow furrowed. "Because if you are—"

"What?" not-Malfoy drawled lazily, glancing at his fingers. "My father will hear about it?"

Malfoy gaped at him, staring, as Hermione slowly gave in to laughter that shook inside her ribs, devolving instantly to sobs.

* * *

"Is she okay?" the Draco Malfoy who was so very obviously _not him_ ventured carefully, watching Granger burst into tears on the floor of what was also very clearly _not_ his own family home.

"No way to tell for sure," Draco replied drily, "though I would imagine torture doesn't generally sit well with anyone's psyche."

Not-Draco's smile flickered; a glimpse of irritation that Draco guessed was not entirely foreign to his own countenance.

"So is this what I'm like when I'm important, then?" not-Draco asked him, his gaze sharply appraising Draco. "An utter cunting snot?"

He drew back, affronted. "I am _not_ —"

"Yes, he is," not-Granger ruled definitively. "That about covers it."

"Well, back to you," not-Draco said, arching a brow. "What are you doing back here without the wand?"

"I had to get _her_ out," not-Granger snapped defensively, gesturing to where Granger was now curled in a ball on the floor. "She was being tortured, Malfoy."

"And that's my problem _why_?" not-Draco asked, crossing his arms. "I thought we had a deal, Granger."

"We still have a deal," not-Granger replied impatiently. "That hasn't changed. I just had a bit of a setback, that's all."

"Mmm," not-Draco permitted, smirking. "Just a _bit_ of a setback, hm?"

"What is it you're looking for?" Draco asked, stepping towards his other self. It was amazing—astounding, really—how strange it was to see himself, as arrogant as ever but in an entirely different way; unburdened, as though he were not living beneath the shadow of something—

A tyrannical Dark Lord, for example.

Not-Draco glanced at not-Granger for a moment, testing, before swiveling to face Draco. "I need to procure a wand," he explained. "I believe in your universe it is currently being used by Tom Riddle—"

"Who?" Draco asked, just as Granger hiccuped out of her hysteria, sniffling and lifting her head in apparent recognition.

"Ah, yes, in your world he is called Lord Voldemort," not-Draco said coolly. "Here, of course, he is nobody in particular. In fact," he added, laughing, "I was quite surprised to uncover that he becomes anything of note under any other circumstances. He's little more than a smuggler," he explained, his nose wrinkled distastefully. "A nuisance."

"Why would you want the Dark Lord's wand?" Draco asked, frowning, and a smile—no, a _smirk_ , which Draco was realizing was an infuriating facial expression, particularly on his face—twitched on not-Draco's mouth.

"Because that wand's not his," he said softly. "It's _yours._ "

"What?" Draco repeated. "But—but how—"

He looked helplessly at Granger, the only familiar thing in the room that was so ironically identical to his own home. She swallowed, slowly sitting up.

"That wand," she murmured, half to herself. "It's the Elder Wand, isn't it?"

Not-Draco took a step forward and crouched to look her in the eye, his fingers tracing his mouth carefully as he eyed her. "Yes, it is," he murmured, watching her. "I wasn't aware anyone in your universe knew that."

Granger's eyes flashed as she glared at him. "I know a lot of things," she said flatly, and to Draco's horror, the other version of himself smiled slowly, seeming to process that information in a way that decidedly did not look promising.

"Look, our deal doesn't have to change," not-Granger interjected, looking annoyed as she stepped towards the other Draco. "I can still get that wand for you, Malfoy, and then you'll teach me magic. Right?" she prompted, her fingers tightening threateningly around her knife hilt.

"Yes, yes," not-Draco murmured impatiently, not taking his eyes from Granger. "Give me a moment alone with Miss Granger, would you?" he asked, turning to let his gaze flick over Granger's scowling doppelgänger. "I suspect she needs tending to."

Draco frowned. "Wait a minute—"

"Let's go," not-Granger said, grabbing his arm. "We'll be back in a few minutes, yeah?"

"Sure," not-Draco said impassively, not looking at them as not-Granger dragged Draco away.

* * *

Hermione glanced up, startled by the look in the eyes of the man who was most certainly _not_ Draco Malfoy. He was quietly appraising her, glancing over her face, his grey eyes traveling slowly—as though he were taking in the landscape of something he'd never encountered before.

"Stop staring at me," she said bluntly, avoiding his gaze. "I need to go back," she added. "I need to get to Harry, and Ron—"

"They're not your friends in this universe," not-Malfoy informed her, his tone needlessly blunt. "Nobody is, in fact. Aside from me," he clarified, his teeth flashing as he smiled at her.

She recoiled. "You're not really friends with her," she countered, her eyes narrowing. "You made a _deal_ with her—and it doesn't seem like she really understands it, either—"

"She's curious," not-Malfoy said, shrugging. "She can't help it."

"She's smarter than you think she is," Hermione told him, a bite of rage reaching her voice without warning. "You shouldn't underestimate her."

"Oh, sweetheart, I know _precisely_ how smart she is," not-Malfoy assured her. "I wouldn't have sought her out otherwise."

Hermione frowned. "You sought her out?"

"Of course," he said. "I needed someone from here who also existed in your universe. Specifically, someone who was clever enough to do the job," he explained, "but who would still have an incentive not to turn against me. An incentive, in fact, to _join_ me." He gestured over his shoulder, nodding at where she and Malfoy had disappeared. "Voilà."

Hermione bit her lip. "But how did you—"

"You're hurt," not-Malfoy interrupted, his touch gentle as he took her wrist in his hand. "M," he murmured, his thumb cool as he let it float above the single letter Bellatrix had managed to carve into her wrist; the motion was so oddly soothing she could scarcely believe she was looking at such an upsettingly familiar face. "M for Malfoy," he commented, glancing up at her with a curious look in his eye.

She said nothing, holding her breath at his touch.

"Look at that," he remarked, his lips curling up in a sly smile. "It's a sign."

"It's not a sign," she grumbled, tearing her wrist from his grasp. "It's an _abomination_."

He shrugged. "Yes, well, so am I," he agreed, his smile unwavering. It was unsettling, really; seeing a version of Malfoy who _smiled_. "That doesn't mean it can't still mean something."

Hermione's mouth tightened in anger. "That's not the word it was going to be."

"Was it Aunt Bellatrix?" not-Malfoy asked, settling himself at her side on the floor. "It looks like her handiwork."

Hermione's breath caught. "Yes," she said. "She was carving the word _mudblood_ into my arm," she added, her voice breaking with a quietly contained rage that gave her pause for a moment, prompting her to stare suspiciously at him. "You're not calling me a mudblood," she realized, feeling her brow furrow. "You haven't—you're almost—"

"Nice to you?" not-Malfoy asked, grinning. "Is it really that shocking?"

Hermione stiffened, not wanting to answer the question. She shifted, avoiding eye contact with him, and promptly changed the subject.

"Are you really going to teach—" _me_ , she thought, and swallowed—" _her_ how to do magic?"

Not-Malfoy shrugged. "Maybe."

Hermione straightened, making a wordless sound of protest. "What do you mean 'maybe'?"

"Well, it depends, of course," not-Malfoy said slowly. "If I'm going to defeat Grindelwald, I really may not have the time." He shrugged. "Priorities," he clarified, flashing her another cutting smile.

"But—" Hermione stammered. "But you made a deal with her, and you're—you're making _her_ do your dirty work—"

"Yes," not-Malfoy confirmed, unfazed. "And?"

Hermione gaped at him. "You're—you're _tricking_ her!"

Not-Malfoy yawned widely, leaning back to nudge his shoulder against hers. "I thought you said she was smart," he whispered in her ear, chuckling softly.

"Is this—is this because of her birth?" Hermione demanded, pulling away. "Because she's a mudblood like me?"

"Of course not," not-Malfoy assured her, waving a hand. "I couldn't manage to give two fucks what's in her blood, so long as she can give me what I want. See, the thing about blood," he added, tucking a curl behind her ear and smirking as she drew away, flinching. "The thing about it is that it can only take you so far. For example," he continued. "My pureblood status means something in your universe, but here I'm simply one of Grindelwald's minions, and he doesn't care much for England. I went to Durmstrang," not-Malfoy explained, waving a hand carelessly. "I was well-born enough for that. But I was passed over for Prefect, and for Head Boy, _and_ for Triwizard Champion, and I'll be passed over in the future, too."

His smile faded, melting to a grimace. "I do not enjoy being passed over," he declared flatly, and then glanced at her. "And that's where _she_ comes in."

Hermione frowned, realized she'd been holding her breath throughout the entirety of his outrageously tyrannical speech and registered, briefly, that this Malfoy was _also_ in dire need of a slap. She stiffened, clenching a fist.

"You're still using her," Hermione muttered. "Whatever your motivation—whether or not you're not judging her for her birth," she clarified roughly, "you're still _using_ her."

"Well, we should all aspire to be valued for our talents, don't you think?" not-Malfoy asked her, reaching for her wrist again and letting his thumb brush over the _M_ that was now permanently carved in her skin—or so Bellatrix had promised. "Surely you of all people can understand that," he added quietly, drawing her towards him as she held her breath, frozen, wondering why— _why, why, why_ —she was letting him get so—

So _close._

His lips quirked up in a smile at the notion that she was not immediately pulling away, his eyes dropping to the still-bloody letter in her arm. His breath ghosted across her wrist, warming her, flooding her with something unknowable as he lowered his head, pressing his lips to the wound; softly, gently. Intimately.

Like a _lover_.

She shuddered, pulling away.

"You may not be the Draco Malfoy I know," she said, her voice clipped. "But you're something just as awful, if not worse."

He chuckled, looking delighted with the assertion. "No, I'm not the Draco you know, sweetheart," he agreed, nudging her and brushing his lips against her ear. "I'm _better_ ," he whispered, laughing.

She bristled. "You're _evil_ ," she croaked, pulling away.

His smile broadened. "Like I said," he assured her coolly. "I'm better."

* * *

Draco yanked his arm from not-Granger's grip, glaring at her.

"Are you fucking _insane?_ " he demanded. "Do you have any idea what you've signed up to do?"

"Of course," she said, with the same swotty certainty Granger herself often employed. "I understand everything." She shrugged. "I have to steal a wand. Big deal."

" _Big deal_?" Draco echoed, flailing in disbelief. "You don't even have magic!"

"No, I don't," not-Granger agreed, spinning suddenly to press him back against the corridor wall, her knife held deftly to his chest. "But I'm pretty handy without it," she murmured, her brown eyes flicking over his face as a smile tugged at her lips. "And besides," she added, releasing him to continue striding down the hall. "Nobody ever expects the Spanish Inquisition."

"What?" Draco asked, jogging after her. "What does that have to do with—"

"Never mind," not-Granger said flippantly, shrugging. "Just a little Muggle joke."

"Oh," Draco said, waiting for a moment of revulsion that didn't come. He supposed things were odd enough as it was for that not to upset his unerring sensibilities. "Still," he pressed, taking a few more strides to cut her off, stepping in front of her. "Why the fuck are you trusting _him_?"

"What?" not-Granger asked, pausing abruptly.

"Why do you trust him?" Draco repeated. "He's obviously arrogant and self-interested—"

"Huh," not-Granger snorted, arching a brow. "Interesting assertion, seeing as he's _you_ —"

"He's some other version of me," Draco reminded her. "A version that doesn't really seem to understand consequences, for one thing, and who doesn't seem to care much about you other than how he can _use you_ , so—"

"I don't trust him," not-Granger informed him, unblinking. "I'm not an idiot," she added, scoffing. "I fully intend to kill him once I have the wand."

"You fully intend to—" Draco stared at her. "What?"

"I'm going to kill him," she repeated, shrugging. " _Obviously_ ," she added. "Particularly since I doubt very much that he plans to stick to his end of the bargain."

"What?" Draco repeated, and then, frantically, " _what_?!"

"Look," not-Granger sighed. "He's giving me the means to steal a _wand_. An _unbeatable_ wand," she emphasized pointedly. "He gave me a portkey that travels between universes. I need him right now," she clarified, "but I won't for much longer."

"But," Draco said hoarsely, "but you—you don't know how to use magic, and—"

"I'm going to have an _unbeatable wand,_ " she reminded him, waving her hand around. "I'll figure it out. I'm sort of a genius," she added. "I was going to start early at Oxford until Malfoy found me, and anyway, I can make things happen on occasion. Nothing I can control," she muttered under her breath, "but I know I have magic. I _know_ I have it."

She looked lost for a moment, dazed, and there was a flash of innocence on her face; of longing, and Draco felt a pull of something in his chest that he very much wanted to violently smother.

"You don't seem to understand how difficult this will be," Draco exhaled slowly, ignoring it. "The man—the _wizard_ —that this version of me wants you to steal from is no ordinary target. This isn't going to be easy, and you might die, and—"

"That word you called me," she interrupted, and he grimaced, realizing that she hadn't been listening to him. "Mudblood." She stared up at him, tilting her head. "What does it mean?"

"I—" Draco choked slightly, finding himself unwilling to define it. "It," he said, swallowing, "it means someone who—who isn't a pureblood."

"Like you," not-Granger said, frowning. "You're a pureblood?"

"Yes," Draco said. "I'm a pureblood, and you're—"

"Mudblood," she repeated, biting her lip. "Why?" she demanded. "Because my parents are Muggles?"

Draco shifted uneasily. "Well," he began. "I mean, it's common knowledge that—"

"You saw her blood," not-Granger objected, color flaming in her cheeks. "You _saw_ her bleed. You're going to tell me yours looks different?"

"I—it's not literal," Draco said hastily, "I only—"

"Because we can find out," not-Granger interrupted, suddenly using the entire force of her petite form to shove him against the wall, the knife in her hand once again finding a home against the hollow of his throat. "Shall we?" she whispered. "Shall we find out what _pure_ magical blood looks like?"

He held his breath, staring at her. "Granger," he choked out. "Please."

She glared at him, her eyes flashing gold, and then grabbed his palm, slicing it open with her knife and staring up in triumph as blood began to seep from the wound, oozing up in a troubling, viscous scarlet.

"Fuck," he whispered, and in a single motion she did the same to her own hand, brandishing it in his face.

"Blood is blood," she said through gritted teeth. "Blood means _nothing._ " She stopped, eyeing her own wound; she flexed her palm, watching the same troubling crimson trickle down her wrist. "Blood means nothing," she said again, half to herself. "Magic means everything. _Power_ means everything."

She glanced up at him, defiant. "I want magic," she said flatly, curling her hand into a fist. "It isn't fair that I'm the same as you," she snarled, "and yet I have to do without."

He swallowed, unable to take his eyes from her blood.

"No," he admitted, not sure what possessed him to say it. "It isn't fair."

It took a moment—a considerable effort that clawed its way from an uncomfortable, inexplicable numbness—and then, before he quite processed what he was doing, Draco reached into his back pocket, pulling out his wand.

"Here," he murmured, taking her hand and unclenching her fingers one by one. "When you have a wand. The spell for this is _Tergeo,_ " he said, waving his wand and cleaning the wound. He swallowed, watching her face, before doing the same to his palm.

She breathed out slowly, her eyes alight with something he couldn't put a finger on before suddenly nodding once, determining something for herself.

"The wand," she said, meeting his eye. "This Dumbledore guy—"

Draco swallowed uncomfortably. "Yes?"

"He's dead here," she said quickly. "Or so Malfoy says. But anyway, Malfoy told me that you disarmed Dumbledore in your universe—so even after that Voldemort person took it, _you're_ the rightful owner. It will obey _you_ ," she clarified. "And that's why he needed me to convince you to steal it."

"Why doesn't he just try to win it in this universe?" Draco asked, frowning. "Surely that would be less effort, wouldn't it?"

"I don't think so," not-Granger said, shaking her head slowly. "The way he tells it, this"—she held up the pocket watch—"is just some family heirloom he came across by accident, and that all _you'd_ have to do to get the wand was to rightfully possess it."

"But then—" Draco swallowed. "But then he'd have to take it from _me_ , wouldn't he?"

She glanced slyly at him, a delicate smirk finding a home on her lips. "He'll have to take it from me first," she reminded him softly, and he forced another swallow, wondering what the fuck he'd gotten himself into.

* * *

"Ah, you're back," not-Malfoy said, his cunning smile flashing again as the real Malfoy reentered the room with her counterpart.

Hermione watched herself walk; eyed the presence she had, and marveled. This version of her was brash, unconcerned with others, and she was— _bigger,_ somehow. Not physically, but she carried herself differently, wore her spine straighter, held her chin higher; Hermione recalled herself in the Muggle world and realized that perhaps this version of herself had never made friends, had never needed them—had possibly never _wanted_ them—and she wondered if that had made this version of her dangerous.

Or something else. Perhaps she was lonely, and perhaps that would be—

 _Useful._

Hermione shook herself, startled.

Had she really just contemplated emotionally manipulating another version of herself?

"Yes, we are," not-Hermione said smoothly, sauntering into the room with Malfoy at her heels. "You were in a hurry, weren't you?" she asked, dropping her gaze to Hermione. "Have you thought of a plan?"

"I—no," she admitted, glancing warily up at the real Malfoy. "I don't know the house very well."

"Potter and Weasley would be in the cellar," Malfoy said, grimacing. "With—" he paused. "With a couple of other people," he confessed, visibly deflating.

Hermione glanced at not-Malfoy beside her, noting that his pale brows had risen in apparent amusement. "Interesting," he murmured in her ear. " _This_ is the version of me you prefer? The kind who takes prisoners?"

"I hate all versions of you," she whispered back. He smiled, indifferent, and Malfoy seemed to catch the interaction, his brow furrowing suspiciously.

"Maybe we should talk," he suggested, looking uncomfortable with the thought. "Go over the plan? The house?"

"Go ahead," not-Malfoy said, stretching languidly. "I'll get you a wand to use for the time being," he said, nodding at Hermione. "You'll need it for when we go back."

"We?" Malfoy echoed sharply, and not-Malfoy offered him an oddly graceful tip of his head.

"Yes," he said brightly. "You really think I'd let you do it alone?"

Malfoy blanched and his alter ego laughed, somewhat alarmingly. He gave Hermione a small bow before turning to exit the room, not-Hermione slowly falling in step beside him and frowning in thought as she turned the corner.

"So," Malfoy ventured when they were alone, staring uncomfortably at her. "Are you okay?"

Hermione grimaced. "No," she muttered. "But—we should really talk about this," she whispered. "We can't let him get the Elder Wand."

"No, we can't," Draco agreed. "And we can't let _her_ get it either," he breathed, his mouth tightening anxiously. "It can't be good in either of their hands."

"Paradoxes really aren't meant to converge like this," Hermione said nervously. "Those two don't belong in our universe, and the Elder Wand in ours certainly doesn't belong in _theirs_."

"Oh, so you believe in paradoxes now?" Malfoy joked drily, and Hermione flashed him her most impatient glare; the kind she usually saved for Harry and Ron.

"We have to destroy that portkey," she whispered, ignoring him. "We can get the wand—we _should_ get the wand, it's not exactly safe in You-Know-Who's hands—but we should—I don't know, destroy it." She shuddered. "Nobody should be in possession of an _unbeatable_ wand."

"Given the circumstances, we might have to," Malfoy agreed, much to her surprise. She looked up, catching the grim line of his mouth. "We might need to use it to send them back," he added. "And _then_ we can destroy the portkey—"

"So you agree, then," Hermione confirmed urgently. "We have to get the wand, and then get them through the portkey—"

"Take them back here," Malfoy agreed, nodding. "And then steal the portkey and go back through—"

"And destroy it in our universe," she breathed out slowly. She glanced up at him, treading carefully. "We'll have to work together," she murmured. "Can you stomach conspiring with a _mudblood_?" she asked bitterly.

His grey eyes dropped to his palm, staring at it. "Yeah," he muttered, and did not elaborate.

* * *

It was surprisingly easy work; transference into Draco's version of the Manor was almost worryingly unobstructed as they went from not-Draco's bedroom into his own, landing with a soft thud on the corner of the room.

"Listen," Granger said, nodding her head towards the door. "He's not here yet," she ruled, listening to Bellatrix shriek frantically at Lucius and Narcissa. "They still haven't decided what to do."

"Do we wait?" not-Granger asked, frowning at Draco. "Will he be back later?"

"He will," Draco confirmed slowly, "but—" he paused, shifting uncomfortably. "I could also call him."

He touched his right thumb to his left wrist, and both versions of Granger looked uneasy; he could tell, instinctively, that even if the alternate version of Granger didn't fully understand, she had some concept that his ability to do that was no flattering connection.

"Do it," not-Draco instructed crisply. "Once we've restrained everyone else—"

"What?" Draco cut in. " _Restrained_?"

"Yes," he said impatiently, as though this were intensely obvious. "Obviously we don't want to chance someone else getting in the way, like your father," he said pointedly, "or Aunt Bellatrix—"

"Right," Draco said, feeling less and less confident in his choice of company.

He changed his mind, of course, upon realizing what an asset their paradoxical selves were; not-Granger was nearly as good with a blade as Granger was with a wand, and his oddly confident clone was a force to be reckoned with—not to mention that it was an easy enough trap for both Lucius and Narcissa, neither having time to realize that it wasn't him before he'd stunned them from elsewhere in the room.

Within ten minutes, every Death Eater and Snatcher in the house had been apprehended, paralyzed or bound to something they could not easily escape; Granger had carefully left the door to the cellar open after stunning Potter and Weasley and returning their wands, using a fragile sort of reverence with them—treading with a mournful guilt that Draco was pleased to see not-Granger observed from afar with impatience; "is that really who she's dating?" she asked, making a face—and then they were alone in the ballroom, and Draco's wand was pressed to his Mark, his hand shaking as he summoned the Dark Lord.

"Draco," Lord Voldemort said, apparating in with a subtle crack and a burdened frown that gave Draco more than a moment's breath of pause. "I presume," he began silkily, "that if you've called, that must mean you have—"

There was a thud, and then he collapsed, sinking to the floor with an oddly graceless impact. Draco frowned, stunned, and then Not-Granger stepped forward, an overlarge vase in her hand that had shattered upon slamming into the back of the Dark Lord's head.

"Got it," she declared loudly, tearing the wand from the Dark Lord's fingers and then appearing breathlessly at Draco's side.

It was all so rapid and nonsensical that Draco could scarcely process the series of events; he stared at Granger, reaching helplessly for clarity, and she shrugged, seeming a certain degree of unsettled herself.

Not-Draco, as collected as always, held out a hand to the other version of Granger, gesturing to her. "Give it to me," he said, stepping towards her; her eyes narrowed.

"It's his," she reminded him, slowly holding it out to Draco. "Remember?"

There was an uneasy pause; Granger's eyes widened, and Draco struggled to draw breath.

"Ah, yes," not-Draco said, his eyes flashing briefly with a look that even Draco could see was anger before it quickly cooled, the spark of silver soothing back into the grey. "Right."

Draco took the wand from not-Granger, barely breathing as his fingers closed around it, a rush of something flooding through his bloodstream as he made contact with the wood. "How about a trade," he offered slowly, his voice belying a sudden rapid influx of scattered thoughts. "What if I loan you the wand," he suggested, more firmly this time, an idea piecing itself together in his mind. "You came with us, after all," he added, gesturing to Granger. "You helped us. What if we help you with Grindelwald?"

Granger frowned for a moment, concern flicking over her face; but then she nodded, seeming to grasp his intent. "Yes," she said quickly. "You helped us. It's only fair."

Not-Draco stared between them for a moment, and then promptly burst out laughing.

"You can't seriously think I believe that," he said, struggling through his apparent mirth. "You really think I'd let you just—"

"You can have the wand," Draco offered quickly. "I'll give it to you to hold on to. But I want it back."

Not-Draco frowned. "What?"

"There's a war here," Granger contributed, leaping to Draco's aid. "We could end it with that wand," she added, pointing to it. "Whereas you only need it to disarm Grindelwald once, and then you can take _his_ Elder Wand."

Not-Draco's mouth twitched; a smile.

"Disarm," he murmured, winking at her. " _Right_."

She bristled, and not-Granger flashed her other self a look of something Draco suspected was skepticism, or else pity. _Such naivety,_ he imagined her saying disdainfully, and realized that part of him wanted to laugh.

"Well, fine," not-Draco ruled. "Give me the wand," he said, beckoning, "and then we'll go back to our universe. I'll get Grindelwald's wand," he clarified, "by _disarming him_ , and then return this to you and send you on your merry way to win your little war with Tom." He smiled, holding out a hand for Draco to shake. "Deal?"

He was lying. He was so, so clearly lying.

"Portkey first," Draco suggested slowly. "Then I hand you the wand—"

Not-Draco waved a hand. "Logistics," he ruled. "Not a problem. Do we have a deal?"

"Deal," Draco said, consenting to give his own hand—but _not_ —a brief squeeze before leaning over to murmur in Granger's ear.

"Get the wand from him," he whispered to her.

She nodded, not looking at him.

"Get the portkey from her," she breathed back, her lips unmoving.

* * *

"Let's celebrate," Malfoy's more evil version had declared, the Elder Wand clutched tightly in his hand as he grinned, pouring them each a drink upon arriving at his home. _My parents are in Scandinavia,_ he'd explained, laughing into his glass of Ogden's. _They leave me alone often,_ he added, winking at Hermione. _They know how responsible I am._

It had been entropic spiraling from there, and intoxication, and a set of intently focused grey eyes that resolutely never left her face; all things Hermione was woefully inexperienced with, and the last one in particular. When there were two sets— _get him alone,_ Malfoy mouthed urgently, gesturing at his doppelgänger—she'd nervously conceded to clear her throat, glancing up and trying, hopelessly, to set her faltering smile.

"Do you," she began to not-Malfoy, and paused, swallowing an onslaught of nerves. "I'm—a bit tired," she lied quietly. "Is there an extra bedroom, or—?"

She caught the motion of the real Malfoy rolling his eyes; _smooth,_ he mouthed, but she was focused on the other version of him, who had run his tongue slowly over his bottom lip.

"There's mine," he suggested wryly.

She forced herself to stay calm.

"Show me," she murmured, and the grey sparked.

"I'm not stupid," he said to her over his shoulder, leading her down the hall. "You seem to think I'm ruled by my cock," he added indignantly, "which I don't appreciate, but—"

"How did you know to find me?" Hermione interrupted, feeling her already-unsettled nerves begin to fray. " _Her_ , I mean."

"I've used the portkey myself a few times," he answered, shrugging. "Spent a bit of time collecting information about you. You'd be surprised how many people have an answer to a question as innocent as 'what's the deal with Hermione Granger,' even when it's some apparently prejudiced version of me that's asking it," he explained, giving her a distinctly wolfish look of interest that sent a furious thrill up her spine. "Though, in all honesty, I had no idea you knew about the Deathly Hallows."

"Who says I do?" she countered, and he smirked knowingly.

"Don't bother trying to cover it up now," he told her, pausing in the long corridor. "I already know you're brilliant."

"I can be brilliant and still not know anything about the Deathly Hallows," she informed him, her breath catching as he backed her against the wall. "The two aren't mutually exclusive."

"Mm," he agreed, his tongue traveling slowly over his lip again. "Not for you, though. Figured out the monster in the Chamber of Secrets too, didn't you?" he asked. "You know how to get there, and what it is, don't you?"

She held her breath. "I—yes, but—"

"You brewed a successful Polyjuice potion in your second year at Hogwarts," he said, leaning towards her, the crisp smell of him floating up and prompting a shiver. "You know about the Sorcerer's Stone too, don't you? That's just a rumor here, you know," he added, laughing a little, his breath sliding punishingly against her neck. "I've even heard," he continued, his lips brushing her jaw, "that you've been in the Department of Mysteries."

"You've heard a lot of things," Hermione said, trying not to gasp. "How did you—"

"I'm rather clever myself," he whispered, pulling back to look at her, his grey eyes stormy, rakish and hungry. "There's a few things I could still stand to know, though, if we're being honest."

"Why do I feel like you're rarely honest?" she asked, her eyes falling shut as he reached for her waist.

"I'll tell you something true right now," he offered, and leaned down, brushing his lips against hers with an impossible softness that was met with a rush of something wild in her, the insane realization that she was kissing Draco Malfoy—only it _wasn't_ , and that was _even crazier,_ and what was the craziest of all was that she liked it, she liked it, _she liked it_ —

"I'm going to kiss you again," he confessed against her lips, a breathy spill of sweetness into her mouth. "And again," he added, making it true, "and again—"

She gasped as he shoved her legs apart, strategically placing his thigh against her; encouraging her, moving against her, moving with her.

"—and then I'm going to fuck you," he said gruffly, and she felt her knees go weak, letting him pull her with him into his bedroom—letting him toss her back on his bed—letting him undress her and savor her and devour her—letting her eyes rove over the muscle of his chest, the flash in his eyes, the movement of his lips as he spoke her name. She craved him, she ached for him, she coveted him.

But before she did all that, she watched him put the Elder Wand in the drawer of his nightstand.

* * *

"So," not-Granger said, her lips brushing against her glass. "She's going to steal the wand back, isn't she?"

Draco choked a little on a swallow, coughing up a lie. "No—no, she's just—"

"Don't lie to me," not-Granger murmured, smiling at him as she slipped her bare foot into his lap, sliding the arch of it against his thigh. "You're not nearly as good at it as _he_ is."

"He's not a very good liar either," Draco muttered, and she laughed, letting her head fall back as the sound of it slipped musically into the air between them.

"No, he isn't," she agreed, setting her glass down and shifting to crawl towards him, straddling him on the floor. "You both have at least that in common."

"You're seducing me," he noted, settling his hands on her hips. "Which is odd," he added vacantly, suffering a moment of instability that he wished he could blame on the Firewhisky instead of the feeling of her skin under his fingers, "as you have nothing to steal from me."

"Nothing but your loyalty," she mused in his ear, and he stiffened, pulling back to stare at her.

"What?"

"You don't even like her," she reminded him. "I could take her place, Draco."

He shuddered at the sound of his name on her lips. "I—you—I couldn't—"

"We could work together," she whispered. "You don't want the wand," she added, laughing a little. "I know you don't—you're just making excuses because _her_ insufferable morality is part of the deal—"

"I—" he began weakly, jolting forward as she moved against him. "It's not—"

"Let him keep the wand," she added, her fingers sliding up the back of his neck to toy with the hair at the back of his head, twisting and coiling as she lowered herself against him, unsubtly rubbing against his lap.

"She'd—she'd never let that happen," Draco said gruffly, trying not to let his mouth fall open as not-Granger let her hands slope forward over his shoulders, her fingers spreading across his chest. _Her_ fingers, her hands her lips her hair her face her _body_ —Granger, whom he'd secretly wondered about for years, hating himself through every second it—only _not Granger at all_ —Granger, except eleven hundred times _more tempting_ —awful and insane and fucking _irresistible_ —

"You don't know what she's like," he added hoarsely, "I could never get away with not taking that wand with us—"

"What if you didn't have to worry about her?" not-Granger—NOT Granger, he adamantly reminded himself—offered demurely, leaning back to meet his gaze with her fucking golden brown eyes, her absolute vision of innocence that was now somehow veiled with an oppressively coquettish charm, an undeniably sexy disregard for rules or consequences or _anything_ , it seemed, aside from wrapping him around her fucking beautiful finger. "What if," she murmured, brushing her lips against his, "I took care of it?"

"What?" Draco asked, breathless, but then she was kissing him, pinning his shoulders to the sofa he was leaning against and slipping her tongue along his bottom lip, making a show of tasting him and then leaning back to watch him, a smile creeping across her face.

"You want me," she breathed. "Don't you?"

He gulped. He fucking _gulped._

"I—"

"Not her," she said, and then smiled. "Well, maybe you want her," she permitted, with a confusing brush of Granger's signature primness that was abruptly tainted— _improved_ —by her roguish smirk. "But you want me _more._ "

He shook his head, fighting to breathe. "I—that's not—"

"You're an absolutely horrific liar," she whispered, and kissed him again, her quick fingers slipping to the strip of skin between the untucked hem of his shirt and the band of his trousers, prompting an immediate shudder. She deepened the kiss, tugging his head back by his hair, and he gave in with a growl, ripping the shirt over her head and pausing to stare at her _fucking perfect breasts,_ just like he imagined but _better,_ less restrained and more—more—

More _his._

"You want me," she said again, and he flipped her back onto the floor, marinating in the sound of her laughter as she tore his shirt open, pulling him against her.

"Fuck, I really do," he muttered, pressing his lips to the skin of her abdomen and tracing his tongue down to the button of her jeans, his heart creeping up to beat against his throat.

 _Fucking hell_ , he thought, his fingers closing on the pocket watch and discreetly slipping it from her pocket before tugging her jeans down her legs, cursing himself breathless with anticipation.

* * *

It all happened so quickly.

"Malfoy," she said, grabbing him by the shoulder and throwing his clothes at him. _Jesus, Malfoy,_ she thought, grimacing, _did you really_ —

 _Oh well,_ she thought, recalling her own evening and withering in resignation. Maybe something would come out of this after all, even if it wasn't really _him_ —

"Malfoy, we have to go—"

It was chaos, turmoil, disarray—not-Malfoy skidding in from the hall after her, his cheeks flushed and eyes wild, a look in his eye like _don't, you wouldn't, how could you, don't, don't_ —the other version of her looking furious, leaping to her feet—her fingers tightening around the wand—"I've got the wand, Malfoy, we have to leave _now_ "—him struggling to his feet—"let's go, grab my hand"—a touch, a yank, a sudden suction—a tumble, a fall—

A stumble, a darkness, a sense of loss— _how could you, how could you, how could you?_

It all happened so quickly.

* * *

Draco woke suddenly, with a start, lying on his back in his bedroom and suddenly jerking up, gasping.

"Granger," he said hoarsely, his heart pounding. "Granger, how did we—"

"It's okay," she said, gripping his shoulder and stilling him, her fingers cool and stiff. "You—you hit your head on something," she explained, grimacing. "But I've got it," she added, holding the Elder Wand out for him. "We're here. We're safe."

He turned to her, forcing himself to breathe, nodding slowly. "Right," he murmured, and then looked around, feeling for the portkey. "Where's—where's the—"

"Here," she said, offering it to him. He reached for it, fumbling slightly, and then aimed the Elder Wand at it, his breath catching in his throat.

"I," he began, hesitating. "Are we sure about this?" he asked, meeting her eye.

She grimaced. "Paradoxes aren't meant to coexist," she said quietly, her hand tightening around his shoulder. "I know that it's—that we're—" She flushed, dropping her gaze. "I know it was different with them," she admitted. "Different than it is between us." She bit her lip, forcing a shrug. "But still."

He swallowed. "They don't belong in our universe," he said aloud, more for his benefit than hers.

"No," she said sadly, shaking her head. "They don't." She paused, the grimace twitching into a smile. "It'll be okay, Draco," she added, testing his name on her tongue; he felt something ease comfortably in his lungs at the sound of it, and managed a hesitant nod.

He set the pocket watch on the ground, aiming his wand at it. " _Reducto_ ," he murmured, and watched as the portkey was blown to pieces, shards of silver thrust into the air and then dissipating into nothing, swept away on an inexplicable breeze.

"They're gone," he exhaled, feeling tightness in his chest. _She's gone,_ he thought, and shut his eyes, wondering why it hurt quite this badly if she was right there—she was _right there,_ the _real_ Granger, and maybe all wasn't lost—

"Come on," he said wearily, throwing an arm around Granger's shoulders. "Let's—I don't know, find Potter, I guess." He sighed. "And Ollivander and Lovegood, I suppose—"

"Who?" she asked reflexively, and then paused, her eyes widening in alarm.

Draco froze, slowly turning to face her.

"Lovegood," he said, forcing himself to maintain a hold of himself. "You know who that is, don't you, Granger?" he asked, stepping forward to lift her chin with one finger. " _Don't you_ , Granger?"

Her lips twitched into a smirk. "You fucking idiot," she murmured, and he leapt back, breathing hard.

"You," he gasped, his hands shaking in disbelief. "You—but you—" he stammered. "You had the wand," he said frantically, staring down at it. "This is the _Elder Wand,_ it wasn't supposed to be—it was— _she_ was the one who—"

"I made a deal," she explained flippantly, shrugging. "He was amenable. You have a war to win, after all," she murmured, a wary smile crossing her face. "You need this more than he does." She paused, biting her lip. " _We_ need it," she clarified, holding a hand out for him.

He stared at her, blinking; torn and uncertain.

"Draco," she ventured uneasily, taking a step towards him. "Say something."

It seemed like an eternity before he found his voice; but then—

"Thank god it's you," he gasped, yanking her into his arms and burying his lips in the side of her neck.

* * *

Hermione opened her eyes slowly, something throbbing in her head.

"Malfoy," she muttered. "What _happened,_ I thought we were—"

"You know, considering everything," Malfoy said, lowering himself to sit beside her on the couch, "you should really start calling me Draco."

"Why?" she asked groggily, bringing a hand up to her temple. "I mean, I guess," she murmured, and then blinked, trying to steady her vision. "Where's the wand?" she croaked. "And the—the portkey, where's the—"

She stopped abruptly, watching the expression on his face come into focus.

"You're not Malfoy," she croaked, and he tossed his head back, laughing.

"I _am_ , actually," he said, winking. "The better version, as promised."

"What the—"

She shifted away from him, struggling to back away as he watched her, the same smile of amusement on his lips that she'd somehow— _infuriatingly_ —come to expect.

"Did you—did you _kidnap_ me?"

"I wanted you, so I took you," he said, shrugging. "As it happens, I'm rather intent on getting what I want, and it turns out that what I want is you." He paused, arching a brow. "Are you upset?"

"Of course I'm upset!" she retorted indignantly, as the realization of what had happened suddenly struck her with vicious force, jarring her consciousness. "Malfoy was going to destroy the portkey," she exclaimed, "and—the wand—"

She felt her breath catch. "The wand," she sighed with relief. "He'll know it's not me if she doesn't have the wand—"

"Oh, she has the wand," not-Malfoy commented blithely. "I let her go with it."

"What?" Hermione squeaked. " _Why_?"

He shrugged. "I only need you," he said. "If I'd known you were an option, I might never have bothered with the Elder Wand at all. After all," he added, shifting towards her, "I highly doubt anyone on earth could stop me with you by my side." He reached for her wrist, his thumb tracing over the _M_. "If," he murmured, "you wish to be by my side, that is."

"I could be trapped here," Hermione realized, nervously chewing her lip. "And Harry and Ron, they're—they'll be—"

"They exist here too, you know," not-Malfoy said. "I'm quite good friends with Harry, actually. We share a certain desire for justice, you see," he explained, winking. "We're a rather united front on the whole bringing down Grindelwald thing." He shifted again, closer—much too close, or would have been, had she not been itching to touch him again—and gave her a spectacularly vulnerable look of sincerity. "We need you, Hermione."

She half-shivered at her name on his lips.

"Is this version of Harry as horrible as you are?" she asked, trying not to stare at his mouth.

"Far less horrible," not-Malfoy said, leaning towards her. "Almost not horrible at all, in fact."

"I see," Hermione said, forcing a swallow.

"We could try to find another portkey, or make one," not-Malfoy offered. "You're certainly brilliant enough that we could figure it out eventually. I only hope," he added, his gaze dropping to her lips, "that in the meantime, you will give me an opportunity to prove how badly I want you." His lips jerked into a smile, as though he'd confessed something by accident. "How badly I _need_ you," he murmured, his lips brushing hers.

She hesitated, not quite giving in. "Why?"

"I have a war to start," he reminded her. "You would help me win it."

She stifled a whimper as he tilted her chin up, his fingers floating delicately along the column of her throat.

"Oh, is that all?" she asked drily.

She felt him smile against her lips. "Not quite," he whispered.

This time when he kissed her, she gave in.

* * *

 **a/n:** So weird, I know. A thousand thank yous to Gaeleria, a few extra to UnicornShenans for fostering the idea (which began with a discussion of theories on evil twins), and a few more to Dr Sally for sifting through the monster draft.

Coming soon, I SWEAR: time travel Remione, Battle of the Bands Lucissa, Drunk History Pt. II.


	67. Battle of the Bands

**Battle of the Bands**

 _Pairing:_ Lucissa (Lucius Malfoy x Narcissa Black), plus background Mulcibery (Darian Mulciber x Caleb Avery), Wolfstar (Sirius Black x Remus Lupin), Jily (James Potter x Lily Evans), Tedromeda (Ted Tonks x Andromeda Black)

 _Universe:_ Muggle AU

 _Rating:_ M for language, sex

 _Summary:_ A Tumblr Anon asked for a Lucissa, and this is what came to mind. _(A note that all the lyrics to the songs featured in this one shot are written by me, because I'm insane like that.)_

The Leaky Cauldron is a shitty dive bar that serves up cheap drinks and sketchy company, but once a year it transforms to something passably not-horrible to host the Battle of the Bands, which is attended by local talent scouts and record label executives. The winner of the Battle of the Bands traditionally goes on to achieve greatness, and the Death Eaters and Marauders are in it to win it— _especially_ when a third rival gets unexpectedly added to the mix.

* * *

 _ **Soundcheck**_

* * *

"Mulciber, for god's sake," Lucius barked sharply, yanking him off Caleb Avery's lap. "Can't this wait until later?"

"No, Malfoy _,_ it _can't_ ," Darian retorted, shoving him away to resume bending over Caleb, grinning at him. "We're busy."

"Yeah, Malfoy," Caleb muttered, sliding his tongue over Darian's bottom lip and letting out a rough tremor of laughter as Darian moved to straddle him where he sat. "Can't you get Thor to take care of it?"

"Can I get Rowle _,_ a _drummer_ ," Lucius clarified irritably, "to check the bass amp for soundcheck?" He crossed his arms over his chest, growling. "I could, but I don't see what good that would do Darian—do _you_ , Avery?"

"You need to relax, Lucius," Darian said, not looking over his shoulder. "You've been too busy running Tom's errands and it's making you fucking unbearable."

"Yeah, what does Tom need now?" Caleb asked, giving Darian's rear a slap.

"Don't even get me started," Lucius muttered. "Some particular brand of imported bottled water or something—"

"Coconut water?" Darian asked innocently. "I like Caleb's best."

"That is the most disgusting thing I've ever heard," Lucius snapped, "and also, fuck you both."

"Together?" Caleb asked, smirking. "We could make room."

Lucius made a face. "No, god, _ugh—_ "

"Fine, I'll check the fucking amp," Darian sighed, resignedly clambering to his feet. "I'm assuming that will get you off my back?"

"It will," Lucius said, rolling his eyes. "And speaking of Thor—"

"He's busy trying to fuck Bella's little sister," Caleb offered, gesturing across the room to where Thorfinn had his back to them. "Met her yet?"

"Who, Andromeda?" Lucius asked, frowning. "She's around all the time."

"There's a third sister, apparently," Darian informed him, eyeing his fingernails. "A Miss _Narcissa_ Black."

"Well," Lucius muttered, "if she's anything like the other two, she's clearly—"

"Clearly _what_ , Lucius?" Tom asked, throwing an arm around his shoulders. "Careful," he warned, grinning. "Bella might hear you."

Lucius groaned aloud. "I don't understand why you can't choose to fuck someone that's a _little_ more stable," he commented for the hundredth time. "Is her pussy really worth the insanity?"

"She's my _muse_ , Lucius," Tom said, shrugging. "Without her, I imagine our material would be far less—"

"Dark?" Caleb guessed. "Substantially fucked?"

"I was going for 'edgy' or 'emotive'," Tom remarked. "But by all means, _demean me,_ Avery," he said briskly, rolling his eyes. "It only feeds my creativity."

"Well, the more of that, the better," Darian ruled. "You're the odds-on favorite to win." He glanced down, reading an article off his phone. " _With his angsty yowl and bedroom eyes, Death Eater frontman Tom Riddle's got more star power in the frayed hem of his impossibly fitted black skinny jeans than most people have in their entire bodies—_ "

"Why does it always come back to my jeans?" Tom interrupted, scowling. "Never mind my lyrics," he muttered, "or my fucking _depth—_ "

"Or the rest of your band, eh, Riddle?" Thorfinn Rowle cut in, appearing behind them. "I'm really not sure why nobody has anything to say about my expertly clean drumming, or Malfoy's sick guitar riffs—"

"Now you're mocking us," Tom sniffed. "I don't care for it."

"I would _never_ ," Thor assured him, grinning. "Mulciber," he called, nodding at Darian. "What's the article say about the Marauders?"

"Ugh, _fuck_ ," Tom said instantly, spitting the word out like the mention of the band's name alone had been venomous. "The Marauders are a fucking commercialized blow job," he ruled decisively. "They're nothing but earworm alternative-pop-punk- _whatever_ radio machines."

"Oh my god, Riddle, stop, I'm blushing," a voice drawled behind them, bringing them face to face with the Marauders lead singer, James Potter.

"Just think, Tom," James snarked wryly, "maybe you might actually manage to win one of these things if you ever deigned to write an actual fucking _hook_ , eh?"

"Oh, fuck off, Potter," Lucius snapped, but Tom only smirked at him.

"You sure you're ready for this, Potter?" Tom asked silkily. "Think you're ready to hang with the big boys instead of—" he waved a hand. "Bar mitzvahs, or whatever it is you do?"

"We do weddings, too, thanks," James said airily, tipping an imaginary hat. "I've even been known to play a quinceañera or two."

"By which he means two," Sirius Black contributed lazily, appearing at James' side and slinging an arm over his shoulders. " _Exactly_ two."

"Each one more magnificent than the last," James declared, looking inanely triumphant as Remus Lupin loped in after them.

"Oh, good, the family-friendly gays are here," Caleb commented, smirking at Remus and Sirius. "Marvelous."

"As opposed to what?" Remus asked tartly, arching a sandy brow. "Are you and Mulciber the rotten gays?"

"New band name," Sirius cut in instantly, nudging Remus. "The Rotten Gays. Called it."

"Hey, I thought we just agreed that's _us_ ," Darian argued, as Lucius let out an impatient growl.

"Mulciber, I thought I told you to get ready for soundcheck," he snapped. "And _you_ ," he said, turning to face Sirius, Remus, and James. "Can you three please get back in your clown car of ineptitude and—"

"Four," Peter Pettigrew interrupted breathlessly, his guitar slung over his shoulder as he jogged over to join them. "Hey, guys, sorry, was just checking out the set list—"

"Ah, we should maybe figure out what we're playing," James remarked, turning to Sirius. "Thoughts?"

"Don't play the song you wrote for Lily," Sirius replied instantly. "It won't work."

"Okay, I hear you," James agreed slowly, "but _what if—_ "

"Don't do it," Remus sighed, cutting him off. "Seriously, Prongs. _Don't_."

"Yeah, totally, of course," James assured him. "But hypothetically, if I _did—_ "

"Is the band list finalized?" Tom interrupted, turning to Peter. "Do we know who else is playing?"

"Close to finalized, I think," Peter supplied. "The Prewett twins are playing, and I think Dolohov and Karkaroff have some kind of KGB-themed joke of a cover band—"

"Ugh, _hate_ them," Bella interrupted, sliding in and grimacing. As usual, she wore a long black peasant skirt and a black tank top with no bra—which _would_ have been distracting, except they'd all seen Bella's tits more times than they could count. "Hey babe," she said, giving Tom an open-mouthed kiss that made everyone else wince with discomfort. "All set?"

"Close to it," Tom said, slipping an arm around her waist. "Malfoy's taking care of it."

Bella's dark eyes slid to his. "Good," she said coolly. "Then maybe I can get you to work out some of that excess frustration with Andromeda."

"Aw, babe, are you whoring out your sisters?" Tom asked, chuckling. "That's cute."

Bella made a face, resting her head against Tom's shoulder. "She's being so _weird_ lately," she said. "You know what I found in her desk today?"

"Opioids?" Darian asked brightly.

"GET TO SOUNDCHECK," Lucius yelled at him. Darian shrugged, grinning, and ambled slowly away, throwing Lucius a salute over his shoulder.

"Not opioids," Bella said grimly. "Worse." She leaned in conspiratorially. " _Kerouac._ "

"Oh, gross," Tom declared, making a face.

"What's wrong with Kerouac?" Sirius asked. "I love him."

"Yes, because you're shallow and self-indulgent," Remus said fondly, reaching up to pat the top of Sirius' head. "We know."

"I was going to say it's because when I'm drunk I need to be carried around like a suitcase, but fine," Sirius permitted. "Also," he chirped, "he and I share a devotion to universal liberation."

"You mean universal _libations_ ," James corrected him, at which point Lucius let out an audible groan.

"Don't you shits have musical instruments to tune or something?" he prompted unhappily. "Honestly, I feel like I get dumber every time you idiots speak."

"See?" Bella said, gesturing to Lucius. " _This_ is why you'd be good for Andy: no nonsense. No fucks. Well, _one_ fuck, which is to fuck her head right," she instructed definitively. "Remind her why a talented, _well-monied_ cock is always an improvement over a brooding, self-aggrandizing Beat narrative. And anyway," Bella added impassively, "a little pussy would do your temperament some good, Lucius. I'd volunteer, but—"

"Gross," Lucius said, making a face, and then blanched. "No offense, Tom."

"She's not my girlfriend, she's my _muse_ ," Tom reminded him. "If I thought I had any choice in the matter, believe me, I'd make a different one."

"Sweet of you, babe," Bella purred, and Tom leaned down, kissing her firmly.

"Okay, well, I'm leaving," Lucius announced, and promptly turned, catching sight of Bella's sister Andromeda sitting at the bar and moving to join her. He wasn't actually going to _sleep_ with her, obviously—not at the moment, anyway—but he was fully certain that he was going to need a drink to get through the day.

"Ted," he called to the bartender. "Two fingers of Makers, would you?"

"Got it, Lucius," Ted said, turning apologetically from his conversation with Andromeda. "One sec, Andy."

"Sure," she agreed brightly, drumming her fingers against a battered composition book. Lucius took a seat beside her, eyeing it.

"What do you have in there?" he asked, pointing to it. "Murder plots?"

Andromeda rolled her eyes. "Those would be in _Bella's_ notebook," she corrected. "Mine has—" she reddened, averting her gaze as she stumbled into a pause. "Nothing, really."

"That's not true," Ted said, returning with Lucius' drink and sliding it across the bar, smiling warmly at Andromeda. "She writes poetry."

"Shitty poetry," Andromeda contributed quickly, her cheeks flushed. "Nothing good."

"Oh, stop it," Ted said, winking at her. "It's great. She's got some songs in there, too," he added, nodding to Lucius. "I've been trying to convince her to do Battle of the Bands tomorrow night."

At that—the utter _insanity_ of the idea—it took everything Lucius possessed not to laugh; he supposed by the horrified look on Andromeda's face, his opposition must have showed.

"I said no," Andromeda assured him, hastily backpedaling. "They're not good. The songs, I mean," she clarified, looking down. "I—I could never, really—"

"I mean, Battle of the Bands _is_ a pretty big deal," Lucius ventured carefully, letting the bourbon soak into his tongue before speaking. "So maybe not _that—_ but something," he said, attempting lightness. "I'm sure something considerably less"— _qualified,_ he thought disdainfully, but bit his tongue—"competitive would be a better place to give it a go."

"Oh," Andromeda said, visibly deflating. "I mean, yeah, that's what I was saying, too," she sighed. "It's nothing good, really, just scribbles—"

"Andy," Lucius heard behind him. "Haven't we already discussed how self-deprecation is so terribly passé?"

He caught the motion of someone sliding in beside him and turned to meet the startling blue eyes of a lithely slender blonde, her hair pulled back in a long ponytail that cascaded down over one strap of her floaty grey-blue sundress. "Narcissa Black," she offered, holding out a hand. "You were in the business of discouraging my sister?"

Lucius swallowed, startled, before accepting her proffered hand, finding her fingers cool and dainty in his. If she hadn't said her name was Black, he would never have guessed it; Narcissa barely had a trace of Bellatrix's dark features—either the older sister's ornately slanted eyes or her wild hair—and almost none of Andromeda's stiff brand of prettiness. Comparatively, Narcissa was coltish, airy, delicate; more forest sprite than urban muse, and entirely out of place against the flimsy facade of the bar's daytime persona, her sundress glowing warmly against her dewy skin.

"Lucius Malfoy," he supplied slowly, "and I wasn't discouraging her." He paused, clearing his throat to process the vacancy of her hand leaving his as she pulled away. "I only meant," he continued, "that the most high profile event of the year is hardly the time to test the waters."

"Andromeda writes songs," Narcissa informed him carelessly, "and she plays piano." She shrugged. "What else would she need?"

Lucius gaped at her for a minute, and then laughed. "Okay, now you're fucking with me, I take it," he commented, shaking his head. "You really think that's all it takes to win this competition?"

"What, did you have to obtain some kind of advanced degree in rocker bullshit to do this?" Narcissa countered. "A license to emote or something?"

"Narcissa," Andromeda warned, tilting her head, but Narcissa only rolled her eyes, waving her away.

"Something like that," Lucius permitted, smirking at her. "Thanks for noticing my credentials."

"Well, I have to assume there's some magic to it that I don't know about," she offered sweetly, her voice a little too high to be authentic. "Tell me, are you the authority on how to be a musician?"

"No," Lucius said, "but I _do_ know that winning this competition is harder than you seem to think." He paused, taking a sip of his drink. "Songwriting by itself, even," he added pointedly. "Just because you throw together some rhymes doesn't necessarily mean you're any good."

Beside him, Andromeda's chin dropped, her gaze falling to her lap; Narcissa's eyes narrowed, catching the motion, before she turned back to Lucius.

"Anyone can write a song," she determined, dropping her coquettish act to glare defiantly at him. "Watch, I'll do one right now—"

"Narcissa _,_ " Andromeda sighed, but Narcissa ignored her.

" _There's a man sat here drinking whiskey, his shirt's got buttons down the front_ ," Narcissa sang. " _He thinks that he's a poet, but he's really just a—_ "

"CISSY," Andromeda interrupted sharply, and Ted stifled a laugh behind his hand.

For a moment, Lucius was speechless, inflamed by a rush of irritation; but then, at the particularly coy look of smugness that had flitted across Narcissa's pale pink lips, he made a decision, rising sharply to his feet.

Lucius stepped behind her barstool, spinning her to face him and then leaning her back against the bar, his chest dropped down to hers. "You're taunting me," he murmured to her, lowering his chin to speak in her ear. "If you want something from me, princess, just _ask_."

Her eyes widened. "You think I'm hitting on you?" she asked bluntly, her pale brow furrowing as she stared up at him in challenge. "You couldn't be more wrong, Malfoy."

"Couldn't I?" he asked, and placed his hands on either side of her ribs, resting his palms on the bar to leave a breath's width of space between them. "I don't think so," he murmured. "In fact, what I think," he added carefully, "is that this dress"—he shifted back, tracing his finger over the strap of it before meeting her eye—"would look better on my floor."

There was a pause—an incalculable stiffening of her shoulders—and then Narcissa shifted slowly towards him, an unreadable smile spreading over her painted lips as her breath skated across his skin. Lucius felt himself smirk, satisfaction nudging at the corners of his mouth, and moved to close the distance.

He only realized that she had taken his glass of whiskey in her hand when he suddenly felt its contents splash across his cheek, the motion so quick he nearly missed it. He gasped as the liquid collided with skin, sputtering in shock as he reached up—startled, offended, and unforgivably sticky—to wipe the burn from his jaw.

"Sorry," Narcissa murmured insincerely, making a soft _tsk_ -ing sound. "I just thought your drink would look better on your face."

Then she hopped off the stool and walked away, the floaty grey-blue material clinging to her hips with a whispered softness as she disappeared without looking back.

Lucius stared after her, fists clenched; Ted gingerly held out a cloth for him but he shoved it away, growling furiously under his breath.

"For the record," Andromeda remarked drily, "you _did_ deserve that."

Lucius glared at her. "I have to go to soundcheck," he said bluntly, pivoting and walking away.

* * *

 _ **Battle of the Bands: Night One**_

* * *

"Alright, Tom, you and the Death Eaters are up first," Horace Slughorn called, speaking into his headpiece. "Followed by the Marauders—"

"We're here," James said, panting as he showed up, the other three half a step at his heels. "Sorry, just—had some issues—"

"With?" Minerva McGonagall asked, arching a brow.

"My hair," Sirius supplied. Minerva grimaced.

"He's lying," James assured her quickly, nudging Tom beside him. "It was _my_ hair," he muttered under his breath, grinning. Tom shoved him away, making a face.

"Have you seen Bella?" Tom asked, shifting uncomfortably to speak into Lucius' ear. "She's normally around to take care of the, um—"

"Nerves?" Lucius prompted drily.

"Cock," Darian corrected, his arm slung around Caleb's neck. "We're good on the cock front, if anyone was wondering."

" _Nobody_ was wondering," Lucius muttered back, shifting slightly as Thor slipped through the fray to stand beside him.

"Last minute entry," Thor murmured to him. "Band I've never heard of called 'The House of Black'—"

"What?" Lucius said loudly, prompting Tom to glance curiously at him. "Black? As in—" he turned, glancing at Sirius. "You're not in _two_ bands, are you?"

"Not that I know of," Sirius replied lazily, then paused, tilting his head. "I suppose Reg might be in one."

"Reg?" Tom echoed skeptically. "Don't tell me you have a brother."

"He does," Remus informed them. "Regulus Black, narrow-hipped tornado of pestilence."

"Hear, hear," Sirius said brightly, smacking a kiss against Remus' cheek as Minerva glared warningly at him from down the hall.

"Ah, so nothing to worry about," Tom said, clapping Lucius on the shoulder. "Right?"

"Thirty seconds to intro," Minerva called. "Everyone ready?"

"Yeah," Lucius muttered, turning to Thor. "Don't come in too fast on the count in, okay? You've rushed it the last two times, Rowle, and I fucking _swear_ , if you—"

"Relax," Thor assured him, clipping him in the ribs with his elbow. "We're _fine_."

"Yeah," Lucius said again, though he couldn't shake his uneasy feeling. "Did you hear Dumbledore's here?"

"Is that the guy who owns that Order label?" Thor asked. "Damn," he remarked with a low whistle. "That'd be ideal."

"I know," Lucius said, fidgeting. "If we could win this, get his contacts, maybe get him to listen to a demo—"

"One thing at a time," Tom said, glancing around again. "Fuck," he said under his breath, scowling. "Where the fuck is Bella?"

"Ready, Death Eaters?" Minerva asked, getting a signal from Horace. "You're on in three—two— _one_ —"

"Let's do this," Tom said, shaking himself once before striding out onto the stage, painting his signature broody smirk across his lips and sauntering to his mic. "Ladies and gentlemen of the Leaky Cauldron," he shouted, pausing to accommodate the sound of screams at his arrival as Lucius picked up his guitar, joining Caleb on Tom's right. "We are the Death Eaters, and this song—"

Lucius struck a thundering chord, smiling at the renewed sound of cheers.

"—is called _Tomorrows._ "

Tom turned, nodding once at Thor, who counted them in at a slightly quickened pace— _I told you, you fuck,_ Lucius thought, growling internally—and then reached for the mic, letting his showman's persona drip over his face as he started to sing, his voice scratchy and low.

 _Pour me out like a river  
_ _And drown me in your sorrows  
_ _Let me down and ruin me, baby  
_ _I want all of your tomorrows_

 _I split my soul up piece by piece  
_ _It's the least that I could do  
_ _I kept a sliver for myself  
_ _And the rest is all for you_

The build into the chorus was heated, instrumental; Lucius bit his lip, feeling the guitar's vibration rattle in his bones.

 _I'm never gonna die  
_ _So you can drown me in your sorrows  
_ _I'm never gonna lose my way, babe  
_ _I've got all of your tomorrows_

By the time they reached the hook, the crowd was singing along, sweat starting to drip down Lucius' spine.

 _I've got time to burn  
_ _I've got time to burn  
_ _I've got time to burn, and I want you_

Tom's smile was radiantly undeniable as the crowd joined in, singing the words " _I want you_ " in such impeccable unison that even Dumbledore, whom Lucius had spotted at the back of the venue, was visibly impressed.

Lucius let the reverb sink over the crowd, catching his breath as the song slipped back into Tom's solo vocals.

 _I split my soul up piece by piece  
_ _It's the least that I could do  
_ _I kept a sliver for myself  
_ _And the rest is all for you_

The applause was deafening; Lucius couldn't prevent a smile. He turned—glaring once at Thor, who shrugged—before exiting the stage after a final bow from Tom. Lucius paused once at the side of the stage, glancing smugly down his nose at James; _good luck,_ he mouthed obnoxiously, to which James' mouth twitched into a welcoming smirk. _Bring it,_ James returned, nodding at the rest of his band and making his way to the stage.

"What's up, kids," James said into the mic, his impressively unfailing earnestness practically dripping from his grey henley as his faded black Chuck Taylors tapped preemptively against the stage. "We're the Marauders, and we're here to have some fun."

There was a warm round of applause, a couple of shouts; behind James, Sirius dripped half a bottle's worth of water over his head, smiling broadly as a group of twenty-something girls squealed their approval. Emboldened, Sirius tore his shirt over his shoulders, holding his drumsticks triumphantly in the air and basking in the attention.

"Fucker," Tom muttered, shaking his head. Remus, Lucius noted, merely tapped his fingers impatiently against his bass, rolling his eyes at Sirius' antics.

"This song," James started, wiping sweat from his brow and grinning as he looked down at his guitar and then back up, "is called _Lily_."

"Oh what the _fuck_ , Potter," someone in the crowd groaned. "For the last time, I absolutely will not—"

"Here we go!" James yelled gleefully, making a counting motion over his shoulder to Peter. "One, two, one two _three—_ "

 _She's a demon  
_ _She's a siren  
_ _And she's calling from the rocks  
_ _She's a monster  
_ _She's a trickster  
_ _She's a sly too-clever fox_

 _Won't you be mine, baby?  
_ _I've been waiting all this time  
_ _Won't you be mine, baby?  
_ _I've been waiting all the time_

Tom had been right about the Marauders' mass appeal; the song was unforgivably catchy, which made Lucius even angrier. It would be stuck in his head for _hours._

 _She's beautiful  
_ _She's charming  
_ _She's got my heart locked in a cage  
_ _She is madness  
_ _She is manic  
_ _She's a thunderstorm of rage_

James smiled broadly, blowing a kiss to the redheaded girl in the crowd.

 _I want to know what makes you tick  
_ _I want to be the one that makes you sick_

"These fuckers can write a hook," Darian shouted to Caleb. Lucius glared at them.

 _Won't you be mine, baby?  
_ _I've been waiting all this time  
_ _Won't you be mine, baby?  
_ _I've been waiting all the time_

By the time the song ended, there were about as many hormonal screams for James Potter as there had been for Tom.

"We are the Marauders!" he shouted into the mic, smiling broadly. "Thank you, and Lily, one more thing—" he grabbed the mic, holding on as Remus tried to drag him away—"Lily Evans, I fucking love you!"

"Jesus Christ," a girl next to Lucius remarked as Sirius threw James over his shoulder, carrying him off the stage. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I want to fuck that guy straight into the floor."

"He's hot, isn't he?" her friend replied. "I just wanna _mess him up,_ you know?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Lucius muttered under his breath, turning back to Thor. "Who's next?"

"It's that House of Black group," Thor said, glancing down at his phone screen for the lineup. "You really think it's Black's brother?"

"I mean, I guess it could be—"

Lucius stopped, silenced, as he caught a glimpse of platinum blonde hair come into view.

"That isn't," he said breathlessly, and then gaped. "No way," he gasped. "Thor, tell me I'm hallucinating—"

"What the fuck?" Tom yelled, reaching out to grip Lucius' arm. "Is that _Bella_?"

The room seemed to collectively gasp as Bellatrix, Andromeda, and Narcissa Black all sauntered onto the stage—followed by a skinny loping man with long black hair that Lucius assumed was Regulus Black—and waved to the crowd, each woman dressed in a set of impeccably fit black jeans and shod in studded stiletto heels. Narcissa, whose blonde hair fell in a sleek wave down her back, tossed the crowd a broad smile as she reached for the microphone, her crimson nails bright against the metal as she curled her fingers around it. She looked cool, calm, confident; she looked _hot,_ and as Andromeda took to the keyboard and Bellatrix picked up a guitar—slinging it over her bra-less shoulders and tossing her hair back to blow Tom a kiss—Narcissa looked like a wet dream brought to life, her scarlet lips curling up in an expectant smile.

She looked like a fucking goddess and it took every ounce of matter Lucius possessed not to fall to his knees and worship her.

"Well, I suppose all those years of 'don't touch my goddamn drums' didn't do Regulus any good," Sirius commented sullenly as the Marauders joined them against the wall.

"Shut up," Lucius attempted inaudibly as Narcissa opened her mouth to speak.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, we are the noble and most ancient House of Black," she murmured into the mic, smiling genially at the crowd. "And this song," she continued, looking around the room, "is for a new friend of mine." She looked up from her guitar, scanning the back wall. "Lucius Malfoy, are you in here?"

Lucius' heart stopped as her eyes met his, the smile broadening.

"Lucius, sweetie," Narcissa purred, winking at him. "This one's for you."

"Huh," Tom said, frowning with confusion as he looked at Lucius. "Won her over, did you?"

"Um," Lucius said hesitantly. "Well—"

 _You think you have the right to call me baby  
_ _But you're wrong, honey, you're wrong  
_ _You think that no means maybe  
_ _But you're wrong, honey, you're wrong_

"That's a no," Thor said flatly as Narcissa continued to croon into the mic, making a spectacle of her performance.

 _Come on over, pretty boy  
_ _I've got a thing or two to say  
_ _Your pants are on so tight  
_ _They might be messing with your brain  
_ _Take a look, baby, take stock  
_ _But put your hand back on your—_

"Oh my god," Remus yelled, cackling madly at Lucius' expense. "What a PR nightmare!"

 _Come on over, pretty baby  
_ _And I'll send you on your way_

"Holy hell, what did you do to her, Malfoy?" James asked, barely managing to suppress his laughter. "Christ, every woman in here looks like she wants to throw you in a river."

"Shut up, Potter," Lucius growled, but beside him, Tom's expression stiffened.

"Lucius," he muttered. "This is decidedly _not good._ "

"It's nothing," Lucius said quickly. "It's—it's no big deal, it's just—"

 _You said I couldn't write a song  
_ _But you're wrong, honey, you're wrong  
_ _You told me that I don't belong  
_ _But you're wrong, honey, you're wrong_

"This," Darian said, "is _terrible_ for you, Malfoy."

"They're all fucking singing along!" Caleb said, pointing to the crowd. "Fuck, they _love_ this—"

 _Walk away, babe, I said no  
_ _Walk away, baby, go home  
_ _Walk away, babe, I said no  
_ _Walk away, baby, go home_

By the time Narcissa had reached the bridge, every single person in the bar was singing along, including the Marauders. Lucius reached out, smacking James in the abdomen.

"Could you not?" he demanded brusquely. "I'm _right here._ "

"What?" James asked, coughing at the impact. "It's fucking catchy, okay?"

"This is bullshit," Lucius seethed, shoving through the crowd and disappearing into the street.

* * *

Lucius leaned against the wall in the alley, scowling as he brought the freshly lit cigarette to his lips.

"Smoking kills," he heard from behind him and whipped around, feeling a renewed rush of fury at the sound of her voice. "You really shouldn't smoke," Narcissa informed him, tilting her head and smirking at him.

"What do _you_ want?" he muttered, raising the cigarette to his lips. "Haven't you done enough damage for one night?"

"Not quite," she said, reaching out to take the cigarette from his hand and putting it out on the street, crushing it under the ball of her stilettoed foot. "You missed the encore performance, you know."

Lucius shook his head, seething. "You know, I get that this was all a joke to you," he spat furiously. "I get that you wanted to make me look bad, but this is _my life,_ " he growled. "This competition is fucking _huge_ for me, so I really don't need you to show up and drag me through the mud just to prove a fucking _point_ —"

"I didn't do it to prove a point," Narcissa informed him, crossing her arms over her chest. "Give me your jacket," she suggested, shivering. "It's freezing out here."

"No," Lucius retorted furiously. "Fucking _freeze,_ then, or go inside—"

"I'm not trying to fuck with you," Narcissa informed him. "But Andromeda wanted to play, even if she wouldn't admit it—and Tom never gives Bella any credit, so—"

"So _what_?" Lucius demanded. "This is all some kind of revenge act?"

"How utterly fucking patronizing of you," Narcissa commented sharply. "We wanted to perform, so we did." She shrugged. "This happened to be the first song I wrote, and I felt you deserved a dedication. After all, since songwriting is _so difficult,_ " she added mockingly, "I figured I should credit my sources."

She shivered a second time and he shook his head, taking off his leather jacket and throwing it at her with a grimace. "You didn't have to do this," he said again, watching her wrap it around her shoulders. "Look, I actually want to _be_ a musician, okay? I need to be taken _seriously,_ and that can't happen if you turn everyone in that bar against me—"

"Fine," she said, the line of her crimson mouth tightening. "I'm sorry, okay? I won't fuck with you again."

Lucius opened his mouth, ready to argue, but wilted at the look of sincerity on her face.

"Be sure that you don't," he said firmly. "And anyway," he added, "I wasn't—I didn't—"

He broke off, and Narcissa waited expectantly. "Yes?"

"If you aren't interested in me, that's fine," Lucius told her stiffly. "Yesterday, I didn't—I wasn't trying to pressure you. I mean, I _was_ ," he conceded, cringing, "but I didn't mean it. I was just—" he paused. "I got carried away, and I'm sorry."

Narcissa paused for a moment and then nodded, biting her lip. "Fine," she conceded. "We're even, then."

"Yeah, we are," Lucius sighed, and then smirked at her, unable to prevent himself. "I mean, at least you called me pretty, right?"

She shrugged.

"You're really fucking pretty," she said apathetically. "I'm not a liar."

He felt himself smile and tried to fight it; Narcissa sighed, sliding his jacket from her shoulders and taking a step towards him, holding it out for him.

"Here," she offered. "Thanks."

He reached out, taking it from her. "Yeah," he said, forcing a swallow as their hands met through the fabric. "It's—you know. No problem."

She nodded, turning to reenter the club but pausing after a step, pivoting back to face him as he toyed with what to say.

"Lucius," she said slowly, "I just—"

"The hook was really catchy," he blurted out, unsure what had come over him. "The 'walk away' bridge," he clarified, suddenly fidgeting with his hands. "It was really good. You're—" he paused, clearing his throat. "You're really good at this."

A smile tugged at the corners of her lovely mouth, and he barely registered the fact that her lips were brushing his until he felt her fingers digging into the back of his neck, pulling him closer. He dropped his hands, letting the jacket fall to the ground as he rested them carefully on her hips, scarcely believing he was touching her; and then—just as suddenly—she was gone, the smell of her gardenia perfume lingering in the air between them.

* * *

 _ **Battle of the Bands: Night Two**_

* * *

"Potter," a redheaded girl was pleading with James backstage. " _Do not_ profess your love to me onstage, okay? I get it," she added. "Super nice of you and all that, it's just—"

"Ugh, is this about Snivellus?" Sirius asked. "Lils," he groaned. "Come on."

"His name is _Severus,_ " the girl sighed exasperatedly, "and he really doesn't appreciate it, okay? And Potter, for the hundredth time, it's _not_ going to happen—"

"For your information, Evans, I really think you're warming up to me," James sniffed. "But Remus has already made me promise not to sing anything from my Lily discography, so—"

"Discography?" Peter chimed in, making a face. "Prongs, _please_."

"Yes, listen to Pete," the girl pleaded. "Okay?"

"Fine," James said, groaning. "But you know I love you, right?"

"Yes," the girl said. "It sounds familiar."

"Don't forget," James said, leaning against the wall and looking down at her. "I respect you, Evans, but I'm also—"

"In love with me," the girl supplied briskly, turning to leave. "Noted," she called over her shoulder, waving.

"I'd die for you, Evans," James yelled after her. "Super casual, though, we can definitely take it slow at first, I can wait—"

"Wow," Lucius said, shaking his head. "You need help, Potter."

"Says you, Mr Pants Too Tight," James retorted, scowling. He pulled at his chambray shirt, tugging impatiently at the collar. "I hate going first," he muttered.

"As you should," Tom said, smirking. "There'll be no coasting off our momentum tonight, Potter."

"Marauders, are you ready?" Minerva called, gesturing to James. "Potter, you need to be out in twenty seconds—"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming," James sighed. "Moony, where's my—"

"Here," Remus said, handing him his pitch pipe. "You good, Prongs?"

"He's fine," Sirius said, throwing one arm over each bandmate. "We're good, right?"

"Potter!" Minerva yelled. "Potter, get out there, _now—_ "

"Break a leg," Tom murmured, flicking the back of James' head and smiling as he scowled, running a hand through his hair.

"Leaky Cauldron, my homies," James shouted into the mic, suddenly conjuring his signature manic energy as he came onto the stage. "Do you solemnly swear that you're up to no good?"

"YES," the crowd yelled back as Sirius flung his shirt off, hitting Remus with it.

"Alright—this song is called—fuck, we never named this song—okay, well, here we go—"

 _The lights go down  
_ _The fire starts  
_ _Let loose the crown  
_ _Rip out the hearts_

Their song of choice for the evening had leaned ever so slightly more edgy than usual, and while James' voice had nothing on Tom's growling rasp, he carried the mood almost expertly.

 _Everything starts, here, now, tonight  
_ _Everything starts, me, you, all right_

It was a jumper of an anthem, with a considerably well-timed drop.

 _We are rebels  
_ _Vigilantes  
_ _We are running in the night  
_ _We are rising  
_ _From the ashes  
_ _We are here to start a fight_

"Ugh," Tom sniffed. "Juvenile."

 _Bare your teeth  
_ _It's time to go  
_ _Claws hit the ground  
_ _The demons know_

 _Everything starts, here, now, tonight  
_ _Everything starts, me, you, all right_

"Of _course_ Black takes a drum solo," Thor complained. "When do I get one?"

"When people evolve any interest in drumming," Darian replied, smirking.

The song ended with a bass rip from Remus and then the Marauders were met with cheers, James' face suddenly back to its smarmy triumphant self.

"Thank you Leaky Cauldron! And Lily Evans, I will fucking love you forever!"

"Holy shit," someone drawled. "He's certainly got it bad, doesn't he?"

Lucius whipped around, catching her voice. "Narcissa," he said breathlessly, turning to face her; she wore a tight black dress with her hair loose down her back, her lips a deep berry-red. "When are you—"

"We're after the Prewett twins," she supplied. "Two bands after you."

"Ah," Lucius acknowledged, clearing his throat just as Tom came over, frowning at Narcissa.

"Where's Bellatrix?" he demanded. "She was supposed to meet me half an hour ago, but she—"

"She had to fix a problem with the equipment," Narcissa supplied coolly. " _Our_ equipment," she added, smirking. "Not yours, for once."

Tom made a face, pulling at his collar. "I can't breathe, Lucius," he said. "My throat's all coated and sticky, and I can't—"

"You're fine," Lucius assured him, gripping his arm. "Seriously. We're about to go on—"

"Death Eaters," Minerva called. "You're on in fifteen."

"See?" Lucius said, gesturing. "Tom, get out there—"

Tom turned, muttering under his breath, and Lucius glanced at Narcissa before following.

"Hey," he said to her, "so—"

"Don't fuck up," she cut in simply and turned, disappearing into the crowd of musicians backstage. It was considerably less than he had hoped for; but, he reminded himself, about what he should have expected.

"Cool," Lucius sighed at her back, striding onto the stage.

"Leaky Cauldron," Tom called into the mic, "we are the Death Eaters, and this song is called _Suicide_." He turned over his shoulder, gesturing to Thor to count them in.

 _Here we go,_ Lucius thought, inhaling deeply before striking the first chord.

 _The storms that I have weathered  
_ _Have turned my soul to black  
_ _I left my heart untethered  
_ _And you strapped me to the rack_

 _I'm a deity unworshipped  
_ _I'm a prodigy untapped  
_ _I've loved you and I've suffered  
_ _I'm a man, a war, a map_

 _I want you and I hate you  
_ _You break me down inside  
_ _I hate you and I want you  
_ _Loving you is suicide_

The crowd, Lucius noted, seemed to have forgiven him slightly; either that or they were too drawn in by Tom's voice to pay much attention to him.

 _You're the devil on my shoulder  
_ _You're the burden on my back  
_ _I left my soul bare for the taking  
_ _And you ran me off the track_

Tom stepped back after the bridge, sweeping an arm out to feature Lucius. The guitar solo was clean, precise, and only _slightly_ ornamental—Lucius, at least, had a habit of keeping his shirt on, unlike Sirius motherfucking pectorals Black—but he hadn't been able to resist when he'd caught the hint of blonde that meant Narcissa was watching backstage. He finished the riff out with a flourish and felt a rush of adrenaline as he garnered cheers from the crowd, finally feeling himself again as they disembarked the stage.

"Not bad, Lucius," Tom rasped hoarsely, clapping him on the back.

Lucius frowned. "You okay?" he asked. "Your voice—"

Tom shrugged. "Early to bed," he prescribed flippantly.

"It's already midnight," Thor reminded him.

"Well then get me some fucking tea, Thorfinn," Tom sniped back.

The Prewett twins played a mostly acoustic set of utter snoozefest; Lucius' eyes nearly glazed over, watching Dumbledore himself nearly fall asleep in the corner.

Then it was time for the House of Black, and Lucius couldn't help but stare.

"Alright, lovers," Narcissa said, all poised and primed and fucking _heartbreak_ in a little black dress. "This one's called _Stardust._ "

"Wonder if it's about you?" Darian asked, leaning over to laugh in Lucius' ear.

"Doubtful," he managed, though he couldn't help holding his breath.

 _Here's looking at you, kid  
_ _Here's to the shots we'll take tonight  
_ _Here's to dancing on the table  
_ _Here's to knowing it's not right_

 _I came to dance and I'm dancing  
_ _I came to make mistakes and lie  
_ _I'm young, babe, and I'm foolish  
_ _I've got stardust in my eyes_

"Well, I have to say, I'd have thought Bella might come up with something slightly more tasteful," Tom croaked, making a face. "What is this, some kind of gossamer-winged manic pixie teen anthem?"

"They love it, though," Thor pointed out, gesturing around the club. "People are singing along."

"Yes, they do, and more importantly— _stop talking_ , Tom," Lucius instructed sharply, tearing his gaze away from Narcissa to frown steadily at him. "You don't sound good."

Tom gave him an irritated glare but shrugged, returning his attention to the band on stage.

 _I'm gonna take you with me  
_ _We're gonna live like kings tonight  
_ _I'm gonna kiss you in the moonlight  
_ _Don't give a damn what's wrong or right_

"Well, it's a little generic, but at least she hasn't emasculated you in any way," James remarked, materializing out of nowhere to give Lucius an exaggerated nudge.

"Not yet," Sirius agreed. "Super catchy, though." He jutted his chin out at their guitarist. "Look at Pete," he crowed with amusement. "He's just been bobbing his head along, pretending not to love it."

 _I came to dance and I'm dancing  
_ _I came to make mistakes and lie  
_ _I'm young, babe, and I'm foolish  
_ _I've got stardust in my eyes_

"What?" Peter asked, catching their eyes on him. "It's a good song, okay?"

"You have no taste," Tom forced out grittily, and Lucius glanced sharply at him.

"Fuck, Riddle, losing your voice?" James taunted. "I guess Sirius' voodoo doll is finally paying off, then."

"Hey," Sirius said sharply. "I only use that thing for good."

"A voodoo doll for good?" Remus echoed, arching a brow. "What are you doing, taking him out on picnics?"

"I'm making sure he gets enough sleep," Sirius replied, rolling his eyes. " _Duh._ "

Tom flipped them both the finger.

On stage, the set wrapped up with Narcissa taking the mic in hand to smile beatifically at the crowd. "Thank you and goodnight!" she called, giving the audience a coquettish curtsy that was both incredibly adorable and strikingly irreverent. Lucius looked up, hoping to catch her eye, but she ignored him, throwing an arm around Andromeda and Regulus and traipsing off the stage with them.

"Good to see your love affair continues to progress swimmingly," Darian commented. "You sure you're not down for taking up with Caleb and me?"

"Fuck off, Mulciber," Lucius growled.

"Could be worse," James said to him, pausing to wave at the redheaded girl in the crowd. "Hey, Evans," he yelled, blowing her a kiss. "You forgive me?"

"Jesus, Potter, go _away_ ," she shouted back, promptly turning her back on him.

"Why do you put yourself through this?" Lucius asked him, scowling. "I mean, I don't give a shit whether your heart gets stomped on or not, frankly, but it's _embarrassing,_ Potter." He shifted stiffly. "I'm _embarrassed_ for you."

James shrugged, consummately unfazed. "She's the worst," he said fondly, "and I love her."

Lucius rolled his eyes. "Yes, you've made that unsettlingly clear, but—"

"I _love_ her," James repeated. "And it's not like my pride has ever done me any favors," he added, shrugging, "so why start nursing it now?" He sipped his beer, smiling faintly. "She'll come 'round."

Lucius threw his hands in the air, resigned. "If you say so," he muttered skeptically, but as James turned to speak to Sirius, Lucius caught the redheaded girl's tentative glance over her shoulder, her eyes landing on James with an unsuccessfully suppressed smile before she quickly turned back to the stage.

* * *

"Hey," Narcissa said, finding him alone in the back room. "Long night, huh?"

Lucius turned, battling the unsteady motion in his stomach as he watched her approach. "Hey," he offered, hoping the word left his tongue as coolly as he intended. "They almost done in there?"

"Yeah," she confirmed. "Two more bands and then we're doing a final soundcheck for tomorrow."

"Got it," he said, fidgeting with his thumbs. "Thanks."

She toyed with the silver chain around her neck, biding her time as she stood in the doorway. "What did you think of our song today?"

He glanced up sharply. "Why do you care?"

She shrugged. "Don't know," she admitted, and she looked like she really didn't. "Guess I'm just curious what you think, that's all."

"Oh," he said, and bit his lip. "Well, I mean, it was good," he offered uncertainly, but her blue eyes sparked, catching the hesitation in his voice.

"You're lying," she said flatly, stepping further inside. "You didn't like it?"

Lucius hesitated. "It was a little . . . shallow," he admitted. "Sort of, um. Mainstream?"

Narcissa's gaze hardened. "And that's bad _why_ , exactly?"

"Well, it's just—you _just_ started," Lucius pointed out, "and you're already selling out."

She frowned.

"Okay, hold on," she said quickly, taking another step towards him. "I'm not selling out. I just wanted to write something with, you know," she shrugged, "more _mass appeal,_ I guess."

"Yeah," Lucius agreed drily. "And we in the music industry refer to that _very_ common impulse by its true name," he added, "which is the aforementioned term 'selling out'—"

"This is a competition for record labels, isn't it?" Narcissa countered. "There's an aspect of marketability involved—"

"An _aspect_ , sure," Lucius cut in. "But is this really the kind of music you want to make?" Her expression stiffened warningly and he held up his hands, instantly backtracking as he caught the same look in her eye that had led to whiskey in his face two nights prior. "Look, I'm trying to help you, okay?" he said. "I'm just saying—"

"Do you really think any record label wants to sell the pretentious shit that Tom writes?" Narcissa countered furiously. "It's totally inauthentic. It's whiny and self-aggrandizing—"

"Okay, look, all I'm saying is that maybe if you treated songwriting seriously instead of just throwing snotty rhymes together, I might like your work more," Lucius retorted, feeling a brush of indignation at her criticism. "At least the song you wrote about me was _real,_ " he added, aware that he was snarling a little. " _This_ one just made you sound like some unremarkable bimbo, which we both know you _aren't_ —"

"What the fuck do _you_ know, Lucius Malfoy?" she growled back, her white teeth flashing against the dark red of her lips. "Maybe you don't have a clue what I am—"

"Maybe I don't," he agreed, stepping towards her. "Or maybe I do," he taunted, backing her against the wall, "and you fucking hate that, don't you?"

"Gonna tell me my dress belongs on the floor, Malfoy?" she asked, glaring up at him. "Or what," she continued sarcastically, "are you going to tell me your shirt is made of _boyfriend material_?"

"If you want me to kiss you, just ask, princess," Lucius reminded her, gritting his teeth as his hips met hers; he hoped she didn't notice his hands shaking as he pressed them to the wall on either side of her. "Don't pretend you didn't come back here to find me."

"If you want to kiss me, _you_ should learn to ask," she countered angrily, staring up at him. "Last I checked, _I_ was the one who—"

He cut her off, reaching out to slam the door shut just as he bent his lips to hers, furiously capturing whatever taunt had been about to leave her tongue. He kissed her with a poorly managed desperation—it seemed, despite his best efforts, that he had very little choice in the matter—and eventually he gave in, his tongue flicking hungrily across her lip as he pressed himself against her.

To his surprise, her fingers dropped to the button of his jeans, pulling insistently at them; he stopped, pulling away, and tried to focus on her face.

"Narcissa," he rasped hesitantly, "are—are you sure you want to—"

She answered with a swift tug at the button, dragging the zipper down as she kept her eyes on his. "Lucius," she said simply, stealing a kiss before grabbing his hand, slipping it under the fabric of her dress to drag it up against her thigh. "Don't make me ask twice," she murmured, and he wasted no time in picking her up, slamming her against the wall as he drew her legs over his hips.

"This doesn't mean anything," she told him, her head falling back against the wall as he slipped inside her, stifling a groan. "This," she panted, "this is just—because you're—"

"Pretty?" he supplied, gritting his teeth as he shifted his hands under her, digging into the curve of her arse.

"Yes," she said, taking his jaw in one hand and pressing a merciless kiss to his lips. "You're so fucking pretty," she muttered into his mouth, and he took her breath into his lungs, certain he would lose himself in her.

* * *

"Fuck, _finally_ ," Thor said, rising to his feet as Lucius strode in, attempting to formulate his hair into something passably presentable. "Where've you been?"

"Nowhere," Lucius said quickly, trying not to watch Narcissa as she rejoined her sisters near the bar. "What's going on?"

"Just wanted to check on the details for tomorrow," Thor said, somewhat anxiously. "I'm worried about the song choice, Lucius," he admitted. "If Tom's voice is anything close to what it is now, we're not going to be able to pull it off—"

"Bella, _please,_ " they heard Andromeda say, promptly interrupted. "Can we not do this right now?"

"Do what?" Bella replied sharply, with a considerable lack of innocence that indicated she knew precisely what she was doing. "I'm just saying that Ted here should probably find something else to do other than hanging around with people that are, you know," she said flippantly, "better and more talented—"

"Bellatrix, I didn't mean to bother you," Ted said neutrally. "I was just asking Andy if she might want to—"

"I know what you were asking _Andromeda_ , and the answer is no," Bella sniffed. "Do you really think she has any interest in a fucking bartender? She's a _Black,_ for god's sake, you're just here for the entertainment and free drinks while she looks for someone better—"

"That's not true," Andromeda cut in weakly, but it appeared that the damage had been done; Ted straightened, grimacing.

"Like I said, Bellatrix," he said, clearing his throat. "I didn't mean to bother you." His gaze slipped to Andromeda. "Or you," he offered softly. "Apologies," he murmured. "I hadn't realized I was so mistaken."

"Ted," Andromeda said, her lip trembling. "I—it wasn't—"

"What do we owe you, Ted?" Bella asked, holding up the drink in her hand. "Twenty, I'm guessing? Here," she said carelessly, dropping a handful of bills in his hand. "Keep the change."

It was an obvious dismissal; Ted stared at the money in his palm, forcing a swallow.

"Thanks," he mumbled, and tucked it in his pocket. Narcissa, Lucius noted, watched silently from the side, obviously torn as she glanced between her elder sisters. "I'll, um—just see you some other time," Ted said, and then chewed his lip. "Andromeda," he added with a nod, quietly backing away and heading for the bar without looking over his shoulder.

Andromeda looked devastated, staring blankly into nothing for a moment; Narcissa stepped forward, settling a hand on her shoulder.

"Bella," Narcissa said tentatively, glancing at her eldest sister. "Was that really necessary?"

"Yes, Cissy, it was," Bella said tartly, not looking up. "Are we ready to go, then?"

Narcissa caught Lucius' eye for a moment, looking warily thoughtful before turning back to nod at her sister. "Yes," she said simply, arranging her face as she looked down at Bellatrix. "Let's go."

Lucius marveled for a moment, admiring the sudden determination in her expression; it occurred to him with an unexpectedly thunderous strike of recognition that he could no longer imagine looking at anyone again without seeing _her_.

He fished around in his pocket, searching for his phone and fumbling to write down the sudden onslaught of thoughts that had entered his mind the moment she had gone.

* * *

 _ **Battle of the Bands: Night Three**_

* * *

"Tom definitely can't sing," Thor said, panicking as he rushed in from the back room. "He can barely make a sound—and there is _no_ fucking _way_ we can do the song we had planned for today—"

"No, we certainly cannot," Darian agreed. "Lucius' voice is fine, but it's no 'bedroom yowl' or whatever it is Tom's got going for him—"

"We'll do something else, then," Lucius said, trying not to panic. "We'll, uh—we'll do a different song, or, um—"

"We can't do any of Tom's songs," Caleb pointed out. "You can't pull _any_ of them off, Malfoy." He made a face. "Just imagining you singing any of them feels totally ridiculous."

"Fine, we'll do something else," Lucius said anxiously, pressing his fingers to his temple. "Fuck, I should have known this would happen, and I—"

"Ladies and gentlemen, we are the House of Black!" he heard Narcissa announce, and he stopped, pausing to let the sound of her voice flood his system. "We're going to do things a little bit differently tonight—"

"Do you have any material?" Darian asked, poking Lucius sharply in the ribs. "Is there anything we can—"

"Shh," Lucius said, holding up a hand as Narcissa continued.

"I may be the singer in the band, but my sister is the real talent in the family," Narcissa continued. "She wrote this one, and I think it's beautiful—so we're going to take things down a notch tonight."

"Where's Bella?" Caleb asked, frowning as he watched. "And Regulus?"

"Looks like they're doing an acoustic set," Thor commented. "No way they'll win with that, right?"

"Doubtful," Darian said skeptically.

"I don't think that's the point," Lucius murmured, watching Narcissa pick up her guitar and take a seat opposite Andromeda at the keyboard.

"So anyway," Narcissa went on, turning to glance reassuringly at her sister before looking out into the crowd. "Ted, if you're listening—" she struck a chord on her guitar, smiling. "Andy wants to say she's sorry."

Narcissa strummed a soft chord, letting Andromeda begin a delicate melody as she opened her mouth to sing.

 _Today I told myself that I'd sit down and write a song  
_ _I have a lot of words I want to say to you  
_ _But they're all jumbled up and sitting in a paper cup  
_ _So let's agree that we agree that I'm a mess for you_

Narcissa's voice was sweeter than Lucius had heard it; better, in a way, and wholly irresistible.

 _I want you to know  
_ _That if you stay or if you go  
_ _I'd still have felt it so  
_ _So unnatural  
_ _But I thank you for the time  
_ _And it was fun, and you're divine  
_ _And if this is all I get, then it'll be enough_

"This might be the best they've sounded," James commented, once again appearing out of nowhere to rest his chin on Lucius' shoulder. "Don't you think?"

"Go away, Potter," Lucius mumbled, unable to take his eyes from Narcissa's bent head.

 _I'm not a girl with riches and I'm not a girl who wishes  
_ _I'm just a girl who coaxes chaos into rhymes  
_ _You're a blessing, you're a curse  
_ _You are wonderment dispersed  
_ _And I have never been the type to pine_

Narcissa looked up, meeting his eye backstage for a moment, and smiled briefly.

"Well," James remarked contentedly. "Look at that, Malfoy."

"Potter, I'll kill you," Lucius warned, not looking at him.

"I know," James sighed brightly.

 _But I want you to know  
_ _That if you stay or if you go  
_ _I'd still have felt it so  
_ _So unnatural  
_ _And I thank you for the time  
_ _And it was fun, and you're divine  
_ _And if this is all I get, then it'll be enough_

Narcissa finished on a slow strum and then the room promptly broke out in applause, erupting in fervent cheers. Andromeda rose slowly to her feet, bowing her head slightly as Narcissa gestured to her, silently lauding her sister. In the audience, Lucius caught a glimpse of Bellatrix standing off to the side with Tom, a small smile on her face as she watched.

"Well, this will be fun to follow," Remus remarked. "Ready, Prongs?"

"Ready, Moony. Ready, Pads?"

"Ready, Prongs. Rea- "

"MARAUDERS," Minerva yelled. "GET ON STAGE—"

"For the record, I'm ready too," Peter informed nervously.

"Don't fuck up, Potter," Lucius called after them, watching James shake out his jitters. James turned over his shoulder, grinning back.

"I always do, Malfoy," he said spiritedly, and then jogged quickly on stage.

"Leaky Cauldron, we are the Marauders!" he yelled, and was met with a boisterous shout of cheers. "Whoever cleverly slipped the underwear in my pocket—you should know I'm very flattered," James said, once again tipping his imaginary hat, "but unfortunately, my attentions are unwavering. Lily Evans, you horrible brute, this one is for you."

"Oh, _Potter,_ " the girl sighed from the audience.

James lowered his head, smiling to himself. "Ready?" he called over his shoulder. "One, two, one two three four—"

 _Ain't got wisdom or wit  
_ _But I've got courage and more  
_ _Ain't cunning or quick, babe  
_ _But you're making me roar_

 _My soul is a wolf  
_ _My body's a lion  
_ _You say it's just pride, babe  
_ _I say it's defiance  
_ _Tell me you're in, girl  
_ _Say you're down for the hunt  
_ _Don't tell me to stop, girl  
_ _You've already won_

"He's really got charisma, doesn't he?" Tom rasped, barely audible as he joined Lucius backstage. "That fucker."

"Hey, Tom," Lucius sighed. "Any ideas?"

Tom shrugged. "I don't know," he whispered hoarsely. "Sincerity seems to be the theme of the evening, though," he noted impassively.

Lucius made a face. "Seems that way," he agreed, watching the crowd join in with James.

 _If you're kissing the wrong guy  
_ _Make it me tonight  
_ _If you're kissing on me, babe  
_ _I'll make your bad ideas right_

"For fuck's sake," Darian said. "Why is all their shit so unbelievably catchy?"

"We don't have time to worry about that, seeing as we're up next," Thor reminded him, gripping Lucius by the shoulders. "Malfoy, do we have a plan here?"

Lucius took a deep breath, exhaling with an impossible slowness as Tom shrugged, gesturing in an evasive 'go ahead' motion.

"Yeah," Lucius sighed, pulling out his phone. "How quickly can you learn this?"

Darian leaned over, squinting at it. "Consider it learnt," he declared, pulling Caleb into a headlock. "Got it, Avery?"

"Got it," Caleb confirmed, wrestling himself free. "We're doing this?"

"Yeah," Lucius said nervously. "Just, um—it's pretty repetitive, so—"

"You open," Thor instructed. "Start alone, and then Caleb can come in, and then—"

"It's that easy?" Lucius asked. "You're sure?"

"Yep," Darian confirmed. "We're good. After all," he added, throwing an arm gleefully around Tom's shoulders, "contrary to popular opinion, we're a _band,_ not a solo act." He shrugged. "We've played together a million times. This'll just be another fun jam sesh."

"Well," Lucius said, trying to force himself free of his unyielding nerves. "I guess we're doing this, then."

* * *

Lucius reached for the mic, smiling tentatively.

"So, as you can see, I'm not Tom Riddle," he said, and there was a spattering of laughter. "But we are the Death Eaters, and due to the tragic loss of our lead singer's yowl, we'll be performing a new song tonight." He looked down, trying not to fiddle with the pick in his fingers. "This song is called _Star Signs,_ " he said slowly, and looked up, catching Narcissa's eye where she stood at the back wall. "And I wrote it for you."

He cleared his throat, counting them off— _in time,_ for once—and opened his mouth, preparing himself for the uncomfortable vulnerability of truth.

 _I'm sick, darling, I'm lovesick  
_ _I'm ill, sweetheart, ill-timed  
_ _I'm poor, love, poor intentioned  
_ _But we're stars, baby, star signs_

Narcissa's eyes widened; beside her, Andromeda was smiling, reaching down to squeeze her fingers. Lucius forced himself not to look away, despite the dryness that leapt into his throat as Caleb started to play.

 _Sixteen bars of perfection  
_ _That hair, that voice, those eyes  
_ _Tell me you felt the collision  
_ _Tell me you saw the sun rise_

Darian's instrumental entry was smooth, unencumbered; Lucius let out a breath, settling into the song.

 _I'm sick, darling, I'm lovesick  
_ _I'm ill, sweetheart, ill-timed  
_ _I'm poor, love, poor intentioned  
_ _But we're stars, baby, star signs_

 _I couldn't dream you any better  
_ _I couldn't write you in a song  
_ _I want to feel you like the weather  
_ _I want to hear you say I'm not wrong_

At the key change, Lucius held his breath; he watched the smile pull at Narcissa's lips before turning over his shoulder, directing the tempo adjustment for the bridge.

 _It's written in the sky  
_ _I was meant to love you at first sight_

He looked up again, but by then she was gone; behind him, the background instrumentals faded to nothing, leaving Lucius' voice stripped bare again on the darkened stage.

 _I'm sick, darling, I'm lovesick  
_ _I'm ill, sweetheart, ill-timed  
_ _I'm poor, love, poor intentioned  
_ _But we're stars, baby, star signs_

He finished the song with a breath that escaped into silence; and then, all at once, there was a rush of applause.

"Thank you," he said shakily, reaching for the mic. "Thank you—we're the Death Eaters, and—"

His voice died as Andromeda shrugged apologetically, gesturing to the vacancy beside her.

"Thank you," Lucius said a final time, and then he turned stiffly, walking off stage without stopping.

* * *

 _ **Aftermath**_

* * *

She was standing backstage, a smile on her face.

"Hey, pretty boy," she said. "You write that song all by yourself?"

Lucius faltered, stumbling to a halt. "Hey," he said breathlessly, looking around in confusion. "I thought you'd—"

"Left?" she supplied, and shrugged. "Nah."

"Oh," he said, his heart thudding recklessly in his chest. "Did you, um—" he swallowed. "Did you like it?"

"Depends," she said slowly, taking a step towards him. "Was it authentic?"

"Authentic?" he asked, frowning, and she smirked at him.

"Yeah," she replied, shrugging. "I mean, if you just wanted to write a commercially viable love song, I'm told that's what the industry calls 'selling out.'"

"What?" he said, aghast. "You think that—"

"No, don't worry," she assured him, taking a final step to bring her chest to his. "I just want to hear you say you mean it," she whispered, tilting her chin up to meet his eye.

"I do mean it," Lucius assured her. "I really, really mean it."

"Good," she murmured, brushing her lips against his. "Anything else you need to say?" she asked, the words ghosting across his skin.

He smiled, reaching up to tangle his fingers in her hair.

"If you want me to kiss you, princess," he said, sliding his nose along hers, "just ask."

* * *

"And the winner of the Battle of the Bands is—" Horace paused. "Drumroll please!"

"Great," Lucius muttered. "Draw it out."

Narcissa gave him a little shove. "Hush," she murmured, leaning in as he kissed her cheek.

"The winner is, to no great surprise . . . the Marauders!"

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Tom croaked soundlessly, shaking his head. "Those cocksuckers?"

"Wait, for real?" James asked, blinking vacantly as Remus' mouth dropped open, his eyes wide. "But—but we—but _they_ —"

"Potter," Lucius said, giving him a shove. "Get up there, would you?"

"OH MY GOD," Sirius declared at the top of his lungs. "MOONY, QUICK, MAKE OUT WITH ME—"

"Okay," Remus agreed without hesitation, wrapping one arm around Sirius' neck and kissing him firmly. Caleb and Darian applauded quietly behind them as James stumbled forward, accepting the microphone from Horace.

"Holy shit, um," James mumbled into the mic, "I—uh, this is an honor, and—"

"Mr Potter," Dumbledore said, stepping forward on the stage. "In addition to being named the victor of the Battle of the Bands, I would like to formally invite the Marauders to join my record label."

"Wait, you want us to join The Order?" James echoed vacantly, looking considerably like he was about to faint. "Oh, okay, well—"

"Potter," Lucius snapped. "Get it together!"

"Right," James said, accepting Dumbledore's hand and then Horace's, turning back to the crowd. "Well, um, thank you to everyone for listening, for supporting us, and for, uh—" he paused, grinning. "And Lily Evans, if you're still here, I still fucking love you!" he yelled into the mic, running back to knock Sirius and Remus apart with a loud rip of suction, gathering his idiot friends into a loud, huddled embrace.

"He's hopeless," Lucius sighed, and then turned to Narcissa, processing his thoughts. "So, are you upset?"

"Upset?" she asked, blinking up at him before shaking her head. "About not winning? Hardly. This was only my first one," she reminded him, smirking slightly. "I'm going to beat the shit out of you next time."

"Next time?" Lucius asked wryly. "You think you're going to beat me next year?"

"Well, if I don't get a record deal _before_ then, obviously," she said, giving him a wink. "Race you to immortal fame?"

Lucius laughed, wrapping her in his arms. "Sure," he agreed. "Race you there."

* * *

 _ **Epilogue**_

or, _Unnecessary End Scene  
_ or, _Everyone Lives Happily Ever After_

* * *

"Long night," Narcissa yawned, turning to look up at him. "Take me home?"

"Of course," Lucius said, sliding his arm around her shoulders. "Andromeda," he said, gesturing for her attention. "Need a ride?"

"No, I'm good," she replied. She looked up, catching Ted's eye behind the bar; he waved at her, smiling. "I'm going to wait for Ted," she explained, returning his smile. "He's just cleaning up."

"Fine by me," Lucius said, looking around. "Where's everyone else?"

"Caleb and Darian are fucking somewhere in a broom closet, I'm sure," Thor called, saluting him from afar. "I'll go make sure there's no property damage."

"Ah, the Rotten Gays," Sirius sighed dreamily, wandering in with his arm slung around Remus' waist. "Hard not to admire their style."

"Is it, though?" Lucius countered drily, making a face before looking around. "Where's Tom?"

"With Bella, I expect," Andromeda supplied. "She paused their love affair for a moment to tell me she was proud of me before disappearing," she added, shrugging. "Apparently she and Tom are writing songs for his next endeavor or something."

"Or something," James agreed, chuckling. "Well, this was the best night ever," he commented, glancing around the empty bar. "I mean, really, only one thing would have made it any bet- "

"Potter!" someone yelled. Lucius turned, catching sight of the redheaded girl bursting suddenly through the doors. "Potter, I—"

She paused, registering the crowd of people around the room. "Oh, cool," she remarked uncertainly, flustered. "I see you're still here, then."

"As are all of my many friends and rivals," James commented unnecessarily, offering her a curt bow. "You needed something, Evans?"

"Well," she began uncomfortably. "Sort of."

Narcissa let out a brief snort of laughter, pulling Lucius back down in his chair and falling with him. "This should be good," she murmured in his ear, and he shook his head in somewhat affectionate resignation, letting her settle herself in his lap.

"I broke up with Severus," the girl—Lily Evans, as it were—explained carefully, parsing out her words. "It just—um. It wasn't working out."

There was a pause as the Marauders all paused to process this information.

"Moony," Sirius whispered, poking Remus. "Moony, is this really happening?"

"Shush," Remus hissed, clapping a hand over his mouth.

James, for his part, merely arched a brow; _suspiciously coolly_ , Lucius thought, all things considered. "Oh really, Evans?" James drawled slowly. "So now that I'm an award winning musician, I'm suddenly not the worst person on earth anymore?"

"Oh—you won?" she asked, confused; she looked around the room, her gaze settling on Lucius. "I thought for sure _that_ guy was going to—well, whatever," she said, shrugging as she turned back to James. "The thing is, Potter—"

"Yes, Evans?" he asked innocently. "What is it?"

She hesitated, chewing her lip.

"You really are the worst person I've ever met," she admitted slowly. "But also, I want to kiss you so badly that I think I might die."

A smile twitched across James' overearnest mouth.

"Well, we wouldn't want that, Evans," he said, taking a step towards her. "Granted," he conceded loudly, "I _would_ write you a brilliant eulogy, obviously—"

"Obviously," Sirius agreed, his mouth muffled behind Remus' hand. "With poetry?"

" _So_ much poetry," Remus supplied, nodding. "That fucker can rhyme."

"I _can_ rhyme," James agreed, grinning again at Lily. "I have to assume that's what's drawn you in, eh, Evans?"

"God, I might hate you," Lily groaned. "I really might." She sighed loudly, deflating. "This is a very confusing feeling."

"We understand," Remus told her kindly. "We feel the same way about him."

"So, if I'm hearing this right, you _might_ hate me," James remarked, stepping forward to take one of her hands in his. "But there's also a chance you might not?"

"Hey Andy," Ted said, jogging over to her. "Horace just cut me loose, so are you ready to—"

"Ted, I'm totally in love with you, but I'm watching something," Andromeda said, holding a finger to his lips.

"Mmm," he acknowledged as he placed his hands on her hips, smiling down at the top of her head.

Lily, meanwhile, shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, still looking expectantly at James.

"So, um," she said, cringing slightly before sighing again. "Potter," she burst out, taking hold of his shoulders, "would you just fucking _kiss me_ , please?"

"See, _she_ knows how to ask," Lucius whispered, brushing his lips against Narcissa's neck and promptly growling as she elbowed him.

"Well, hold on," James said thoughtfully. "I need to compose an ode to the moment first—"

"Potter!" Lily half-shouted. "For _fuck's sake—_ "

But whatever else she had planned to shout was silenced by James' kiss; he took her in his arms with a certain ballroom grandness, sweeping her off her feet and then falling with her to the floor, promptly letting her roll him onto his back as she straddled him on the ground.

"This got gross really fast," Sirius remarked, staring at them. "Talk about an escalation."

"Pizza?" Narcissa chimed in. "I can have Regulus run and get some."

"Ah, that narrow-hipped plague," Remus sighed fondly. "What happened to him?"

"Honestly, he might be with Caleb and Darian," Narcissa said, frowning. "I hope not? Or I hope so. I can't decide," she sighed, shaking her head. "Let's just agree not to ask questions."

"We really need to leave before this gets any worse," Lucius muttered.

 _. . . and they all lived happily ever after._

* * *

 **a/n:** Drunk History up next! Thanks for reading!


	68. Drunk History: The Voldemort Wars, Pt II

**Drunk History: The Voldemort Wars, Part II**

 _Pairing:_ None

 _Universe:_ Post-Hogwarts

 _Rating:_ M for language

 _Summary:_ Part II of two episodes of Drunk History: The Voldemort Wars. A reminder that if you have never seen the show Drunk History (which is indeed a real show; I'm creative, but not _that_ creative), here is the actual synopsis: _In each episode, an inebriated narrator, who is joined by host_ [in this case, Lee Jordan] _, struggles to recount an event from history, while actors enact the narrator's anecdotes and also lip sync the dialogue._

* * *

 _[The scene opens to a classroom in the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where Harry Potter sits at a desk with Hermione Granger. She is drumming her fingers irritably against the desk, glancing questioningly around the room.]_

Hermione: "I don't understand the premise of this exercise."

Harry: _[sighs]_ "We're just going to have one or two drinks—"

 _[Lee coughs loudly.]_

Harry: "—and talk about the war, that's all."

Hermione: _[slowly, with a furrowed brow]_ "I just don't see why alcohol is a prerequisite for discussing something that was such a significant part of our lives."

Harry: "Yes, I know, but—"

Hermione: "The war was _catastrophic_ , Harry. So many lives lost, all those people hurt and tortured and killed—" _[She sighs mournfully.]_ "Not to mention the irreparable damage to the entire construct of the wizarding world, really -

Lee: "WHICH IS WHY WE NEED ALCOHOL, GRANGER."

Harry: _[nods]_ "What he said."

Hermione: _[groans]_ "Yes, but—"

Harry: "Don't forget, Hermione, not everybody likes history as much as you do."

Hermione: _[sniffing disdainfully]_ "I doubt that's true. _Hogwarts, a History_ is an international bestseller!"

Lee: "Yes, for house-training dragons."

Harry: "What?"

Lee: _[shrugs]_ "According to Hagrid."

Hermione: "Regardless—"

Harry: _[interrupting]_ "Would you just have a drink, Hermione?" _[He stares imploringly at her.]_ For me?"

Hermione: "Oh, don't give me that look, Harry."

Harry: "Remember all those times you were ready to die for me?"

Hermione: "Yes, I do, and I still would, but—"

Harry: "And now all I'm asking is that you have, you know. A shot." _[He shrugs.]_ "Two shots, max."

Hermione: _[exhales slowly]_ "Okay, Harry. For you." _[She picks up a shot glass and fills it with Ogden's, resignedly clinking her glass against Harry's and then tossing it back, making a face.]_ "Ugh. How many of these?"

Harry: _[innocently]_ "Oh, just a few."

Lee: _[in a loud whisper]_ "This is going to be amazing."

 _[Fifteen minutes later.]_

Harry: "Madame Pince, Madame Hooch, Professor McGonagall."

Hermione: _[groans]_ " _This_ game? Really?"

Lee: "Excellent. I love this game."

Harry: "I mean, why not?"

Hermione: _[sighs]_ "Marry McGonagall, _make love to_ Pince, kill Hooch."

Lee: "It's 'fuck,' Hermione, don't make it weird."

Hermione: "I want to be clear that I would be very tender with her."

Harry: "Tender?"

Hermione: "Yes, tender."

Lee: "Really? Because I would absolutely _rail—_ "

Hermione: _[interrupting]_ "Your turn, Harry." _[She pauses, thinking.]_ "Charlie, Bill, and Percy."

Harry: "Oof." _[frowns]_ "Um, marry Charlie, fuck Bill, and kill Percy."

Hermione: "You have that all wrong."

Harry: _[startled]_ "What?"

Hermione: "If anything, you'd want to marry Percy, wouldn't you? He has the highest earning potential, and in the event of classically matrimonial qualities—like child-rearing, for example—Charlie would be a consummate disaster. _And_ you'd have to live in Romania, which is fine for a one night stand—preferable, in fact—"

Lee: _[suspiciously]_ "You seem awfully certain about that."

Harry: "Hermione, are you sure you understand the game?"

Hermione: _[ignoring them both]_ "I'm just saying, Harry, that I think you should reconsider your choices before the opportunity actually presents itself."

Harry: "Yes, _sure,_ Hermione, I will _carefully rethink_ it before I'm forced to live a doomsday scenario where I have to murder one of my best friend's brothers."

Hermione: _[shrugs]_ "That's all I'm saying."

 _[Fifteen minutes later.]_

Hermione: "Fuck Luna, marry Ginny, kill Neville."

Harry: "Fuck Luna? Really? Not _make love_ to her?"

Hermione: _[shrugs]_ "She can take it."

Harry: "Fine. And as for marrying Ginny—"

Hermione: "Well, if you're not going to."

Lee: "Burn?"

Harry: "Nah. We broke up."

Lee: "Oh. Are you still with Ron, Hermione?"

Hermione: _[sipping delicately]_ "Not physically, no."

Lee: "Emotionally?"

Hermione: "Not that either."

Lee: "So . . . you're single?"

Hermione: "Metaphorically."

Harry: "Not literally?"

Hermione: "Well, that too."

Lee: "Wait, so . . . you're both single?"

Hermione: "Spiritually? Yes."

Harry: "Why?"

Lee: "No reason. One second."

 _[Camera cuts to Lee walking into the hallway. He closes the door behind him and screams "YAAAAAAAS" into the empty corridor before returning to the classroom.]_

Lee: "Where were we?"

 _[Fifteen minutes later.]_

Hermione: "Fuck Oliver Wood, marry Viktor Krum, and kill Pansy Parkinson."

Harry: "Did I give you those names?"

Hermione: "No." _[shrugs]_ "Just saying."

Harry: "I think I might fuck Wood too." _[Pauses.]_ "What do you think that means?"

Lee: "That Oliver's going to have to dismount his fucking broom for ten minutes, that's what."

Hermione: "Okay, um—my turn?"

Harry: "Yep."

Hermione: "Hm." _[She pauses, thinking, and hiccups.]_ "Parvati Patil, Lavender Brown, and—" _[She cuts off, pursing her lips.]_ "And me."

Harry: _[blinks]_ "You?"

Hermione: "Me."

Harry: "Physically?"

Hermione: "If you want."

Lee: _[breathlessly]_ "Oh my god, it's happening—"

Harry: "Or just spiritually?"

Hermione: "Up to you."

Harry: "Hm." _[Pauses, thinking.]_ "I'm nervous."

Lee: _[in a loud whisper]_ "It's escalating so quickly, I _can't_ —"

Hermione: "Physically nervous?"

Harry: "Kind of. My hands are kind of sweating."

Hermione: "I'll let you think about it, then."

Harry: "I appreciate that."

Lee: _[letting out a breath]_ "Oh, COME ON—"

Hermione: "Is it cold in here?"

Harry: "It's a little chilly."

Lee: "You know what would help?"

 _[Fifteen minutes later. Hermione is now wearing the sorting hat.]_

Sorting Hat: "Ravenclaw!"

Hermione: "Really?"

Sorting Hat: "Just kidding." _[cackles]_ "Gryffindor."

Hermione: "Want another drink?"

Sorting Hat: "Yes, please."

 _[She holds up her glass so that it is even with her forehead; the Sorting Hat takes a jubilant sip from her straw.]_

Sorting Hat: "Good year. Fine-bodied."

Lee: "We're going to have to send you to meetings."

Sorting Hat: "Ugh. Don't be such a Hufflepuff."

Lee: "Excuse me?"

Sorting Hat: _[unsteadily]_ "Gryffindor!"

Hermione: _[thoughtfully]_ "Lee, are we friends?"

Lee: "Oh god."

Hermione: "Like, _real_ friends? Not just friends-of-friends, you know?"

Lee: "We've gone too far. Potter, get her another drink."

Harry: "Did you just call me Potter?"

Lee: "Have you changed it?"

Harry: "But what if we push her and she goes from casual insecurity to complete shame spiral?"

Lee: "Shame spiral?"

Harry: "Yeah. Like, for me, it's when I go from thinking about how I nearly killed Draco Malfoy to thinking about the time I made a fool of myself at the Yule Ball, and then from _there_ I think about that time I tried to ask Fleur Delacour to go with me and she looked at me like I was a sea slug—"

Hermione: _[interrupting]_ "That wasn't you, Harry. That was Ron."

Harry: "Oh thank god. It seemed so vivid in my memory."

Hermione: _[kindly]_ "He can be a very apt storyteller."

 _[Harry hands Hermione a drink. She taps it with her wand, transforming the tumbler of whiskey into an elaborate appletini, which she then lifts to her mouth with both hands.]_

Harry: "How did you—"

Hermione: "Transfiguration, bitch!"

Lee: "Oh no." _[He looks down at his own drink, transfiguring himself a larger glass.]_ "Better."

 _[Fifteen minutes later.]_

Harry: "Hermione. I decided something."

Hermione: _[squinting at him]_ "Yes?"

 _[Lee leans forward expectantly.]_

Harry: "I think I would also enjoy killing Pansy Parkinson."

 _[Lee sits back, disappointed.]_

Hermione: "Right?"

Harry: "Yes. And as for _you_ —"

 _[Lee leans forward again.]_

Hermione: "Yes?"

Harry: _[holds his drink close to his face, trying to close his mouth around his straw and failing throughout a process that lasts approximately thirty seconds]_ "You have brown hair."

Hermione: "I do, right?"

 _[They laugh. Lee slams his head into the desk. Hermione levitates the hat from her head to Harry's, smiling vacantly.]_

Harry: "I'm so glad you agreed to do this with me."

Sorting Hat: "That's true. He means that."

Hermione: _[nodding]_ "You know, I was resistant at first, but I think I'm excited to talk about Voldemort's numerous crimes against humanity. I think it will bring a lot of noteworthy attention to the stigmas within the wizarding world, and—"

Sorting Hat: _[interrupting]_ "He meant the drinking part."

Hermione: "Oh." _[She blushes.]_

Sorting Hat: _[loudly]_ "Now he's thinking about quidditch."

Lee: "DUMB!"

Hermione: "Seriously?"

Sorting Hat: "Wait—now he's thinking about why it's called a 'Golden Snitch'—"

Harry: "It sounds like snatch, right?"

Hermione: _[nods thoughtfully]_ "That's true."

Sorting Hat: "Now he's picturing you naked."

Hermione: "Is he?"

Harry: "Only for a minute."

Sorting Hat: "He's lying. He's still thinking about it."

Hermione: "Is it good, then?"

Sorting Hat: "I mean, I'm a hat, so I really don't have an opinion. It seems anatomically proportionate, I guess, though he might be wrong about the size of your breasts—"

Hermione: _[interrupts]_ "Not me. I meant his thoughts."

Sorting Hat: "What?" _[Pauses conspicuously.]_ "Sorry. I got distracted."

Harry: _[taking a loud sip]_ "Okay, so. Hermione. I have a question."

Hermione: "32C."

Harry: "Not that."

Sorting Hat: "For the record, he was definitely wrong."

Lee: "SHHHH!"

Sorting Hat: _[sniffing impatiently]_ "Pipe down, Jordan."

Hermione: _[loudly]_ "What is it, Harry?"

Harry: "So like, my question here is . . . I'm the Chosen One."

Hermione: _[pauses]_ "That's not a question."

 _[Harry laughs, hiccups, and then slides to the floor, curling up under a desk.]_

Hermione: _[smiling vacantly]_ "He'll be back. It's fine." _[She climbs under the desk, joining him, and both disappear from camera view.]_

Lee: "Guys?"

 _[There is a pause, and then a muffled smattering of giggles.]_

Lee: _[sighs]_ "I guess we should start, then."

 _[Scene opens to the Sorting Hat sitting on the desk with a large appletini.]_

Sorting Hat: "Hello, I'm the Sorting Hat, and today we'll be talking about the second Voldemort War."

 _[Lee storms into view as more giggles become audible from beneath the desk.]_

Lee: "NO, NO, NO—"

 _[Scene reopens with Harry and Hermione sitting at two adjacent desks.]_

Harry: "Hello, I'm Hermione Granger—"

Hermione: "—and I'm Harry Potter—"

In unison: "And today—"

Lee: _[interrupts]_ "STOP!"

Harry: "What? I'm Harry Granger—"

Hermione: "And I'm Hermione Potter, and today—"

Lee: "For fuck's sake."

Harry: "Is it my voice? Is my voice wrong?"

Hermione: _[pitching her voice very low]_ "Hello, I'm Hermione Granger—"

Harry: _[in a disturbing falsetto]_ "—and I'm Harry Potter—"

Lee: "I'M LEE JORDAN AND THIS SHAM OF A CAREER IS DRUNK HISTORY."

 _[Scene opens to where Gilderoy Lockhart is wearing a thin white sheet over his head, wandering mournfully around a set painted to look like the Albanian forest.]_

Harry voiceover: "So, this whole thing starts with Tom Riddle's horcruxes."

Hermione voiceover: "A horcrux being, of course, a container within which he imprisoned the severed bits of his soul, the first of which was created by Herpo the Foul in—"

Harry voiceover: "Hermione, drink this."

Hermione voiceover: "Okay!"

 _[Gilderoy pauses as a muffled sound of slurping through a straw is heard in the narration.]_

Harry voiceover: "Anyway, so, since his soul kept him from actually dying when his killing curse failed, Tom was basically a ghost, swooping around possessing snakes and shit—"

 _[Gilderoy, in accordance with the narration, gleefully swoops.]_

Hermione voiceover: "Not that it went well, because animals weren't really strong enough to hold him and have incredibly shortened lifespans when possessed. Did you know that the common garden snake can only accommodate an environment containing—"

Harry voiceover: _[interrupting]_ "Tom was waiting for his Death Eaters to try to find him, but most of them were busy denying any connection with him to avoid Azkaban—like Lucius Malfoy—"

 _[Cormac McLaggen struts onto the set in a platinum blond wig.]_

Hermione voiceover: "While the other Death Eaters were put in Azkaban for their crimes, like Bellatrix Lestrange—"

 _[Marcus Belby appears wearing a long black wig, clawing at his face behind a series of painted bars as someone—presumably Seamus Finnegan—stands behind him in black robes and a skeleton mask.]_

Hermione voiceover: "She's a cunt, by the way."

Harry voiceover: "Anyway, for eleven years, Tom Riddle floated around in Albania being almost entirely useless, and in the meantime, the wizarding world thought it was safe again."

Hermione voiceover: "Not to mention that they had a new hero—a boy named Harry Potter, who didn't even know he was a wizard."

 _[Scene cuts to Harry and Hermione, who are sitting cross-legged on the floor.]_

Harry: "Hey Lee, who's playing me?"

Lee: "Oh, um. I don't know."

 _[He looks away guiltily; it is clear that he is lying.]_

Hermione: "You don't know?"

Lee: "Er, well—"

Harry: "I'm not going to be happy with your casting choice, am I?"

 _[The scene shifts to Theo Nott dressed as Harry Potter, an elaborate scar drawn across his forehead with a pair of taped-up glasses and a decidedly un-Harry-like smirk.]_

Lee voiceover: _[hurriedly]_ "Let's cross that bridge when we get to it."

Harry voiceover: _[sighs]_ "Anyway—"

Hermione voiceover: "So Harry was sent to live with his Muggle aunt and uncle, Petunia and Vernon Dursley—"

 _[Camera cuts to Harry, who shudders so violently he spills his drink.]_

Hermione: "You good?"

Harry: _[choking]_ "I'm good."

 _[Scene cuts back to the Dursley house.]_

 _[Editor's cut:_

 _Vernon: "Is this a plot to get the house?"_

 _Lee: [sighing] "I don't want your house, Mr Dursley."_

 _Vernon: "That's precisely what you would say, though, wouldn't you!"_

 _Lee: "Mr Dursley, I'm a wizard. If I wanted a house, I could build one right now, right on top of this one!"_

 _Vernon: "In this economy?" [sniffs affectedly] "You'd be a fool."_

 _Lee: "The point is, I just need the house for a couple of hours so I can bring in some actors to play your family, and—"_

 _Vernon: "Actors?" [scoffs] "Crooks, the lot of them."_

 _Lee: [testily] "Be that as it may, I—"_

 _Vernon: "Who's to say they're not after the house?"_

 _Lee: "THIS IS A NIGHTMARE HOUSE! NOBODY WANTS IT!"_

 _Vernon: "Do you think I'm an idiot? I know reverse psychology when I see it."_

 _Lee: "Well, then you're as dumb as you are stupid if you think I'm going to—"_

 _Dudley: [entering the room] "What's going on?"_

 _Vernon: "They're after the house, Dudders!"_

 _Dudley: [shrugging] "I doubt that. This is a shit house."_

 _Vernon: "Hush, Duddypie, they don't know that—remember the ginger-haired bloke who spent forty minutes asking me about my garden hose—"_

 _Dudley: "I keep telling you, you were talking about the wrong one."_

 _Lee: [groans, then interrupts] "Hey, want to be in a reality show?"_

 _Vernon: [suspiciously] "What are the benefits?"_

 _Lee: "None."_

 _Vernon: "What's it pay?"_

 _Lee: "Nothing."_

 _Vernon: "Who'll see it?"_

 _Lee: "Nobody."_

 _[A brief pause falls over them, and then Vernon's eyes narrow.]_

 _Vernon: "Deal."]_

Lee voiceover: "Why don't we just skip over most of this?"

Harry voiceover: "Yes, please."

Hermione voiceover: _[rushed]_ "The Dursleys are dicks, and Harry hates them, but because his mother had died to save him, he was protected by her blood. Dumbledore always feared Tom might come back, and so he thought keeping him under a protective blood enchantment was the best thing for him. But the Dursleys refused to tell him what he was, and they kept the truth about his parents from him."

 _[Vernon Dursley storms into the living room to yell inaudibly at Theo, dressed as Harry. Theo looks up for a moment, rolls his eyes, and then dead-eyes the camera, pursing his lips.]_

 _[Editor's cut:_

 _Lee: "Can you make at least the tiniest effort to get into character, please?"_

 _Theo: "Fine." [He clears his throat.] "I'm Harry Potter. I love quidditch and long walks by the ocean, I have a weakness for women who look like my mother and a ceaseless erection for life-threatening situations, I'm—" [he pauses, making a face] "a nice person—"_

 _Lee: [rubbing his temple] "I think we're good."]_

Hermione voiceover: "But, of course, Harry turns eleven, and so he eventually shows up to attend Hogwarts."

Harry voiceover: "Which is where I meet my two best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger."

 _[Luna Lovegood reprises her role as Dumbledore, smiling warmly at where Theo Nott sits in the Great Hall beside Ron Weasley and Blaise Zabini. Blaise is wearing a red wig, and Ron is wearing a curly brown wig and a sweater that looks several sizes too small for him.]_

 _[Editor's cut:_

 _Ron: "I just don't really understand why I have to play Hermione."_

 _Theo: [innocently] "What's confusing about it? You're one of her best friends, aren't you?"_

 _Ron: "Yes, but wouldn't I be better at, say, playing myself?"_

 _Blaise: [loudly] "I'm insulted."_

 _Ron: "How are you insulted?"_

 _Blaise: "You don't think I can play you?"_

 _Ron: "I didn't say that. Though now that you mention it, the answer is, in fact, a resounding no—"_

 _Theo: "Weasley, this is extremely unprofessional."_

 _Ron: [sighing] "At least Kreacher isn't playing me."]_

Hermione voiceover: "It's also where you meet your nemesis, Draco Malfoy."

Harry voiceover: "Right." _[pauses thoughtfully]_ "I wonder who's playing him?"

Lee voiceover: _[hurriedly]_ "I really wouldn't worry about these things."

 _[The camera shifts as Draco Malfoy himself struts into view in his Hogwarts uniform, flanked by Seamus and Dean, costumed now as Crabbe and Goyle.]_

 _[Editor's cut:_

 _Ron: "Wait, why's Malfoy here?"_

 _Draco: [scoffing] "As if anyone else would play me, Weasley."_

 _Ron: [turns angrily to Theo] "I thought you said nobody would be playing themselves!"_

 _Theo: [eyeing his fingernails] "No. I said you weren't qualified to play Ron Weasley specifically."_

 _Ron: "I AM Ron Weasley!"_

 _Blaise: [toying with his red wig] "Allegedly."_

 _Theo: [shrugging] "Whatever."]_

Harry voiceover: "So anyway, while in Albania, Tom found Quirinus Quirrell, who was a Hogwarts Muggle Studies professor on sabbatical at the time, and was later called back to be the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."

Hermione voiceover: "Not a great one, mind you." _[She pauses.]_ "Though, not the worst, right?"

 _[Scene cuts to where Hermione's head is in Harry's lap, drinking out of what looks like a looped straw of her own design that is aimed directly from her beverage at her lips.]_

Harry: "No, not the worst. Not great, though."

Hermione: "I mean, he was possessed, basically."

Harry: "Yeah, which is _almost_ not his fault."

Hermione: "He didn't try to kill you of his own volition, unlike Lockhart, or Crouch—"

Lee: "Oi! Spoiler alert!"

 _[Hermione shrugs, taking a long, gurgling sip from her straw.]_

Harry: "Anyway—"

 _[Scene cuts back to Gilderoy underneath his white sheet, colliding with Seamus Finnegan wearing a turban as Quirinus Quirrell.]_

Hermione voiceover: "So Tom latches onto Quirrell's body and comes back to Hogwarts with him, and he somehow finds out about the Philosopher's Stone, believing he can use it to bring himself back."

Harry voiceover: "Which, by the way, I still don't understand."

 _[Scene cuts to Harry and Hermione. Hermione slowly rocks back and forth, trying to roll onto her stomach, and eventually manages it. She squints up at Harry and then reaches up, poking his cheek.]_

Hermione: "What?"

Harry: "So, Tom just needed a Death Eater to give him a body, right? What's he doing looking for the Philosopher's Stone? And then Dumbledore has it moved, right?"

Hermione: "Oh, yes. Dumbledore has the stone moved from its vault at Gringotts to Hogwarts."

 _[Scene cuts to Luna directing Seamus. Both are wearing overlarge beards_ — _Luna's white and Seamus' a salt-and-pepper grey_ — _and Seamus trips on his as he accepts a package from Dean, who is dressed rather moodily as a Gringotts goblin.]_

Harry voiceover: "Right. But why not leave it in Gringotts? It's not like it was all that likely to get stolen there, was it?"

Hermione voiceover: "I don't think Gringotts is fully theft-proof."

 _[There is a pause. Luna blinks owlishly at the camera.]_

Harry voiceover: " . . . true."

Hermione voiceover: "Though, in fairness, Hogwarts is a bit oversold as a place of safety, too. And Azkaban, now that I think about it—"

Lee voiceover: "Can we try to tell this story in some kind of chronological order, please?"

Hermione voiceover: "Right. So, Tom presumably orders Quirrell to drink unicorn blood so that he can continue to sustain having two souls in his body—"

Harry voiceover: "And Hagrid catches onto this—and I guess he would tell Dumbledore, wouldn't he?"

 _[Seamus shrugs, looking confused.]_

 _[Scene cuts back to Harry and Hermione.]_

Hermione: _[slowly]_ "I don't know, actually."

 _[They look at each other for a moment, blanking.]_

Lee: "Anyone up for a bit of a field trip?"

 _[Scene reopens on Harry and Hermione in Minerva's office. Harry is sprawled on his back across her desk, and Minerva is pursing her lips in disapproval.]_

Minerva: "What is this?"

Hermione: "It's—" _[she stumbles slightly]_ "History, Professor." _[She hiccups loudly.]_

Minerva: "Jordan!"

Lee: _[sheepishly]_ "Yes?"

Minerva: "Fetch me a drink." _[She takes a seat at her desk, touching her hair.]_ "And bring me my hat."

 _[Fifteen minutes later, Minerva is wearing the Sorting Hat and sunglasses, drinking a margarita. Hermione is curled in a ball at her feet.]_

Minerva: "Where were we?"

 _[Harry, who is laying across the desk, sits up slowly.]_

Harry: "We wanted to know why Dumbledore didn't do anything if he knew Quirrell was possessed by Voldemort."

Minerva: _[chokes on her drink]_ "OH REALLY—" _[She turns, knocking on Albus' portrait frame.]_ "Did you hear that, Albus? The children are wanting an explanation."

Hermione: _[matter-of-factly]_ "We're not children anymore. We have orgasms now."

Lee: _[curiously]_ "With each other?"

Harry: "What?"

Lee: "What?"

Albus, via his portrait: "I—sorry, what was that? Sorry, sorry, being called away—"

Minerva: "ALBUS, YOU CUNTING WHORE!"

Albus: _[yelling to someone out of sight]_ "YES, YES, I'M COMING—"

Sorting Hat: _[announcing to the room]_ "She's thinking about setting fire to his portrait."

Lee: "That sounds right."

Harry: "Didn't _you_ notice something off about Quirrell, Professor McGonagall?"

 _[Minerva pauses as Hermione sits up to look questioningly at her.]_

Minerva: "Listen up you shits, this is a hell of a job. Things slip through the cracks."

Hermione: _[shrugs]_ "Fair."

Harry: "Well, let's see. Where were we?"

Minerva: "Albus was being a total cocoon of fuckery."

Hermione: "He meant in the story."

Minerva: _[sipping loudly]_ "I said what I said, Miss Granger."

 _[Scene cuts back to Hogwarts, where Theo, Blaise, and Ron reappear on set, standing opposite Draco. Seamus, still in Hagrid's costume, is taking them through the Forbidden Forest.]_

Harry voiceover: "Anyway, we all got detention for, I don't know, something stupid and entirely Malfoy's fault—"

Hermione voiceover: "Wait, did you tell the troll story?"

Harry voiceover: "Oh, yeah. Ron knocked out a troll."

 _[The actors momentarily look up. Draco rolls his eyes and holds a hand out as if to say 'proceed,' and then the scene shifts to the bathroom, where Theo, Blaise, and Ron are standing with Seamus, who is now dressed as a troll.]_

Hermione voiceover: "Using a spell he couldn't do until I corrected him, I might add."

Harry voiceover: "I have to assume there were a lot of things he couldn't do until you corrected him, Hermione."

 _[Theo smirks knowingly at Ron, who scowls.]_

Hermione voiceover: "That's true. He really was disastrous at his classes."

Minerva voiceover: "Oh, Miss Granger, you poor misguided little fool."

Lee voiceover: "Anyway. The troll?"

Harry voiceover: "Right, so. The troll. Quirrell set a troll loose in the dungeons hoping to distract people so he could steal the stone, but I thought it was Snape trying to steal it—which to be honest was the first of many times, and I was later right, though also horribly wrong—"

Lee voiceover: "OI! SPOILERS!"

Hermione voiceover: "Lee, this isn't really—"

Lee voiceover: "SPOILERS!"

Harry voiceover: "Can we skip ahead?"

Minerva voiceover: "I wish you would."

 _[On screen, Blaise hastily slaps Seamus across the face and then they run into a recreation of the third floor corridor at the time of the Philosopher's Stone's safekeeping. They are encountered with Hagrid's dog Fang, who wears a harness with two stuffed dogs fastened on either side of him and is drooling profusely onto the floor.]_

Hermione voiceover: "Dumbledore had the teachers place seven enchantments and creatures to guard the stone. One was the troll, and one was Fluffy, Hagrid's three-headed dog—"

 _[Fang slobbers fondly all over the front of Ron's shirt.]_

Hermione voiceover: "One was Professor Sprout's web of Devil's Snare—"

 _[Theo, Blaise, and Ron run past where Neville is holding a small house plant.]_

 _[Editor's cut:_

 _Neville: "This really isn't authentic, you know—"_

 _Lee: "Look at me, Longbottom. Do I look like authenticity is my primary goal?"_

 _Neville: [hesitantly] "No—"_

 _Lee: "Do I look like authenticity is even on my list of goals?"_

 _Neville: "Yes?"_

 _Lee: "Don't fuck with me, Neville."_

 _Neville: [deflatedly] "No."_

 _Lee: "Just hold the plant, Longbottom."_

 _Neville: "Totally. Totes mcgotes."_

 _Lee: "Don't do that."_

 _Neville: "Yep, I heard it too."]_

Hermione voiceover: "And McGonagall did a life-sized board of Wizard's Chess—"

 _[Blaise, in a flying leap, knocks over the pieces of a standard chess board.]_

Hermione voiceover: "Flitwick did a flying key thing, and Snape did a logic puzzle with a series of potions—"

Harry voiceover: "Funny how all these tasks were so well-suited to our combined talents as eleven year old children. It's almost like it was intentionally set up for us to get through it as a group."

Minerva voiceover: "Did you hear that, Albus? It's almost like it was _intentional—_ "

Albus voiceover: "Can't hear you, Minnie, I'm busy!"

 _[Scene cuts to where Theo and Gilderoy_ — _wearing clothes backwards as though he is, indeed, within Quirrell's body_ — _are facing off, staring menacingly at each other.]_

Harry voiceover: "Point is, Tom doesn't get the stone."

Hermione voiceover: "He also learns that Harry can't touch him—"

 _[Theo grabs onto Gilderoy's face as Gilderoy dramatically falls to the ground, screaming soundlessly.]_

Hermione voiceover: "—and Quirrell dies, leaving Tom without a body again."

 _[Scene cuts back to Harry and Hermione, who are now back in their classroom and lying on the floor with Lee.]_

Harry: "You know something, Hermione?"

Hermione: _[turning her head]_ "Hm?"

 _[Lee sits up expectantly.]_

Harry: "Do you ever think about how much we've been through, and how we've done so much for each other and know each other so well—"

 _[Lee excitedly brings his hands to his mouth, glancing between them.]_

Harry: "—and then think wait, why didn't we just shoot Voldemort and then worry about the horcruxes later? I mean he wandered around useless for a good fourteen years, right?"

Hermione: "I actually think about that all the time."

 _[Lee falls back against the floor, sighing deeply.]_

Harry: _[shrugs]_ "Well, why cry over spilled soup."

Hermione: "Spoiled milk?"

Harry: "No thanks, I'm good. Anyway—"

 _[Scene cuts to Cormac as Lucius, who is slipping a diary into the cauldron of Seamus dressed as Ginny Weasley.]_

Harry voiceover: "Nothing really happens second year."

 _[Ron, dressed as Hermione, sits up from where he has been laying frozen on a hospital bed, and Blaise slams the door of a Ford Anglia shut as he dusts fake spiders from his shoulders.]_

Hermione voiceover: "Not third year, either.

 _[Dean, once again in a leather jacket as Sirius Black, shakes his head at the camera and walks off set.]_

Harry voiceover: "It took Tom a really long time to get his shit together, I guess."

Hermione voiceover: "Apparently he was in the Albanian forest for two years until Peter Pettigrew showed up, and then they cobbled together the means to make him some kind of rudimentary body so that he could travel—"

Harry voiceover: "—and so that he could continue murdering people, like the caretaker of his father's family home."

 _[Gilderoy wears a hooded black coat and shakily aims his wand at Seamus Finnegan, who once again dies with aplomb.]_

Harry voiceover: "He tortures Bertha Jorkins to learn about the Tri-Wizard tournament, and discovers through her that one of his followers, Barty Crouch Jr, is still alive, so they go and get him."

 _[Gilderoy and Kreacher, who is now playing Peter Pettigrew, walk onstage with Dudley Dursley as Barty Crouch.]_

 _[Editor's cut:_

 _Dudley: "What? I've caught the acting bug."_

 _Lee: "I really don't even care anymore."]_

Hermione voiceover: "Barty Crouch then captures the Auror Alastor Moody—who had been assigned to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts that year—in order to get access to Harry. He also manipulates the Tri-Wizard Cup to choose Harry as one of the champions, despite the fact that Harry was underage, and underprepared, and, frankly, fully underqualified—"

Harry voiceover: "Thanks, Hermione, they've got it—"

Hermione voiceover: "I mean you were brilliant, of course—"

 _[Ron in his Hermione costume grimaces as he pats Theo's costumed shoulder.]_

Hermione voiceover: "—but still, you were _fourteen_ , and you had yet to do any of your own homework!"

Harry voiceover: _[indifferently]_ "Brilliance takes different forms, Hermione."

 _[Theo's smirk broadens.]_

Hermione voiceover: "Either way, you'd think there'd be an easier way to get to Harry, but with Hogwarts and the Dursleys' having such powerful enchantments, Tom thought getting Harry alone by making the cup into a portkey would be the best way. Unfortunately, in a moment of what is admittedly brilliant sportsmanship—"

Harry voiceover: "Thanks for that."

Hermione voiceover: "You're welcome—so, Harry and Cedric Diggory, who was the _actual_ Hogwarts champion, take the portkey at the exact same time, transporting both of them."

Harry voiceover: "Yeah. And so Tom's there, and Cedric's like 'who the fuck are you, bitch'—"

 _[Seamus as Cedric mouths off to Gilderoy.]_

Harry voiceover: "—and Tom's like 'bitch, I'm Voldemort'—which, you'd think would go without saying, but you'd be wrong, unfortunately—"

Hermione voiceover: "And he gets killed, which is sad."

Harry voiceover: "You don't look sad."

 _[Scene cuts to Harry and Hermione, who is smiling vacantly.]_

Harry: "Why are you smiling?"

Hermione: "I'm not smiling."

Harry: "Yes you are."

Hermione: "Fine. I was just remembering a joke the Sorting Hat told me."

Harry: "Which was?"

Hermione: "What's better than roses on your piano?"

Lee: _[interrupting]_ "SO, anyway, a _very solemn death_ occurs—"

Harry: "Right." _[He takes a long, pensive sip.]_ "So."

 _[Scene cuts back to Gilderoy, who is barefoot and wearing a noseless prosthetic and throwing his hands in the air victoriously.]_

Hermione voiceover: "Tom uses this really fucked up spell to grow himself a new fucked up body—that Bellatrix Lestrange probably has sex with, because she's a cunt—"

Harry voiceover: "Not that we're biased."

Hermione voiceover: "—and he does it using the bone of his father, the flesh of his servant, and the blood of his enemy."

Harry voiceover: "Is it pathetic that Tom Riddle's enemy was a fourteen year old boy? Yes."

Hermione voiceover: "Couldn't he have used Dumbledore's blood or something?"

Harry voiceover: "Evidently not."

Hermione voiceover: "I mean, Dumbledore was equally careless with his life, wasn't he? I mean, trying on that ring—"

Lee voiceover: "SPOILER!"

Hermione voiceover: "Whatever."

Harry voiceover: "So yeah, Tom calls back his Death Eaters and is like 'bros, you fuckers hoe'd out on me with this shit'—"

 _[Gilderoy berates Cormac, wagging a finger in his face.]_

Hermione voiceover: "That's sexist, Harry."

Harry voiceover: _[sighs]_ "Fine. But he definitely said something about the 'stench of guilt,' which is something I'm positive I've heard Molly Weasley say—"

Hermione voiceover: "That's probably true."

Harry voiceover: "Anyway, this is what actually begins the second Voldemort war."

Lee voiceover: "Are you fucking kidding me?"

 _[Scene cuts back to them.]_

Harry: _[innocently]_ "What?"

Lee: "You haven't even gotten into the actual _war_ yet?"

Hermione: "It's called being _thorough_ , Lee."

Lee: _[indignantly]_ "Can we be something called 'done' any time soon?"

Harry: "Fine. Skipping ahead—"

 _[Scene cuts to Luna wearing a blindfold and shoving Theo out of the way.]_

Harry voiceover: "Dumbledore works out that I'm able to see into Voldemort's mind and starts to suspect there's a connection between Tom and me, so he decides that avoiding me entirely is the safest course of action."

Hermione voiceover: "A ridiculous course of action, and one which ultimately gets Sirius killed, of course."

Harry voiceover: _[interrupting]_ "Hey, watch it. I'm going to name my son after Albus Dumbledore."

Hermione voiceover: "I want to be very clear that you shouldn't."

 _[Ron as Hermione rebukes Theo as Harry.]_

Harry voiceover: "HE SAID SO MANY WISE THINGS, HERMIONE!"

Hermione voiceover: " _I've_ said wise things! Are you planning to name your kid after me, too?"

Harry voiceover: "You?" _[scoffs quietly]_ "Nobody knows how to pronounce Hermione."

Hermione voiceover: "Hey! Viktor learned."

Harry voiceover: "I mean, sort of."

Hermione voiceover: "Anyway, Tom tries to keep quiet about his return. He breaks his followers out of Azkaban—" _[Marcus as Bellatrix bursts onto the set]_ "—but he takes advantage of the fact that nobody is listening to Harry. Largely because they don't want to believe him, of course, but also because he was blazing through puberty like an angsting lunatic—"

Harry voiceover: "It was a dark year. A lot of all caps, you know?"

Hermione voiceover: _[flatly]_ "I was there. I remember."

Harry voiceover: "Anyway, Tom was really obsessed with the prophecy that was made about my birth. For whatever reason, he thought that would help him figure out how to get kill me—or maybe he thought it was like his horoscope and it would just like, _help_ , somehow—"

 _[Gilderoy shrugs appealingly at the camera.]_

Harry voiceover: "—so his first attempt is to have Lucius Malfoy put Sturgis Podmore under the Imperius curse after he figures out that the Order of the Phoenix has been taking turns guarding the Department of Mysteries."

 _[Cormac McLaggen raises his wand to Seamus Finnegan's forehead.]_

Hermione voiceover: "—which ultimately fails."

 _[Cormac pouts.]_

Hermione voiceover: "He tries again later with an Unspeakable named Broderick Bode, but he was all fucked up after _that_ fails—which is how Tom learns that only people who are included in the prophecy are physically able to retrieve it."

Harry voiceover: "Meanwhile, back at Hogwarts—"

 _[Scene shifts to Hogwarts where Theo, Blaise, and Ron are joined by Ginny, Neville, and Luna, who is now dressed as herself.]_

 _[Editor's cut:_

 _Ron: "Wait a minute—who are you supposed to be?"_

 _Ginny: "I'm Ginny Weasley."_

 _Ron: "I know, but—"_

 _Ginny: "Theo said I would be best suited for the part, so I agreed."_

 _Ron: [to Theo] "Nott, what the fuck?"_

 _Theo: "What? She is. She's a natural Ginny Weasley."_

 _Ginny: "Thank you, Theo."_

 _Theo: "You're welcome."_

 _Ron: "Shouldn't casting be Lee's decision?"_

 _Theo: [to Lee] "Lee?"_

 _Lee: "I don't care."_

 _Theo: [to Ron] "See?"_

 _Luna: "If it helps, you really are capturing Hermione quite nicely, Ron."_

 _Ron: "I KNOW THAT, BUT THAT'S NOT THE POINT!"]_

Hermione voiceover: "Dolores Umbridge is assigned to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, but she does a shit job of it. Probably because she's in some kind of competition with Bellatrix Lestrange for 'Cunt of the Year'—"

Harry voiceover: "Which she wins. That year."

Hermione voiceover: "Yeah, she sweeps it."

Harry voiceover: "So then Ron, Hermione, and I start a group called Dumbledore's Army, where I started teaching people defensive spells."

Hermione voiceover: "Unsurprisingly, that didn't sit well with a few people."

 _[Draco joins the others on screen, crossing his arms over his chest.]_

Harry voiceover: "Ugh. Speaking of cunts—"

 _[Theo mouths this happily to Draco, darting away as Draco reaches out to backhand him in the stomach.]_

Hermione voiceover: "Don't dwell on it, Harry."

Harry voiceover: _[sighs]_ "Fine."

 _[Theo and Draco exchange a narrow-eyed glare and then turn towards the camera.]_

Harry voiceover: _[muttering]_ "But for the record, Malfoy is definitely in the running for 'Cunt of the Year' that year."

 _[Theo slaps a medal reading 'Third Place Cunt of the Year' on Draco's forehead. Scene cuts to a set of the Department of Ministries.]_

Hermione voiceover: "So, since Dumbledore never explained that Tom could actually _manipulate_ the visions he shared with Harry, Tom is able to trick him into going after Sirius—who was never in danger at all. No thanks to Kreacher for his part in this charade, of course—"

 _[Theo pins a 'Fourth Place Cunt of the Year' medal to Kreacher's rag and pats his head.]_

Harry voiceover: "Look, I'll admit it. Tom manipulated me into showing up. So, I guess we could rearrange the 'Cunt of the Year' awards."

Hermione voiceover: "Anyway, Ginny, Neville, and Luna come with us to the Department of Mysteries, where we end up dueling the Death Eaters."

 _[Theo, Blaise, Ron, and the others face off against Cormac, Marcus, and Seamus and Dean, who are now wearing Death Eater masks.]_

Harry voiceover: "This is how the war becomes public. Especially after Dumbledore shows up, because then he and Tom duel."

 _[Gilderoy and Luna stand opposite each other, wands raised. Lee sighs, walks onto set, and fastens the missing beard back onto Luna's face before walking out of sight.]_

 _[Scene cuts back to Harry and Hermione. They are re-joined by the Sorting Hat, with whom Harry is now sharing an elaborate Bloody Mary.]_

Harry: "We got to do a lot of great 'I told you so's after that."

Hermione: _[frowning]_ "No we didn't."

Harry: _[smugly]_ "Maybe _you_ didn't."

 _[Scene cuts to Theo flicking Seamus Finnegan's forehead and strutting away.]_

Hermione voiceover: "So, by that point, it's open war."

 _[Seamus, dressed as a Dementor, pounces on an unsuspecting Dean.]_

Harry voiceover: "The Dementors side with Tom, plus werewolves and giants and other creatures—not to mention that Muggles are then killed for fun, and a good amount of infrastructure is totally ruined—"

Hermione voiceover: "And as this is happening, Draco Malfoy becomes a Death Eater."

 _[Editor's cut:_

 _Draco: "Can we possibly, um—gloss over this?"_

 _Lee: "You mean your part in killing Dumbledore and thus launching the war into a motherfucking clustercunt of chaos?"_

 _Draco: "Yeah, that's what I meant."_

 _Lee: "Uh. Well—"_

 _Draco: "Is that a yes?"_

 _Lee: "It's definitely not a yes."_

 _Draco: "So . . . it's a no?"_

 _Lee: "Yes."_

 _Draco: "Yes?"_

 _Lee: "Don't confuse me, Malfoy, I will break your kneecaps!"]_

Harry voiceover: "Unbeknownst to either side, Severus Snape had been acting as a double agent ever since the death of my mother, Lily Potter. He'd been in love with her and was distraught by her loss, so he was loyal to Dumbledore while feigning loyalty to Tom—which nobody knew, of course, which was disastrous on literally one hundred levels—"

Hermione voiceover: _[interrupting]_ "I just want to be clear that if you take anything away from this, it's that communication is a legitimately crucial factor. Like, really."

 _[Grawp thunders on set as Severus Snape.]_

 _[Editor's cut:_

 _Lee: "NOTT!"_

 _Theo: [sipping tea] "What?"]_

 _[In the new scene, Grawp is replaced by Fleur Delacour, who is wearing a greasy black wig and dragging her robes on the ground.]_

 _[Editor's cut:_

 _Lee: "NOTT, FOR FUCK'S SAKE—"_

 _Fleur: "What ees the matter, Lee?"_

 _Theo: "Yeah, Lee, what's wrong?"_

 _Lee: [groaning wearily] "I have to lie down."]_

Harry voiceover: "So, Snape agrees to help Draco, having already agreed to kill Dumbledore, who had tried on one of the cursed horcruxes—"

Hermione voiceover: "His finest moment, obviously."

 _[Cuts to Albus' portrait, who is scowling.]_

Harry voiceover: "But nobody knows this, of course—"

Hermione voiceover: "—so the Order no longer trusts Snape."

Harry voiceover: "Oh, and by the way, Malfoy pussies out on killing Dumbledore—"

Hermione voiceover: "—after stealing all his murder ideas from me, too!"

 _[Theo pins a 'Pussy of the Year' medal to Draco's forehead.]_

 _[Editor's cut:_

 _Draco: "So this is glossing over it, I guess?"_

 _Theo: "I mean . . . it kind of is."_

 _Draco: "I will stab you."_

 _Theo: "You don't have the balls."_

 _Draco: "I'm holding the knife right now."_

 _Theo: "He says, unconvincingly."]_

 _[Scene cuts back to Harry and Hermione.]_

Harry: "And shortly after that, we go on the run to start destroying his horcruxes. Which, to be honest, involved a lot of somewhat mundane alone time."

Lee: _[sits up]_ "Between the two of you?"

Hermione: _[sipping loudly through a straw]_ "Yep."

 _[There's a moment of silence.]_

Lee: "So . . . did you guys ever—"

Harry: _[sitting up, as though he is having an epiphany]_ "Hey, Hermione—I just realized something about you."

Lee: "Oh my god, what?!"

Hermione: "Yes, Harry?"

Harry: "I should have you do my haircuts again. You're really precise."

Hermione: _[blushing]_ "Thank you, Harry. You make pretty good stew."

Harry: "Thank you."

Lee: _[collapsing on the ground]_ "UGH, "YOU'RE SO PURE, I CAN'T—"

Harry: "Okay, so, we obviously couldn't go back to Hogwarts with Dumbledore dead—"

Hermione: _[nodding]_ "Yeah, and we decided fuck 'em, the others'll be fine." _[She shrugs.]_

Harry: _[pauses, frowning]_ "There was that whole thing about—"

 _[He cuts off, staring at Hermione. Her eyes widen and she rapidly shakes her head, as if to warn him not to mention something.]_

Lee: _[suspiciously]_ "What is it?"

Harry: "Well, there's these things called Deathly Hal- "

Hermione: _[interrupting]_ "We kissed, Lee. That's what he's not telling you. He gave me a big ol' tongue-y kiss, right in my facemouth."

Harry: _[murmuring to Hermione]_ "We _kissed_? _That's_ your method of distraction? There's no way a kiss is enough to dera- "

Lee: "OH MY GOD, TELL ME EVERYTHING."

Harry: _[sitting back]_ "Huh. I stand corrected."

Hermione: "Anyway, there's a year of destroying horcruxes and absolutely nothing else, and then the reign of Voldemort culminates in the Battle of Hogwarts on May 2nd, 1998."

 _[Scene cuts to Battle of Hogwarts, where Theo is facing off against Gilderoy.]_

Harry voiceover: "There was a piece of Tom Riddle's soul in me, though. You forgot that bit, Hermione."

 _[Theo looks up at the camera, confused.]_

Hermione voiceover: "Oh yeah. Harry dies for a bit."

Harry voiceover: "Oh my god, I did!"

Hermione voiceover: "Right?"

Harry voiceover: "Super casual, though. Moving on—"

 _[Theo throws his hands in the air.]_

Hermione voiceover: "Oh, wait—and Neville kills the snake, right?"

 _[Neville stands over a small garden snake, hesitantly holding the Sword of Gryffindor.]_

 _[Editor's cut:_

 _Neville: "Listen, Lee, I feel you on the authenticity thing, but—"_

 _Lee: "You don't have to actually kill the snake, Neville."_

 _Neville: [exhales deeply] "Oh thank god."]_

Harry voiceover: "Yeah, and I trick Voldemort with my breathtaking knowledge about wand lore, which has to be the first time in my life I actually outsmart anyone with, you know, _logic_ —"

Hermione voiceover: "True. Personally, I had never been more attracted to you."

Harry voiceover: "Wait. You hadn't?"

 _[Scene cuts to Harry and Hermione.]_

Hermione: "Well, no. I mean, you'd just defeated the most notorious evil wizard of all time _without even casting an Avada—"_

Harry: "Yeah, but—not even when I caught my first Snitch? Or, like—when I fought a dragon?"

Hermione: _[tilts her head thoughtfully]_ "I guess those times too."

 _[Lee leans forward slowly.]_

Hermione: "Why? Were you ever attracted to me?"

Harry: _[scoffs]_ "Of course. Yule Ball? Bill and Fleur's wedding? Plus when you announced that you'd figured out Lupin was a werewolf, or when you faced down Death Eaters at the Department of Mysteries—and all the times we were alone together, you know—"

 _[Lee's eyes are now comically wide.]_

Hermione: "Huh. And you never wanted to act on it?"

Harry: "Well, I did want to."

Hermione: "Oh."

Harry: "Yep." _[They pause.]_ "So, anyway—"

 _[Lee falls off his desk.]_

Harry: "Well, in any case, the death of Tom Riddle was the end of the Second Voldemort War."

 _[Scene cuts to where Theo is staring at the camera, confused. Lee comes on set, says something in Gilderoy's ear, and then Gilderoy promptly staggers backwards, beginning a ten minute scene in which he reenacts the death of Lord Voldemort, including a montage of slow motion camera angles and softly lit portraiture.]_

Harry: "So, uh, that's it, I guess." _[He shrugs.]_ "All is well or whatever."

Hermione: "Right. Yeah, so that's it."

Harry: "Yep. That's the end."

Lee: _[from the floor]_ "Are you kidding me?"

Hermione: _[to Harry]_ "Should we go home, then?"

Lee: _[lifting his head to glare at her]_ "ARE YOU KIDDING ME?"

Harry: "Yeah, we probably should. We're really drunk."

Hermione: "Yeah. To be honest, I can't really feel my face."

Harry: "Cool." _[He stumbles to his feet, straightens, and then holds a hand out for Hermione.]_ "You good?"

Lee: _[letting his head fall back]_ "OH MY GOD, NO—"

Hermione: _[taking his hand to rise to her feet]_ "I'm good." _[They turn.]_ "Bye, Lee!"

Harry: "See you later, my dude." _[He aims a set of finger guns at Lee and pivots slowly.]_

Lee: _[muffled into his hands]_ "I'M DEAD. I'M DYING. I'VE DIED, AND I'M A GHOST—"

 _[Harry and Hermione exit the classroom. On the other side of the door they pause, looking at each other.]_

Harry: "So . . . that was weird, right?"

Hermione: "Eh, kinda."

Lee, from the other side of the door: "THIS SHIP IS GOING TO KILL ME!"

Harry: "By the way, to answer your question, I'd fuck you."

Hermione: _[affectionately]_ "Aw, Harry."

 _[They pause.]_

Hermione: "Want to make out?"

Harry: _[pleasantly surprised]_ "Yes, actually."

 _[Hermione turns and kisses him; Harry sways slightly and then leans against the wall, kissing her back with fervor.]_

Lee, from the other side of the door: "THIS SHOW IS OVER! IT'S CANCELLED!"

 _[Harry and Hermione pause, pulling away for a moment to frown thoughtfully at each other.]_

Harry: "Should we tell him?"

Hermione: _[thinks for a moment, then shrugs]_ "Nah."

 _[She leans forward, kissing him again as the scene blacks out.]_

* * *

 **a/n:** Coming up next: four Disney-themed one shots ( _Rook, Beast, Wonderland,_ and _Valour_ , probably in that order). I'm thinking one a week for the next four weeks, if the muse cooperates. The _Amortentia_ queue is inhumanly long at this point so consider that whole hiatus thing I tried to do temporarily abandoned. Thanks again for reading!


	69. Rook

**Rook**

 _Pairing:_ Nottgrass (Theo Nott x Daphne Greengrass), background Dramione (Draco Malfoy x Hermione Granger)

 _Universe:_ Disney AU ( _Aladdin_ )

 _Rating:_ T for language

 _Summary:_ The first of four one shots based on Disney plots; this one is born from a desire to watch Theo Nott be sassy, and has the added bonus of a requested Theomione bromance. Very AU, but with Potterverse magic.

Daphne Greengrass' hand in marriage isn't something to be given away; it's something to be won via magical tournament, much to her utter dismay, as she fights to keep her kingdom out of the hands of her father's corrupt royal advisor. Theo Nott may be a thief and a street rat, but he knows what he wants when he sees it—and he's not above playing (or stealing) a prince to do it.

* * *

"You're talking about me like I'm some kind of prize to be won," Daphne said to her father, not bothering to conceal the frustration she felt as she paced the throne room in agitation. "I'm a _person,_ Father, not some—" she paused, sputtering. "Some pretty calf to be sold at auction—"

"Daphne, please," her father sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "You must see reason, darling—"

"I'm not the unreasonable one," Daphne insisted, pausing to scoff. "I don't even see why it's necessary that I be married to inherit the throne! _You're_ not," she pointed out brusquely, and King Viridian grimaced, shaking his head.

"The kingdom isn't exactly stable right now, Daphne," he reminded her. "Lord Voldemort has only been gone for a few years, and we've only just rebuilt from the damage. Once the crown passes to you, as it soon might," he added sadly, pulling witheringly at his beard, "I'm afraid a queen without a husband isn't going to reassure our allies, however capable you may be."

"Well, it's our allies who should adjust, then," Daphne sniffed. At the sound of a small throat-clearing cough, she and her father turned to the royal advisor, Tom, who was sitting in the corner with his fingers steepled placidly at his lips. "Yes?" she demanded impatiently, and he smirked at her.

"Princess Daphne, I'm afraid that pointing out the existence of archaic prejudices is not particularly beneficial to your cause," Tom judged slowly, rising to his feet. "I'm sure we can arrive at an alternative—don't you think?"

"Like what?" Daphne retorted. "You both leaving me to live my life undisturbed, perhaps?"

"Daphne," her father cautioned, shaking his head. "I really don't think—"

"If you don't mind, Your Majesty," Tom ventured gently, and King Viridian waved a hand ambivalently, gesturing for him to proceed. "Princess Daphne," Tom began, turning towards her, "I do have one idea I should think you would find mildly stomachable, if you're willing to hear it."

Daphne fought the urge to sulk. "Yes?"

"You could simply marry me," Tom suggested casually, and Daphne balked, her eyes widening in disbelief at the suggestion. "I would be more than happy to advise you as your husband—"

"You mean that you'd be happy to have access to my throne!" Daphne corrected, flinging the accusation at him from across the room as her father slowly shook his head, pursing his lips in disapproval. "Don't think I can't see that you covet my father's position, Tom," she warned. "If I'm ever so unlucky as to lose his counsel, I assure you, I'd be thrilled to be free of yours."

Tom's blue eyes flashed angrily, enraged, and then quickly cooled as he forced a cutting smile. "Perhaps the idea of matrimony is simply too stressful for you at the moment, Your Highness," he ventured. "It seems you scarcely know what you're saying."

Daphne opened her mouth to argue, but was cut off by her father.

"I appreciate your effort to soothe the situation, Tom, but the fact remains that Daphne's marriage is a highly political situation," Viridian remarked, rising to step between them. "You're a fine match, Tom, and as royal advisor you'd certainly be an _acceptable_ choice, but"—at that, Daphne noted Tom's eyes flashed warningly a second time—"there's far more to gain through her marriage to a noble, or a neighboring prince."

"You say that as if my life and my will are no more than a game to you, Father," Daphne noted bitterly. "Am I just another pawn for you to play with?"

Her father fixed her with an unbending glare. "You are a _princess_ , Daphne," Viridian said firmly, "and with the privilege of power comes the responsibility of tradition. You will be married for the good of the kingdom, as I was—"

"But you were married for love!" Daphne protested, and Viridian held up a hand, frowning.

"I married for politics," he corrected sharply. "I loved your mother, yes, but love was an unimportant detail in the wider complexities of match." He paused, sighing. "Truly, Daphne, I regret that I cannot afford you the same luxury," he began, "but the fact is, now that you are of age—"

"I won't be given away," Daphne interrupted, crossing her arms over her chest and digging her heels in as the conversation began to feel like a loss. "I refuse."

"Perhaps if you're _won_ , then," Tom suggested unhelpfully, and Daphne and Viridian both turned to stare at him. "In a competition, perhaps, or a tournament—"

"Won?" Daphne repeated, her temper flaring again. "Surely you're not serious, Tom!"

"A dueling tournament, you mean?" Viridian asked, and Tom nodded.

"Yes, Your Majesty," he said. "You could invite all those of qualifying noble birth, princes from allied nations—"

"What?" Daphne cut in furiously, but nobody was listening to her.

"A rather strategic move, diplomatically," Viridian commented, humming to himself. "But what about allegations of favoritism?"

"Perhaps anonymity, to keep things fair?" Tom proposed. "With the winner unveiled at the end?"

"How is _any_ of this fair?" Daphne shouted at her father, but King Viridian was nodding to himself, clearly already convinced.

"I must begin preparations immediately," Viridian determined, striding out of the throne room and heading towards his study. "Tom, if you would please—"

"Yes, Your Majesty," Tom agreed, flashing Daphne a knowing smirk as the king swept past her, beckoning for Tom to follow. She bristled, taking a calculated side-step to block the royal advisor's exit.

"My father may not be able to see how unduly you've influenced him, but I assure you, _I can_ ," she warned in a low voice, glaring up at him. "I don't trust you, Tom, and I'm not going to let you kee- "

"Actually," Tom cut in crisply, "it seems you don't have much of a choice, _Princess_." He smiled at her, his teeth flashing against the line of his mouth. "Oh, and by the way," he murmured, leaning in to speak in her ear, "you haven't even _begun_ to see 'undue influence.'"

With that, Tom strode out of the throne room, whistling to himself as he followed after her father. Daphne, angrier than ever, let out a growl, picking up one of her father's priceless crystal vases and considering how satisfying it would be to smash it against his many aged cartographic volumes when she paused at the sound of a soft sigh behind her.

"Don't take it out on the vase, Daph," Astoria said quietly. "It's Father you're angry with."

Her younger sister had quite the talent for overhearing things, Daphne lamented internally; she grudgingly set the vase down, pivoting to face her.

"Unfortunately, Father's not quite so easy to break," Daphne muttered. "It seems that thanks to Tom, I've gone from livestock to trophy."

"An improvement?" Astoria suggested, giving her a weak smile, and Daphne let out another groan of frustration, feeling helpless.

"I need to get away," she declared, beginning to pace the marble floor. "I need to get out of the castle."

Astoria flinched. "Again?" she asked softly, and Daphne grimaced.

"Yes, _again,_ " she said, trying to ignore the expression on her sister's face. "I don't see why it's such a bad thing, you know," she insisted defensively. "I'm out in the world, getting to know the people, and—"

"And putting the future queen's life at risk," Astoria reminded her sternly, giving her a fascinatingly maternal look of scolding. "Father wouldn't approve."

"Well, then, _perfect_ ," Daphne ruled, waving a hand. "Magnificent."

"Daphne," Astoria murmured warningly, but Daphne had made up her mind.

"Cover for me for the evening," she instructed, pacing back towards her sister. "I'll be back tonight, but just—" she shrugged. "Say I'm ill. Or, I don't know, concussed." She rolled her eyes. "As long as it hasn't disfigured me or cheapened my value, I'm sure Father will scarcely notice."

"Daphne," Astoria groaned, and she forced a smile.

"You're a good sister," Daphne said, with something she hoped was kindness. "Better than I deserve." She took a deep breath, preparing to head to the door, when Astoria suddenly reached out to grip her arm.

"Daphne," Astoria said a third time, gently. "Be careful."

Daphne nodded, indulging her, but wasted no time in slipping out the doors and through the castle wards, intent on getting as far away from her father and Tom as possible.

* * *

Theo Nott wandered slyly through the castle market, eyeing the hooded figure on the other side of the stalls and waiting for the signal from his partner—not that he knew what that signal was going to be. They'd bickered for nearly an hour about it, of course, but come to no real solution; though that was hardly anything new.

"I'm not going to _wink_ at you, Theodore," Hermione had sniffed disdainfully. "Besides, what if there was simply something in my eye? It should be a hand signal, if anything—"

"Oh? And what sort of hand signal would seem natural?" Theo demanded. "Should I just wave to you, then?"

He mimicked a sweeping hand motion, pairing the arc of the gesture with a comically rounded mouth.

"You're being intentionally obtuse," Hermione informed him, pursing her lips. "It's absolutely maddening."

" _You're_ maddening," Theo retorted, and she sighed.

"You've regressed," she commented. "You were more useful to me when we were children."

"And yet you're still here," he noted sagely, reaching out to flick the tip of her nose. She scowled, rubbing it.

"One day, I will come into an opulent fortune," she reminded him, as she often did, "and you can have absolutely none of it."

Theo scoffed. "If you come into a fortune, I will happily die of shock."

"Make that a promise," Hermione offered archly, "and let's shake on it."

"How about this," Theo offered, holding up his middle finger. "Would this suit you as a hand signal?"

Hermione, unsurprisingly, was not amused.

"I'm going to kill you in your sleep tonight," she informed him dispassionately, before pulling the hood over her head. She strode over to the vendors at the opposite end of the market stalls and left Theo to follow her motions with a grin, finding his own position near their mark.

The plan was simple, as ever; that was Hermione's expertise, the plans. She called it brilliance, of course, but as Theo frequently reminded her, _he_ was actually the brilliant one; he was the dodger, the one in charge of setting the scene—the one who always had to _get away._ She just had to be light-fingered, and six years of thievery were plenty practice for dexterity; escapes, on the other hand, required a constant stream of reinvention.

"Genius," he usually reminded her, pointing to himself.

"Fool," she usually responded, not looking up.

Theo drew himself back to the present as he caught movement from where Hermione was standing. From across the stalls she raised a hand, as though she were innocently scratching her face; instead, she slid her middle finger up the side of her nose and Theo grimaced momentarily—reminding himself to tell her later that that was _not_ , in fact, a clever hand signal—but launched into action, clearing his throat.

"Oh, my wondrous Wynona," Theo said loudly, swaying in the space between stalls and squinting at nothing as he stretched out for a phantom hand. "Been a hundred years, it has, and every one of them a lifeless slog of misery without you— _oh_ , my Wynona," he continued, reaching out to toy with an elderly woman's hair, "cruel mistress though you may be, surely you would not have forsaken me?"

"Let go of me, you wretch," the woman squawked, hitting him with the side of her bag. Theo gave her a low bow, pressing on with the act.

"Save me, Wynona," Theo wailed, clutching his heart and falling to his knees. "I beseech you, come to my aid, that I may not be so utterly rebuked—"

Hermione, who had been gradually approaching, rolled her eyes. _I have no idea what characters you're always creating,_ she enjoyed redundantly informing him, _but they're all wildly inconsistent._

 _What's confusing about Felix?_ Theo argued. _He's obviously looking for Wynona._

 _Obviously,_ Hermione echoed dubiously, notably unenthused.

"—Wynona, my love," Theo continued from his knees, reaching up towards the passing hands of irritated shoppers. "My iridescent jewel—my hope incarnate, my pitiless demon—that I would weep one thousand moons and still never see your face—"

 _I simply don't understand who Felix is,_ Hermione regularly persisted. _Did he lose Wynona at war? Has she rejected him, or has she died? Frankly, I think Felix should give it up, she's clearly not interested_ —

 _Quiet, you woman,_ Theo would reply, which would engender a new rant altogether.

"—my angel, my pearl," Theo continued, laying on his back and grabbing at the robes of the many bewildered passersby. "Wynona, O Handmaiden of Ill-Fortune, with your bloodless complexion and your faithless eyes—"

"Can't someone get him out of here," the baker yelled, jabbing a finger at the nearby set of guards. "He's clearly one elephant short of a traveling circus—"

"Yeah, yeah," the guard grunted in response, making his way to Theo.

"Wynona, if ever you wish to join me, NOW WOULD BE THE TIME," Theo bellowed tragically, and as he saw that Hermione had slipped next to the produce cart he promptly drew himself up, evading the grips of his would-be captors to jab his knife into the top of one's knee, shoving him headfirst into the other and knocking them both to the ground. "Alas," he wailed, "Wynona, why have you set upon me these heathens—"

"Hey!" the baker shouted, pointing at Hermione. "This one's a thief!"

Hermione, whose expandable bag was still open in her hand, took that as an appropriate signal to leave. She pulled her hooded cloak tight around her and threw some Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder on the ground, disappearing in its wake as one of the guards took off after her, coughing up a cloud of magical dust.

"Technically we're both thieves," Theo announced tangentially, ducking as the other guard made to throw a punch but stumbled, collapsing on his injured knee. "Have to eat to live, and have to steal to eat, I'm afraid," Theo continued, baiting him like a charging bull, "or else I suspect we might get along quite nicely—"

The guard grunted in pain and frustration, taking another wild swing and miss as Theo dodged the blow. "Get over here, you _little_ —"

"Street rat?" Theo prompted, leaping behind a metalworker's stall and putting a few knives' distance between himself and the guard. "I think you'll find I'm larger than the average rat, and a fair bit cleverer, too—"

"Just as filthy," the guard snarled in response, knocking over one of the displays to reach for him and just missing Theo's collar as he slipped through the narrow alley, promptly disappearing from sight.

Theo looked over his shoulder, satisfied that the much larger guard hadn't been able to follow, and set himself on the path back to his and Hermione's hideout; his stomach growled in anticipation as he leapt atop one of the building's roofs, pausing to survey the remains of the scene below.

"Hey," the guard called, dragging the arm of a hooded figure, "got one of 'em—"

Theo paused, startled. He squinted down, eyeing the person he was quite certain was _not_ Hermione, and was doubly certain was not himself.

"Let go of me," the figure protested; a woman, Theo noted, and a young one, by the sound of it. "I've done nothing wrong—"

"You know what we do to thieves, don't you?" the injured guard snarled at her. "Brand them, firstly, and then sever their fingers one by one—"

"I'm not a thief," the hooded woman protested, a hint of hysteria to her tone as she made a helpless motion towards the inner lining of her robe and then stopped, hesitating. "I haven't done anything, I'm just—I've only—"

"Ah, balls," Theo sighed, grimacing as one of the guards yanked the girl's arm from beneath her cloak, holding his knife to her wrist. "It seems I've made a mess."

* * *

"Let go of me," Daphne pleaded frantically, trying to take her hand back from the guard. "I already told you, you've got the _wrong person_ —"

"Ah, Wynona," a man announced, suddenly materializing with a soft thud at her back. " _There_ you are, my vicious little dove."

"It's him," the bleeding guard yelled, pointing. "GET HIM—"

"Be ready to run," the man murmured in her ear, "in three—two— _one_ —"

Daphne blinked. "Wha- "

But then there was an explosion, a cloud of smoke, and her arm was tugged halfway out of her body as the man took hold of her and then took off, slipping through an alley so narrow she wouldn't have seen it if she hadn't been forced to slide through it, stumbling in his wake. He pulled her up a series of platforms, nearly launched her onto a roof, and then dragged her in a rapid sprint across it, coming to an abrupt stop as they reached the building's ledge.

He turned sharply to face her. "Do you trust me?" he asked, panting. She looked up at his face for the first time, registering first the green of his eyes and then the devilish angle of the smile on his lips.

"Not at all," she huffed, and he grinned.

"Good," he said, nodding appreciatively. "You should never trust anything," he said sternly, "but unfortunately, that being said, right now you'll have to jump."

"Jump?" Daphne echoed, gazing skeptically at the distance to the next roof. "But—"

But before she could submit her opposition, he had leapt across first, landing in a low crouch and expertly leaping up, turning to face her. "Your turn," he called, beckoning, and she blinked, staring at him.

"I—I can't just—"

"You _can_ ," he told her evenly, "and you'll have to, as they'll be right behind you in a matter of moments."

She glanced over her shoulder, knowing he was right; she could still hear the guards shouting. "But—"

"Trust me," he called, holding out a hand. "I'll catch you."

"You won't," she protested, and he shrugged.

"Then _you'll_ catch you," he amended, "but either way, you're going to make it."

Unfortunately, right or wrong—wrong being the likelier option—she didn't seem to have much choice. Daphne took a deep breath, steadying herself, and then retracted a few steps; she took a running leap and felt herself fly, landing unsteadily on the next roof and toppling into the stranger's arms.

"Oh, god," she muttered, using him to regain her footing.

"God's a bit formal," he offered, smirking. "Theo's fine."

She felt her brow furrow. "That was terrible," she remarked, and he shrugged.

"Terrible, dazzling, it's a thin line," he replied. "Ready?" he asked, holding out a hand expectantly. She eyed it, frowning.

"For what?"

"To keep running," he explained. "Little known fact," he added, "but the trick to a successful escape is to continually increase the distance between yourself and the people who want to maim you."

"Oh," she said faintly, "right," and then she put her hand in his, consenting to let him pull her across the rooftops until they'd made their way to the edge of Hogsmeade, finally stopping to rest as they leapt from the village walls down to a small clearing of trees.

"Sorry about that," the stranger called Theo offered as Daphne had leant over to catch her breath, careful that her hood was still covering the majority of her face. "Didn't mean to get you roped into my schemes."

"Your schemes?" Daphne echoed, and glanced up at him, frowning. "Were you the one that stole something, then?"

"Stealing, borrowing to sustain my life and livelihood without intention to return," he said, shrugging. "Potato, potato."

"Did you just say 'potato' twice?" Daphne asked, but he brushed past the remark, indifferent.

"Technically it was my friend you were mistaken for," he clarified, "but she's far less noble than I am. Truly," he added with an affectatious sniff, "there is no honor among thieves."

"You're a thief," she pointed out.

"Nobility, honor," he postulated, weighing the concepts in his hands and then proceeding to throw them out. "Vastly different."

"Potato, potato?" Daphne prompted drily, and he grinned.

"I like you," he decided, nodding once. "Do you have plans?"

"For what?" Daphne asked. "My future?"

"Your _present_ ," Theo corrected. "I'd like to know why a girl who can do magic decided to jump into the arms of a thief," he informed her slyly, his green eyes flashing as he tilted his head to consider her.

"What?" Daphne asked, feeling her eyes widen. "How did you know I could—"

"The first thing you did was let your hand twitch toward your pocket," he explained. "I haven't known a lot of witches, but I've found that's something they have in common. But," he continued, "you _didn't_ take out your wand, which suggests to me that if you had, someone might have recognized you—which is something you don't want." He took a step closer, still watching for a reaction. "Am I close?"

She paused, considering her answer.

"Maybe," Daphne permitted, and Theo nodded smugly.

"You also don't know your way around the market, so you're probably well-born," he decided, and then suddenly took a step to close the distance between them, his hand floating up like he was considering resting it on her hip. "Have I stolen something valuable?" he asked curiously, tilting his head to let his eyes trace the outline of her face beneath the cloak. "It certainly feels like I have."

She hesitated, wondering if he were dangerous.

"Someone will be missing me," Daphne warned slowly, removing herself from his grasp and trying not to panic. "I assure you, I'm not worth the trouble."

The corners of his lips nudged into a smile. "I doubt that very much," he began, winking, "but I suppose it's just as well I can't keep you," he determined, renewing the distance between them.

Daphne, feeling unsteady, pulled her cloak closer as she looked at him. He wasn't particularly conventionally handsome, she thought, watching the quickness of his motions; he was tall and lean with a loping stance, and there was a slight aura of undercaredness to him that was highlighted by the frantic quality of his motions, caught as he was in a constant state of fidgeting. He was poorly dressed, but clean, his dark hair washed and roguishly pulled back from his face, and there was a faint smell of linens and cedar that danced under her nose on a breeze. He had a smile that was both troubling and infectious, warming her from the inside out, and he was lively, and alive.

She liked his face. His eyes, especially.

"You—said you had a friend?" she offered haltingly, forcing herself to break from her reverie, and Theo nodded, as though he'd also just remembered.

"Ah, yes," he said, holding out a hand for her. "A little further this way—"

He led her to a makeshift camp a little further into the woods that bordered Hogsmeade village. It was a small, somewhat ordinary-looking tent, but as Theo pulled her inside she could see it was the size of one of the castle rooms, transforming from the doorway into a rather cozy hideaway.

"Holy teeth, Nott, I thought you'd died," a very small girl announced, stomping into view. "I _also_ thought we agreed that you would abandon that idiotic Wynona act, but apparently that was endlessly foolish of me—"

"No, we did not agree on that," Theo retorted. "For the hundredth time, just because you don't understand Felix's predicament doesn't mean that I should have t- "

"Who's this?" the girl interrupted suddenly, pointing to Daphne with a frown. She had extremely curly brown hair that was pulled back in a messy knot, her arms crossed as she brandished a wooden spoon at Theo. "Theodore, what on earth have you done?"

"I've executed a rescue," Theo supplied without fanfare, gesturing to Daphne. "This is—" he paused, frowning. "I've no idea whatsoever who this is," he amended, announcing it, "but I like her, so she's staying for dinner."

"What?" Daphne asked, startled. "No, I couldn't possibly—"

"Eh, might as well," the girl remarked indifferently, descending a set of three steps to bring herself face to face with Daphne. "I stole an extra turnip, so, let's indulge, shall we? You can take this off," she added, gesturing up to the hood covering Daphne's head. "I'm Hermione," she added, as though this were an unimportant detail she'd thrown in as an afterthought. "I assume you're familiar with Theo."

"Only a little," Daphne said weakly. "Though he did save me from getting my fingers removed."

"Did he?" Hermione asked, turning to stare at him. " _That's_ unusual."

"Unusual?" Theo scoffed. "I don't like your implication, Granger."

"Well then you won't like my _facts_ , either, which are that you're hardly the rescuing type," Hermione returned matter-of-factly, brandishing the spoon at him again. "And you know I'm right."

"Oh, go roast a turnip," Theo sniffed affectionately, and Hermione used the spoon to whack him lightly across one cheek, promptly pivoting to return to what Daphne supposed must have been the tent equivalent of a kitchen. "Sorry," Theo offered, turning back to Daphne. "I'm her least favorite person on earth."

"I'm sure that's not true," Daphne offered kindly, and Theo shrugged.

"So, about you," he said tangentially. "Running away from something?"

Daphne hesitated. "Only temporarily," she admitted. "I, um—I'm having some trouble at home."

"Ah," Theo knowingly replied, nudging his chin to where Hermione had disappeared. "Yes, I can relate."

"I heard that!" Hermione shouted from the other room, and Theo flashed Daphne another wide grin.

"So, you two can't do magic, then?" Daphne asked, and Theo shook his head in confirmation. "But the darkness powder, and this tent," she catalogued, frowning. "If you're not a wizard, how do you have magi- _oh_ ," she realized, feeling herself flush. "You steal it, I presume."

His smile broadened.

"You're clever," Theo determined. "I enjoy it."

"You're teasing me," Daphne sighed, and he batted his lashes innocently. "I suppose I've just never met anyone who was—"

"A street rat?" Theo prompted. "Vermin? A veritable mongrel of rookery?"

"Rookery?"

"Rook," he explained, "as in to cheat, fleece, or swindle." He paused. "Also a bird known for gregariousness."

"Not quite that," Daphne admitted. "I was going to say 'free,' actually," she ventured uncertainly, feeling a quiet surge of envy. "I'm afraid I actually see your life as something of a privilege compared to mine."

Theo let a breath go by, and then—

"Spoken like someone who has plenty of food on the table," he replied, his tone steady, "but I wouldn't hold that against you."

Daphne looked down, instantly suffering a wave of shame. "I'm sorry," she murmured. "That was careless of me, and insensitive—"

He paused her, reaching out to brush her fingertips. "Perhaps we're merely from different worlds," he said slowly, looking oddly as though he wished to reassure her. "I should have given you a proper introduction."

To her surprise, she felt compelled to take his hand. "I'd like it if you showed me your world," she confessed quietly, and he smiled again, looking comforted at the thought.

"Hermione's right, you know," he said. "You can take your cloak off. I promise not to steal you," he added, "however much you might be worth."

"I'd, um, rather not," Daphne said hesitantly, self-consciously tugging it closer around her hair. "If you don't mind—"

"Dinner's ready," Hermione cut in, calling from the other room. Theo shrugged helplessly, pulling Daphne along behind him up the three intermezzo steps and into a room with a low table, gesturing to a bare spot on the floor.

"We don't usually entertain company," he explained apologetically, taking a seat beside her. "And, for the record, we do take turns with the cooking—"

"You're in luck, though, as mine's better," Hermione said flatly, dropping a couple of mismatched plates of stew onto the wooden table and then falling across from them with a weary groan. "Been awhile since I managed this much," she commented, appearing to be concealing a spare bit of pride. Theo nodded happily, ripping off a piece of crusty bread from a loaf Hermione had lain across a haggard tablecloth that Daphne suspected had been placed there for her benefit.

"Makes the day's subsequent struggle that much more worth it," Theo commented, tossing a piece of bread into his mouth and grinning at Daphne. "Not that it wasn't already, of course."

"This is delicious," Daphne remarked with surprise after raising a spoonful of food to her lips. She would have felt it quite wrong to partake in what was obviously a considerably rare meal, but they were both eyeing her so expectantly that she felt it would be worse to refuse. "You have quite a gift, Hermione."

"Thank you," Hermione replied briskly, looking pleased. " _I_ know that, of course," she added, "but Theodore here could certainly do with some reminding—"

"I took her in, you know," Theo announced loudly, nudging Daphne and then making a face at Hermione. "And does she show any gratitude whatsoever?"

"Oh, _please_ ," Hermione sighed impatiently. "You were eleven, you didn't _take me in—_ "

"We took each other in, then," Theo corrected himself, "but I showed you the art of the con, didn't I?"

"No, _you're_ simply a lunatic," Hermione replied, "and _I_ made that work to our advantage."

"So you're both orphans, then?" Daphne asked tentatively, and Theo and Hermione nodded in concert, exchanging somewhat fond glances.

"No idea who my parents are," Theo supplied, taking another bite. "Been on the street as long as I can remember."

"I, on the contrary, know perfectly well who my parents are," Hermione said, making a face. "Which is a very kind set of nobodies, unfortunately."

"Hm," Daphne said pleasantly, taking another bite; she glanced up to realize the other two were eyeing her closely, both tapping their mouths in an absurdly identical motion that must have been adapted after years of close quarters. "What?" she asked, and Theo reached out, resting a hand on her shoulder.

"So," he prompted, nodding at her. "What's your story, then?"

Ah.

"Well," Daphne said slowly, "I'm—I have a very strict father," she explained. "He's—he's making me do something I don't want to do."

"Parents," Hermione said, yawning. "Total control issues, the lot of them."

"My mother died a few years ago," Daphne continued. "And I'm going to inherit the—"

She paused, watching Theo and Hermione lean forward.

"—farm," she finished. The other two glanced skeptically at each other, clearly not buying it.

"Okay," Theo said uncertainly. "And I take it there are conditions to your inheritance?"

"Yes," Daphne admitted unhappily. "My father and his, er, _crop_ advisor are forcing me to, um—" she withered. "Well, they want me to get married," she confessed, feeling silly. "But it has to be someone who has an equally important . . . farm."

Theo, Daphne noted, fell silent at that.

"Oh," Hermione remarked, her lips settling into a frown. "Well," she ventured, processing the information over a bite of stew, "can't you just say no?"

"Unfortunately, I can't," Daphne lamented, shaking her head. "There's sort of no 'saying no' to my father under any circumstances." She glanced at Theo, waiting for a reaction for him, but she didn't get one; or, at least, not one she could determine. "In the end he's selling me off to the highest bidder, I think," she concluded, "and I'll just have to hope it's someone who isn't completely awful."

"Well, that is one thing we don't have to worry about, at least," Hermione declared, rising to her feet with her empty bowl in hand. "I mean, we do have a hundred problems, but—"

"Ninety-nine," Theo corrected, tilting his head at Daphne and smirking. "An arranged marriage isn't one."

Hermione shrugged her agreement, wandering into the kitchen; in her absence, Theo turned to Daphne, eyeing her expectantly.

"So," he said. "Want to see something?"

She nodded, and he smiled, leaping to his feet and holding his hand out for hers. "Do you trust me?"

She shook her head. "Not at all," she lied, accepting his proffered hand.

"Perfect," Theo pronounced definitively, pulling her up. "You're learning."

* * *

Theo still couldn't fully see her face, but he was already certain she was the most beautiful girl he'd ever been in the presence of. There were certain glints of prettiness every now and then, of hazel eyes and richly dark auburn hair that spilled forward onto her cheek, but there were other things, too—intangibles, really, that he didn't know how to explain. The softness of her touch, the graceful angle of her shoulders; the way she smelled like jasmine and sandalwood, like things he'd seen before in shops that even _he_ wouldn't deign to steal from, but also like summer breezes and fresh rain—like longing and comfort all at once.

Whoever she was, she was definitely beautiful, and she was without question the finest thing he'd ever held within the palms of his nimble thief's hands, her slender fingers lining his as he drew her along in the wake of a late autumn sunset.

He pulled her back in towards Hogsmeade, taking her between the darkened alleys and pulling her against his chest to keep her away from the crowds of other vagrants; he helped her up onto the roofs and then towards the highest point he could find—the castle in the distance.

"Wait," she said, squeezing his hand to pull him to an abrupt stop as she must have mapped their trajectory. "We—we can't go there."

"Why not?" Theo asked, confused. He turned to her, seeing genuine fear in her eyes as she looked at the castle spires. "We won't get caught, I promise—"

"It's not that," she said, pulling her hood closer around her face. "We just—I can't go there."

Theo turned to her, gently drawing a thumb over the line of her cheek. "Okay," he agreed, and she instantly relaxed, leaning in at his touch. "Are you—" he paused. "Do you live there?"

"No," she said stubbornly, in what was clearly a lie. "I told you, I have a farm."

He shook his head, helplessly amused. "Right," he agreed, and then settled himself onto the top of the thatched roof they'd been crossing, sitting above the village tavern and overlooking the town square. "Here, then?"

"Sure," she agreed, settling down beside him. She had an unmistakable grace about her, a care to her movements, and he shook his head again at the laughable concept that she'd ever even _seen_ a farm before in her life, much less lived on one. She leaned back, her eyes on the setting sun. "It's beautiful up here," she murmured, and Theo glanced at her, wishing with an insuppressible wonder that he could see the profile of her face.

"You know," he said slowly, "I understand why you feel like you can't say no to your father." He paused, and she turned to him, giving him a rare glance of a portion of her wide hazel eyes. "At least, I _think_ I do," he offered hastily, "but I also think you might have more to gain by finding a way to prove yourself."

He caught a grimace. "It's not that simple," she told him, reaching up to toy self-consciously with her hood.

"I'm sure it's not," Theo agreed. "But then, neither are you, right?"

He thought he might have been rewarded with a smile. "You know, it's a pity a man like you doesn't have a farm," she commented wistfully, and Theo wanted to laugh but felt instead a jolt in his chest; another tug of longing.

"I often say that myself," he agreed, and she nudged him, chuckling. "Tell me your name," he suggested, and she shook her head.

"I can't," she told him. He pouted.

"Tell me where you're from, then."

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"I saved your life."

"You saved my _hand_ —"

"Still."

"No."

"Just tell me _something_ about who you are," he begged. "Anything—"

She hesitated. "You don't understand," she protested. "I can't—"

"Why not? Nobody's listening," he pointed out, gesturing to the street of wandering villagers who hadn't the privilege of watching things above them, lacking both the time and compelling sense of wonderment. "And I wouldn't tell."

"I just can't," she said again, and Theo frowned.

"But—"

"You'd hate me," she interrupted, glancing down at her hands. "Really, Theo," she said softly, "just—" she bit her lip, toying with her fingers. "Please," she whispered tentatively. "Please don't make me—"

He leaned forward then, reaching out to cup his hand around the cheek he could only partially see and pulling her towards him, helplessly bringing her lips to his. She gasped slightly, going rigid for a moment, but then she slowly gave in, kissing him back with a careful sort of awe, full of fear and shock and wonder. Theo slid his hand back along her jaw, carefully bringing his fingers to her hair; he slipped his hand along the soft waves that fell around her shoulders and then nudged the hood back from her head, leaving her exposed for the first time.

His eyes fluttered open, desperate for a glance; he took in the sight of her, the dark richness of her hair shining like the aged mahogany of the woodworkers' shops in contrast to the ivory peerlessness of her skin, and he couldn't help admiring her, wondering if she were a painting brought to life.

A painting, in fact, that he'd _seen before_ , he suddenly registered with confusion; a painting of a girl who wore a circlet of braided gold in her hair just like hers. A delicate crown of gold, just like the one beneath his fingers—just like—

Just like _this one_ -

"Princess," he gasped, startled, yanking himself away and scrambling back on the roof. "You're—you're Princess Daphne—"

Her hazel eyes widened, her hand flying to her swollen lips and floating over the rosy petals of her cheeks. "Theo," she ventured hoarsely, "please—I told you, I'm just— _please_ —"

He stared at her, breathing hard. "You shouldn't have let me do that," he whispered, suddenly feeling wildly exposed for what he was; a shabby, inadequate street rat, and a hollow shell of a thief. "I—I thought you were wealthy, sure, and maybe a noble, but—"

"Theo," she said, blinking tears from her eyes. "I'm—I'm so sorry, but I couldn't—"

"It's the princess!" one of the guards shouted from below, pointing up at them. "Princess Daphne!"

A dozen sets of eyes swiveled to them and Daphne looked helplessly at Theo, tugging the hood back over her head. "Please get me out of here," she begged him, looking fearful, and he forced himself to nod, reaching for her hand and taking off at a run towards the castle.

* * *

He took her up to the castle walls, using a series of leaps between balconies and finishing with a climb up a lattice across the outside stone before pulling her up, setting her down lightly on the uneven floor of one of the castle's many balconies.

"There," he said stiffly, his face still unnervingly pale. "Your Highness," he added, pairing the awkward use of her title with a severely uncomfortable-looking bow that made Daphne want to scream.

"Theo," she pleaded, taking a step towards him. "Don't do this, please—"

"Do what?" he countered, forcing a false smile that made her long for his easy grin.

"Theo," she said again, letting the hood fall back as she reached for him. "Please, I—I'm sorry I lied to you," she whispered. "I know it was wrong, but if you could just try to understand—"

"Wait," he interrupted, blinking. "You think this is—about _you_?"

"Isn't it?" she asked, chewing her lip. "Are you angry?"

"No, I'm—of course I'm not angry!" he protested, furrowing his brow. "I'm just—I'm a _street rat,_ Daph- Princess," he amended quickly, gesturing to himself. "And you—you could have been in real danger, and I just—"

"Theo," she sighed, taking his face in her hands until he'd quieted, helplessly meeting her eye. "Will you please just kiss me again, and tell me you'd keep me if you could?"

He stilled slightly at that, giving her a smile—one that was real this time, albeit more sad than the others. He leaned forward, his hands reaching up to twine between her fingers, and brushed his lips softly across hers.

"I'd keep you," he murmured, and then paused, kissing her again, "if I could."

She sighed, wishing she could stay there; wishing for a way to know how to stay in his arms, to keep Tom out, to change her father's mind; to be happy without being selfish, to love her kingdom without being a slave to its traditions.

In Theo's arms, she wished for impossible things.

They heard a sound behind them and Daphne jumped, inhaling sharply in alarm. "You should probably leave," she whispered to him, and he let out a breath, nodding slowly.

"Maybe someday, Princess," he suggested softly, taking a few steps back before regretfully releasing her hand. "Give me that much?"

She nodded, knowing with an unbearable sadness that a hastily promised _maybe_ was all it could ever be. "Maybe someday," she agreed, and then she quickly tore herself away without looking back, bounding down the stairs and resolutely hoping her father was not in the mood to shout.

* * *

"Have you heard about this?" Hermione asked, holding up a piece of parchment. "Apparently there's a tournament to win your princess's hand in marriage."

"What?" Theo demanded, grabbing it from her. "Give me that—"

"You can't enter," Hermione informed him lazily. "Have to be invited."

"Maybe you lost my invitation!" Theo retorted, glaring at her. "I have to enter," he added, scanning the page. "You heard her—she doesn't want to be won like this—"

"Why would you think she even wants to hear from you?" Hermione prompted, sitting up to look at him. "She knows where to find you, you know," she reminded him, "and it's been, what? A couple of weeks?"

"A month," Theo said grimly, and Hermione smirked.

"My point exactly," she informed him, lying back down with a yawn. "I think you built it up in your head, Theodore."

"No," Theo protested, shaking his head. "No, I didn't—it was _real_ , Hermione, and she would want me there, I know it—"

"Two things, before you get ahead of yourself," Hermione interrupted. "One, your lack of title," she said primly, and Theo grimaced. "As a reminder, you're nobody."

"Thanks, I'd forgotten," Theo muttered. "And the second thing?"

"Your lack of ability," Hermione determined flatly. "You're not a wizard," she pressed, "and this is a _magical tournament._ "

"I could learn," Theo insisted, still staring at the page. "I mean really, how hard can it be?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Not hard at all, I'm sure," she sighed. "Pick it up overnight, no problem, at the same market you can find that royal title you need—"

"Pick it up," Theo echoed suddenly, setting down the parchment to stare at her. "You mean . . . _steal_ it?"

Hermione's face fell, realizing what she'd just done.

"Oh _no_ ," she groaned, and Theo's smile broadened.

* * *

"The tournament is happening, Daphne," King Viridian said blankly. "There's nothing you can do."

"But Father," Daphne protested, "I thought we _agreed—_ "

"Now, now, Princess," Tom cut in silkily, smirking at her. "Surely you can't be surprised that after a month's worth of planning, your father has chosen to proceed?"

"But we talked about this," Daphne said, throwing herself at her father's feet. "Father, you said you would give me some time to come up with an alternative," she pleaded desperately, taking his hand, "you agreed that I could have a _say—_ "

"I changed my mind," Viridian replied, blinking slowly. "The entrants will be arriving tomorrow, Daphne, and there will be no further delays."

"Father, _please_ ," Daphne protested, but as she looked at his face, she registered with a jolt that he wasn't listening—that, in fact, he likely wasn't even _hearing_ her. "You," she realized frantically, struggling to her feet to round on Tom. "You did something to him—a curse," she guessed, gasping, "an Imperius or something—it _had_ to have been you—"

"I certainly did no such thing," Tom mused, turning slyly to Viridian. "Did I, Your Majesty?"

"No," Viridian replied dully, his expression unchanging. "You did not."

Daphne gritted her teeth, more convinced than ever; she reached for her wand, aiming it hastily at Tom's chest. "This is a _crime_ , Tom, and it's treason, at that—"

Tom arched a brow, watching her impassively. "Careful, Princess," he drawled in warning, unfazed. "Or do you not have a sister to keep an eye on? A whole castle, in fact," he added, gesturing around him, "of people you're sworn to protect?"

Daphne's fingers twitched on her wand, feeling herself go pale. "Leave them out of it."

"Oh, I'd be happy to," Tom assured her, cocking his head and smiling. "Believe me, Daphne, I'd much prefer not having to expend my efforts harming people you care about—unless, of course," he added, inspecting his fingernails, "you give me a reason to."

He glanced up, smirking pointedly.

"I won't let you get away with this," Daphne said through gritted teeth, glaring furiously at Tom as her father's eyes listlessly followed her motions, from the tip of her raised wand to her target. "I'll tell everyone what you've done—"

"You can try, but I highly doubt anyone would believe your baseless accusations," Tom lamented falsely, giving her a solemn pout. "Poor Princess Daphne," he murmured. "So insecure, so paranoid." He took a step towards her and she shrank back, stumbling. "So in need of a husband's guidance," he added, chuckling as he reached out to touch her cheek.

"Why are you doing this?" Daphne demanded, dodging his hand and ducking away, circling him with her wand still raised. "Why do you even want this tournament?" she protested. "You haven't entered as a participant—"

"I have my reasons," Tom said, shrugging. "The good of the kingdom, for one thing," he reminded her, laughing again, "which seems to be more convincing a motive than ever, by the way—aren't you simply proving, Daphne, how weak you are in the face of a more powerful threat?"

She glared at him, furious that he could be so smug. "You underestimate me, Tom."

"I actually sleep very well at night knowing that I estimate you perfectly, Daphne," Tom corrected, giving her a cutting smile. "Do be careful," he warned, "that you don't underestimate _me_ , Your Highness."

Daphne glanced at her father, frowning with frustration as he stared vacantly back at her; she could see she'd lost the battle, but knew that in one way or another, Tom had done her the favor of declaring war.

"We'll see about that," Daphne muttered, lowering her wand and turning to stomp out of the room.

* * *

Hermione pulled the blindfold off the blond prince and took a step back, pulling at the ties at his wrists to test them.

"What the fuck," the prince spat, glaring between Theo and Hermione. "How did you get past my guards?"

"Quickly," Theo informed him. "And with truly remarkable dexterity."

"Who are you?" the prince demanded, frowning. "What is it you want? If this is about money, I assure you, my father will pay the ransom," he supplied, and then dropped his volume to mutter under his breath, "after he's had you both skinned alive, I'd wager—"

"This is not about money," Hermione cut in briskly. "Though we thank you exceedingly for the offer."

"What is it, then?" the prince demanded. "Do you have any idea who I am?"

"Well, no," Theo admitted. "But we know you're visiting to participate in the wizarding tournament."

"The tournament," the prince echoed, frowning. "Are you talking about the Daphne Games?"

"Is that what they're calling it?" Hermione asked, making a face. "Her father really doesn't have much tact, does he?"

"What does this have to do with Princess Daphne?" the prince pressed irritably, pulling at his ties. "I don't know her. I've met her—I don't know, _twice_ , maybe," he grumbled. "My father told me I had to compete, so—"

"Here's the deal," Theo interrupted, crouching to meet the prince's eye. "I want to take your place in the tournament."

"What?" the prince asked, his face contorted in confusion. "But— _why_?"

"Well, there's more," Hermione muttered, and turned to Theo. "You should probably set out all your demands now, don't you think?"

"Are you telling me how to run this abduction now?" Theo countered, throwing his hands in the air. "I thought you said you wanted no part of this operation!"

"I'm just _saying_ —"

"Excuse me," the prince cut in snottily, glaring between them. "Would someone please tell me what the fuck is going on?"

"I want you to let me impersonate you for the tournament," Theo said, and at Hermione's prodding, he rolled his eyes. " _And_ I also want you to teach me how to win it."

The prince blinked vacantly at him. "You're joking."

"No, sadly, he isn't," Hermione said. "And believe me, I tried to point out how stupid this was, but he really isn't a particularly skilled listener."

"I'm a good learner, though," Theo insisted. "And I've seen duels. How hard can they be?"

The prince's eyes widened. "Pretty fucking _hard,_ " he suddenly shouted, looking infuriated as he renewed his struggled against his restraints. "How do you even know I'm good enough to help you win?"

"You sort of have a look to you," Theo said, waving a hand over him. "Sort of an 'if I don't win, I'll lose my shit' kind of an aura—"

"And we heard the villagers talking about you," Hermione continued. "They say you've never lost a duel."

"Well, I haven't," the prince sniffed obnoxiously, "but that doesn't mean I can teach _you_ how to win."

"Say for purposes of experimentation that you can," Theo offered brightly. "Will you?"

"Or what?" the prince countered, glowering at him. "You'll kill me?"

"Actually, I'll keep you right in that chair and force you to listen to _this_ one prattle on about nothing," Hermione said, gesturing roughly in reference to Theo. "A fate worse than death, I assure you."

The prince stared at them, blinking slowly.

"Listen," he announced pompously. "I'm Draco Malfoy, crown prince of—"

"Don't care," Theo cut in, and the prince—Draco—growled in irritation.

"I'm trying to tell you that I've been _instructed_ to compete in this tournament, but that _I_ don't really care for the thought of the marriage," Draco snapped. "It's bad diplomacy not to accept the invitation," he explained, "but I could certainly do without the betrothal."

"Why?" Hermione asked, making a face. "Needing to sow your wild oats, are you?"

"No," Draco retorted. "I'd just rather _know_ my wife before I marry her. Is that a crime?"

"No, _this_ is a crime," Hermione corrected him, gesturing to where he was tied to the chair.

"I'm aware of that!" Draco shouted, glaring at her.

Theo leaned towards Hermione. "What do you think?" he asked her. "Should we cut him loose?"

"Yes, you should fucking cut me loose," Draco said impatiently. "I just agreed to help you, didn't I?"

"We're having a private conversation," Hermione told him. "Please don't interrupt."

"Oh for _fuck's sake—_ "

"I suppose we could," Hermione said, turning back to Theo. "If you think we can trust him."

"Well, he'll need his hands if he's going to teach me to duel," Theo said pointedly, and she nodded, making a face. "So perhaps it's a necessity of sorts."

"Look, I'm bored, okay?" Draco said loudly, glancing between them. "This sounds fun, I guess, or—I don't know. More fun than having to marry some stuffy princess, at least—"

"Hey," Theo snapped, brandishing a finger at him. "Watch it."

"What are your names?" the prince asked, apparently sampling a different tactic. Theo and Hermione exchanged glances.

"Felix," said Theo.

"Wynona," Hermione supplied.

The prince scowled. "Those are not your names."

"To be honest, I really don't understand Wynona," Hermione admitted, and Theo shook his head at her.

"I keep telling you, she just _is_ ," he insisted, "and as for you—" He turned back to the prince. "What does it matter what our names are?"

"I'm simply trying to make sense of this," Draco retorted, sulking. "Let me guess," he added, jabbing his chin at Theo. " _You_ want to be king?"

"Well, it wouldn't be the worst thing, but no," Theo corrected. "Actually, I'm in love with the princess."

"Love is a strong word," Hermione muttered, and Theo turned to her.

"I'M IN LOVE WITH THE PRINCESS," he repeated emphatically, and she made a face, shrugging him away.

"Oh," Draco said, blinking. "So, then you two aren't—"

"Us?" Hermione asked, gagging. "No. I've known him since I was eleven years old," she explained, "and he's the worst person I've ever met."

"That's true," Theo agreed.

"You're the second worst," Hermione said to Draco, and he leaned back, offended.

"I beg your pard- "

"So you're in, then," Theo said, eyeing him. "You'll help me win the tournament so I can prove I'm worthy of Daphne?"

Draco hesitated a moment, thinking, and then glanced at Hermione. "You'll make sure he doesn't do anything stupid?"

"Excuse me?" Theo interrupted. "Do you know how many people _she's_ set on fire? One," he answered himself, "but still, that should be plent- "

"Yeah, I'll be here," Hermione grunted in agreement, though Theo could tell she was secretly pleased at her inclusion. "Though, let's be clear, I can't make any promises about his sanity—"

"Well, deal," Draco said resignedly, looking back at Theo. "Let's make you a prince, then, shall we?"

* * *

"Perhaps if we simply told someone that Tom has Father under the Imperius curse," Astoria suggested, slowly pacing Daphne's bedroom. "If we had him arrested—"

"He's too powerful for that," Daphne grumbled. "We'd have to catch him by surprise—and as much as I hate to say it, I don't think we can."

Astoria threw her head back, sighing. "But if we just _told_ people what he was up to—"

"He'd just put _us_ under a curse," Daphne reminded her. "I think the best thing we can do is let him believe that we're obeying his orders." She flopped back on her bed, groaning. "And as for this idiotic tournament—"

"Maybe it's not such a bad thing," Astoria ventured gently. "Maybe whoever wins will help us get rid of him?"

"I don't _need_ help," Daphne protested stubbornly. "I _need_ our allies to believe I can rule on my own, that I'm powerful enough to—"

She paused, sitting up. "I need to prove to them that I don't need a husband," she realized, gasping. _I think you might have more to gain by finding a way to prove yourself_ , she heard Theo murmur in her mind, and found that despite her doubt, he'd been right. "If I can prove that, then they'd _have_ to listen to me."

"But the tournament—"

"Exactly!" Daphne exclaimed, rising to grip her sister's hands. "Don't you see? The tournament is exactly how I'll prove it!"

Astoria frowned. "But how—"

"I'll enter the tournament to win my own hand," Daphne explained, leaning forward to grasp her sister's face between her fingers. "It's so _obvious—_ I'll just add a fake name to the list of competitors. They're all supposed to wear masks, anyway—Tom won't know any better, and Father obviously won't notice—"

"That's all well and good if you _win_ , Daph, but what if you don't?" Astoria cut in worriedly. "What if you get hurt, or you get eliminated?"

Daphne paused, considering it, and then gathered her nerve. "I'll win," Daphne said flatly. "I'll win because I have to." She glanced up, meeting her sister's dark brown eyes. "Will you help me?" she asked desperately. "I can't do it without you."

Astoria sighed, teetering on the precipice of agreement. "You'll need robes," she warned. "And a cover, and a code name—"

For a moment Daphne thought, inexplicably, of Theo—wondered where he was for a moment, as she often did—and felt a rush of warmth; of certainty that he'd approve of her plan, even if Astoria didn't.

"What?" Astoria asked, catching the expression on her sister's face and nudging her. "What will you be?"

Daphne thought of Theo's face, of his easy grin, and borrowed his confidence.

"Rook," she said simply, and Astoria fell back with a sigh, settling beside her on the bed.

"Rook it is, then," she agreed, offering Daphne a tentative smile.

* * *

"So," Draco said, rubbing his temple. "Last minute warnings—"

"When in doubt, cast a _Protego,_ " Theo muttered. "I've got it. Plus I've got all night to practice—"

"No, you decidedly do _not_ ," Draco corrected, scoffing. "I have to attend the tournament ball this evening, and I'll be expected to have my wand."

"Ball?" Hermione echoed, making a face. "How horrifyingly archaic."

"Agreed," Draco said. "Want to go?"

Hermione leaned back, alarmed. "What?"

Draco shrugged. "Both of you," he clarified, nodding to Theo. "Scope out the competition. That's how these things go, really; celebration, then subsequent annihilation." He smirked, and Theo felt apprehensively queasy. "You'd have to pose as my guests, obviously—"

"Wait, a ball?" Theo interrupted, finally registering the topic at hand. "For Daphne?"

"Yes," Draco said. "There's three nights of them."

"She'll be there?" Theo asked numbly. "Daphne?"

"Yes," Draco sighed, "but—"

"Done," Theo pronounced, leaping to his feet. "We're in."

"You probably can't actually talk to her," Draco warned, but Theo shrugged.

"I disagree," he sniffed. "We're in."

Hermione made a sputtered sound of protest. " _I'm_ not in," she argued. "If you think I own a gown, for one thing—"

"Easily taken care of," Draco determined briskly, gesturing for Theo to return his wand and then holding it above Hermione's head, hesitating for a moment. "What color?" he asked, and she blanched.

"Red," she said. "No, blue—no, wait, purple—"

"Periwinkle it is," Draco ruled, transfiguring her old stained shift into an elaborate floaty gown, the material clinging intimately to curves that Theo had not previously realized Hermione possessed. "That looks nice," Draco said, impressed. "You look—"

"Watch it," Hermione warned, narrowing her eyes, and Theo grinned.

"She loves compliments," he warned Draco. " _Adores_ them. Handles them with impeccable grace, and—"

"Shut up," Hermione snapped without hesitation, but it fell a little flat, preoccupied as she was with the finery she wore for the first time in her life. "Do we know who else is competing in the tournament?"

"No," Draco said, shaking his head. "Looks like some kind of failsafe measure to be certain that nobody wins by virtue of having the most money, or being the best looking." He nudged Hermione, smirking. "Or I'd win by default, obviously—"

"So how are the competitors identified, then?" Hermione asked loudly, ignoring him to pick at an invisible fleck of dust.

"We're ourselves during the balls, but we compete with code names," Draco supplied. "I'm"—he paused—" _you're,_ I mean," he amended, pointing at Theo, "Eagle."

"And the others?" Theo prompted, and Draco frowned, thinking.

"Phoenix, Griffin, Hawk, Rook, Vulture—"

"Wait—go back to Rook," Theo interrupted, turning to Hermione. "Rook?" he asked her, blinking. "Is it just me, or—"

Hermione pursed her lips. "It's just you," she said reflexively, but he doubted she was listening; he caught her eyeing her reflection in the mirror, helplessly running her hand across the silk of her bodice and fighting a faintly girlish smile.

* * *

"Prince Draco," Daphne said politely, offering him a bow as he brushed his lips across her knuckles. "Lovely to see you again."

"I imagine it is," Draco agreed, smirking at her. "Likewise, a pleasure."

 _Ugh,_ she thought, trying not to make a face. She shifted uncomfortably; the dark green silk of her dress did little to aid the process of breathing, and the circlet of gold on her head seemed to weigh more heavily than usual, woven through the complicated twist of her hair.

"Was the journey difficult?" she asked, forcing herself to make conversation.

"A bit," Draco said indifferently, waving a hand. "Was kidnapped for a bit," he added facetiously, "but it was nothing I couldn't recover from."

"Hilarious," Daphne said grumpily, catching something from the corner of her eye. She turned towards it, frowning, and thought she caught a hint of something familiar; a glimpse of a quick, frantic movement, a narrow frame and a dark head of hair. She took a step against her will, drawn after him—or what she thought had been him—but found that he had disappeared.

"Did you see that?" she asked, feeling her breath quicken. "Was there someone—"

"Hm?" Draco asked, and turned. Daphne caught a flash of what looked like periwinkle chiffon and a flash of chestnut curls and paused again— _was that_ —?

"You must be seeing things," Draco said quickly, stepping in front of where she was still staring, the figures disappearing around the corner like phantoms from her memory. "Can I escort you for a drink, Princess?"

Daphne felt her hope deflate, fizzling to nothing in her stomach. "Oh," she murmured, still staring at where she thought she'd seen Theo. "Sure," she sighed, taking Draco's arm and forcing herself to realize she'd only imagined it.

* * *

"You kidnapped a prince," Theo heard Draco drawl behind him, throwing an arm over his shoulder. "A rather talented one, I might add— _and_ you learned some of the most competitive dueling techniques in a matter of days."

Theo said nothing, watching Daphne smile politely at a Scandinavian count.

"All for this girl," Draco mused. "And _now_ ," he continued, "you see her again, and yet—"

"She's not a girl," Theo cut in, shaking his head. "She's a princess." He glanced down at his hands. "She's a princess, and I'm just—I'm—"

"The only man in this room who really loves her, I suspect," Draco remarked, taking an indulgent sip from his wine glass. "Are you not planning to say hello? I was certain you'd have foolishly tried by now."

"I couldn't," Theo confessed, forcing a swallow. "Not like this. Not when she knows I'm only—" he grimaced, turning to Draco. "What if she doesn't want me?" he asked desperately, permitting a rare show of vulnerability that he was certain would be met with mockery.

Draco, to his surprise, considered the statement for a moment before turning, eyeing Hermione across the room; she awkwardly curtsied to a noble, her gaze traveling with panic back to where Draco and Theo were standing, and Draco chuckled, raising his glass.

"Then you'll have to want her enough for the both of you, I expect," Draco murmured, toasting Hermione from afar.

* * *

Daphne, dressed as Rook in a mask and hood that covered her hair, faced off against her first opponent, raising her wand from the opposite end of the platform. She glanced over at Astoria—who had unhappily agreed to assume her sister's form via Polyjuice Potion and was now quietly fidgeting in her seat between Tom and their father—and nodded once, firmly.

 _I can do this,_ Daphne told herself, passing the message along to her sister from behind her mask. Her hair was pulled back tightly and her chest bound, but she found that even with those adjustments the mobility from her dueling robes was far greater than it had been in the silk dress the night prior.

She could only hope she wouldn't suffer any false projections of Theo today. She suspected she wouldn't be much aided by the distraction.

Her opponent, Vulture—who couldn't fully hide his prominent brow—took a bow, angling his wand at her; he was considerably taller than she was, and Daphne wondered whether she should have procured herself some kind of magical lifts.

Her father rose, gesturing to them. "Challengers ready?" he prompted, and Daphne and Vulture both bowed. "You will disarm only," he warned, and they nodded. "On my wand," King Viridian announced, raising it. "One—two—three—"

 _Descendo,_ Daphne commanded silently, aiming her wand at the ground and watching it splinter and cave between them, prompting Vulture to slide down to the base of the now-parabolic platform. If she were going to make it through all the rounds of this tournament without getting caught, she had no time to waste; she abandoned her position and ran, hoping to catch Vulture before he was able to regain his footing.

No such luck; he was quicker than she had given him credit for. He aimed his wand at her oncoming form and threw an expelling curse in her direction, forcing her to leap aside as he levitated himself back onto the platform.

" _Deprimo_ ," Vulture shouted, blasting a hole between them. Daphne, coughing up the dust of the splintered platform, quickly saw the opportunity provided by the blast and disillusioned herself, leaping over it and landing, with some unsteadiness, on the upper edge of his side of the platform. Vulture stared into the dust, aiming another blasting curse where she'd been, and Daphne smiled to herself, knowing she had him.

 _Expelliarmus_ , she commanded silently, careful to not let her voice be heard; Vulture's wand promptly spiraled out of his hold, landing in her outstretched hand. She quickly dispelled her disillusionment charm and raised Vulture's wand in the air, turning to smugly address her father.

"Rook is the winner," King Viridian announced, rising to his feet. On his right, Astoria leapt up in her seat, showering Daphne with applause and then, promptly remembering whose face she'd temporarily borrowed, dropping back with an amended grace.

Beside the king, Tom's eyes narrowed. Daphne dropped into a bow, hiding an insuppressible smile.

* * *

Theo faced off against Phoenix, panting unsteadily as he ducked the loud reductor curse from his first opponent.

 _Dueling is an art form,_ Draco had explained, drilling rhythm into Theo's movements. _A spell for a spell, like a dance -_

Theo dodged quickly, wincing as he felt his opponent's curse singe the side of his robe. He was breathing hard, exhausted and thoroughly out of his element, and was only now realizing that Draco had been right. Magic wasn't hard, that much was true; but dueling—at least the way Draco did it—was certainly no easy feat.

Theo threw a desperate disarming spell at Phoenix, hoping to get it over with; the other man dissipated the spell in one motion, shaking his head and raising his wand as he sensed Theo's weakness.

It had become clear that Theo was going to lose.

Theo was going to _lose._

 _You kidnapped a prince_ , he heard Draco say, _and you learned some of the most competitive dueling techniques in a matter of days, all for this girl -_

 _All for nothing_ , Theo thought grimly, feeling endlessly foolish as he eyed Daphne's form through his mask as she hovered above him, dangling like the promise he could never reach. _All of this, and I couldn't even look her in the eye -_

Phoenix aimed another reductor curse and Theo rolled out of the way, narrowly missing it. _Come on,_ he begged himself, _prove yourself, prove you're good enough, prove you're more than_ —

He looked up, catching Hermione's face in the crowd. She was staring at him, wide-eyed with worry, her knuckles white as she gripped the arm of the hooded form of Draco beside her. "Come on, Felix," she yelled wildly, and Theo felt his spirits surge inexplicably at that, something painfully obvious lodging itself in his brain.

He'd been going about this like Draco would. But he wasn't Draco at all, was he?

"Ah Wynona," he muttered to himself, grinning as he threw an arm up from the ground to release a thread of bright red sparks into the sky. "My violent delight," he mused, turning the sparks into flame and whipping the strand of it back, forming a wave of fire that circled upwards, drawing his opponent's attention above. "My savage cherub, my passionless darling, whom I treasure with relentless misery—"

"It doesn't make _sense_ ," Hermione shouted, but Theo smiled, staggering to his feet.

He trotted his way hastily across the stage, aiming an explosion at the distracted Phoenix's foot and watching the other man's head drop in alarm, blindly leaping out of the way. As Phoenix's arm flew out, flailing, Theo snatched the wand from his outstretched hand, raising it in the air with a yelp as Phoenix collided with the platform below, hissing in pain from the impact to his shoulder.

"Got it," Theo announced, watching Draco bury his face in his hands as the onlookers shook their heads, stunned.

"That's cheating," Phoenix spat from beneath him, but Theo shrugged.

"The rules only said to disarm, didn't they?" he prompted. "No rules on _how_."

"I—" Phoenix attempted, his brow furrowed beneath his mask. "But—you didn't—"

They both looked up, waiting for an official ruling; King Viridian paused for a moment, staring blankly at them, and then stood.

"Eagle wins the duel," he announced, and Theo raised his chin victoriously, preparing to dismount the stage.

"Hey," Phoenix ground out bitterly, holding out a hand as Theo tried to stride past him. "My wand?"

"You have to give it back," Theo heard Draco grunt incoherently, coughing the command into his palm. Theo sighed, indulging him.

"Here," he said, carelessly tossing it back to Phoenix and rejoining his two companions with a grin.

"Did you have fun?" Draco prompted irritably, glaring at him from beneath the cloak. "Was ruining my reputation worth the trouble?"

"Yes," Theo replied happily, "it was."

Distraction, and then a quick-fingered victory.

It was Theo's very favorite game.

* * *

Daphne rubbed at her shoulder beneath the fabric of her navy gown, making a face. She'd taken a hard fall during her second duel, and one that had nearly cost her the third—but she'd done it, and she was in the finals.

It had been an immensely successful day, though she had no idea how she was going to be expected to make it through another insufferable ball. One of the more self-aggrandizing nobles—a man Daphne suspected she may have thoroughly bested at some point earlier that day—had yet to stop talking her ear off, and she wasn't feeling particularly thrilled with the way Tom was carrying on looking entirely too pleased, as though a weight were soon to be lifted.

She reached for a wine glass, watching Draco come into view. He had a familiar-looking brunette on his arm; Daphne frowned, trying to place her, before realizing that Draco did not look quite as haggard as the other people in the room. Perhaps _he_ was the elusive Eagle, then, whom she was supposed to face tomorrow.

She tried to imagine being forced to marry Draco and had to fight not to make a face; though, he _did_ remind her of Theo, a bit. Or, she corrected herself with a sigh, perhaps she was just seeing Theo everywhere she looked.

"Is it the wine that you find upsetting, Princess?" she heard in her ear. "I agree. Terrible year."

"Theo," she gasped in disbelief, turning, and he quickly pulled her into the shadows, his green eyes glinting as they settled on her face. "How did you—"

"No time," he interrupted, holding a finger to his lips in warning. "Do you trust me?"

"Not at all," she whispered, smiling, and he took her hand, pulling her along behind him until they came to an empty corridor, darting up one of the staircases to emerge onto a castle balcony.

"You've abducted me again," she panted when they arrived, trying to catch her breath and laughing. "What's with your affinity for high places?"

"A more worthy fall," he murmured in response, tucking a finger under her chin and smiling at her. "Are you enjoying the party?"

"Obviously not," Daphne said, shaking her head. "I've just escaped it, haven't I?" She rubbed at her shoulder absentmindedly, wincing, and Theo frowned.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, tracing the curve of her shoulder beneath his fingers. "Did I—"

"No, no, just—a long day, that's all," Daphne supplied, smiling weakly. "Rigorous activity, you know, watching people try to win me for a pet, or a decorative house plant."

"Ah, I would imagine so," Theo returned, giving her a teasing nod. "These farm owners, they must be exhausting—"

She rolled her eyes, taking a step towards him and resting her hands on his waist. "I missed you," Daphne sighed. "These nobles and princes—" she made a face. "They're horribly arrogant, and not a single one of them is capable of seeing me as anything other than property. To think one of them could be my future husband—" she shuddered, looking helplessly up at him.

"The princess said, in the arms of her thief," Theo joked, pulling her in closer. "If only they knew that the way to your heart was to be a penniless rogue," he murmured regretfully in her ear, his fingers following the line of her spine.

"Yes, a scoundrel," Daphne agreed, feeling light-headed as his hand crept up to the back of her neck, drawing her towards him. "The more deplorable the better."

He gave a little lamenting sigh of agreement, his nose gliding along the side of hers. "I hadn't heard from you," he commented, and she grimaced, nodding.

"I have some troubles," she admitted. "Some things that kept me away."

Theo leaned closer, brushing his lips against hers. "Tell me, Princess," he said quietly, and she fought a shiver, "were you free to choose, who would you have?"

She hesitated, battling the truth from escaping her tongue. "I'm not free," she reminded him, reaching up to run her fingers through his hair, "so it hardly seems worth mentioning."

"But if you were," Theo protested, and Daphne shook her head, taking his face between her hands.

"Please don't make me live a fantasy," she whispered. "I worry I'd never come back."

He seemed to understand that. He nodded somewhat sadly, and kissed her again; gentler this time, as if he also understood how close she was to breaking.

"What do you think of the last two competitors?" he asked, and she looked up at him, surprised.

"Have you been watching the tournament?"

Theo shrugged. "Something like that," he permitted, and cocked his head, waiting. "So," he said slowly, "what do you think of Rook and Eagle?"

She paused, thinking of whether she should tell him the truth; but then, deciding she couldn't chance anything, she merely shook her head, sighing.

"I think the right person will win," she said, and Theo nodded slowly, his hands tightening on her waist.

"Theo," she ventured, pulling back to look at him. "Would you keep me if you could?"

His smile flickered briefly. "I'd steal you if I could," he told her. "I've found recently that I don't care for giving things back."

She sighed. "But I do have to go back, don't I?"

His smile waned. "Maybe someday?" he asked her.

"Maybe someday," she whispered, resting her cheek against his shoulder.

* * *

The last round of the dueling tournament was not a duel at all; rather, it was a race through a labyrinthine hedge maze, and one that had been magically grown the night before.

"Why not a duel?" Theo had demanded, feeling irritable. "I'd just gotten the hang of them."

"Frankly, I'm relieved," Draco sighed. "I can finally stop worrying you'll simply steal all the wands and run."

"This is not about thievery or deceit," Theo reminded him, to which Hermione arched a brow.

"It isn't?" she drawled, and he made a face.

"Only circumstantially!" he snapped.

Theo—who had scarcely been able to breathe after seeing Daphne, much less capable of sleeping an entire night—was simultaneously exhausted and fidgety, shifting in place until King Viridian had raised his wand, signaling for them to start.

Theo took off at a run, considering Draco's advice about blowing a fiery hole through the whole thing—"no," Draco had advised flatly, "do not do that"—before taking a sharp right turn, intent on reaching the cup.

If he'd gotten anything worth noting from his encounter with Daphne the night before, it had been that he needed more than ever to prove himself. She hadn't wanted to say it, but he knew that if things were different—if he could just prove he was good enough, even without a title -

He shook himself of his inadequacies, surprised at the lack of obstacles; he had expected to fight something, he thought as he turned the corner, or at least have to -

"Oh for fuck's sake," he said, careening to a stop as he encountered a frozen lake, nearly slipping on the ice. "What the hell happened to the maze?" he shouted, but to his dismay, the only response was his echo. He sighed, jogging back a few steps and then taking off at a run, using the levitation spell Draco had taught him for dueling to carry himself to the opposite end, landing in a forest clearing.

"Well," he sighed to himself, heading towards a narrow footpath that formed a bridge over a stream. "At least that wasn't too—"

He was cut off as the bridge promptly lifted itself from the ground, preventing his entry. Theo frowned, raising a foot to take a step, but then the bridge itself seemed to scoot backwards, dodging him.

"Okay, what's this?" Theo demanded, glaring at it. "How am I supposed to—"

He paused as a large cobra slithered out, stretching itself across the base of the bridge's entry.

"Is this your bridge?" Theo asked.

The cobra nodded.

"Does it help if I tell you I'm actually in love with the princess?" he asked, and the snake shook its head. "Why doesn't that help anyone?" Theo demanded at a growl, but at the snake's apparent lack of empathy, he sighed. "What is it I have to do?" he pressed, and the snake lazily aimed its tail at a bronze placard on the right side of the bridge.

Theo bent down, reading its contents aloud. "What walks on four legs in the morning, two legs in the afternoon, and three in the even- oh, for fuck's sake," he said again, glaring at the snake. " _This_ riddle? Really?"

The snake appeared to shrug.

"It's man," Theo said. " _A_ man, specifically, though applicable to all mankind—"

The snake slithered away, making a motion that appeared to say 'just go, you wizarding shit,' and Theo sprinted to the top, glancing out over the stream.

"There," he shouted to nobody in particular, feeling giddy at the sight as he located the trophy at the center of the maze. "I fou- "

He cut himself off as he realized that Rook was staring at the same point in what appeared to be a mirror image of his own bridge. Theo wasted no time in taking off running, following the path as it led to the cup in the center of the maze.

"Hey," something that appeared to be a magical creature with mismatched parts interrupted lazily, holding out something that should have been a hand. "You're supposed to—"

"I DON'T HAVE TIME," Theo yelled, shoving it out of the way and then, for good measure, tossing a spell over his shoulder to create a barrier of separation, almost certainly burning down part of the maze.

"Hey," he yelled to Rook, seeing that his opponent was going to beat him by half a foot and aiming another poorly controlled curse—blasting, he guessed, though he wasn't entirely paying attention anymore—and watching the other man duck out of the way, unconsciously clutching his shoulder. "I need to—"

Theo stopped, catching a familiar motion in the way Rook carried his shoulder. _Rook,_ he thought again, blinking, suddenly noticing things he'd missed before; the breadth of her shoulders, the angle of her stance, the grace of her movements—

"Wait," he called after Rook, chasing him— _her—_ and tearing off his mask. "Wait, _Daphne_ —"

She reached for the trophy, startled, retracting her hand as she saw him just in time for him to reach her. "Just," he panted, choking, "just let me explain—"

She tore off her mask with one hand, shaking her head. "I need to do this, Theo," she said flatly, and he nodded.

"Yes, I know," he began, taking her arm just as she took hold of the tournament cup. "But—"

There was a jolt, then, a pull, and some suction; and then, before Theo realized what was happening, he had suddenly hit the ground.

"Daphne," he croaked, coughing once as he struggled to sit up. "Where are w- "

She clapped a hand over his mouth, motioning for him to be quiet; Theo looked around, eyeing the graveyard and wondering when it would be appropriate to mention that _this had been a rather morbid twist, all things considered_ —

"Well," a voice said, interrupting his thoughts. "What have we here?"

Daphne turned to Theo, her eyes wide. _Hide,_ she mouthed, and he scrambled to duck behind a tombstone, waiting to see who would step out from the other side as Daphne's wand was silently ripped from her hand.

* * *

When he stepped out from the other side of the tombstone, Daphne couldn't help feeling endlessly stupid.

"You," Daphne spat, watching him catch her wand in his free hand. "I should have _known—_ "

He looked surprised to see her for a moment, but quickly recovered.

"I suppose I should have known myself," Tom remarked lazily, arching a brow as his gaze flicked between her face and the discarded mask in her hand. "You did seem more palatable than usual, considering."

"What exactly was your plan?" Daphne demanded, eyeing the cauldron between them. "If you'd killed the winner of the tournament, then—"

"You thought I planned to _kill_ them? No," Tom said, scoffing, and then paused. "Well, yes," he amended, "but only after I'd used them first. You see, I'm a far greater opponent than you've even predicted, Daphne," he told her slyly. "I've been trapped in this worthless form—a laughable mimicry of what I once was, truly—but the winner of this tournament was going to provide me what I need to return to my true self." He tapped a finger against his mouth, looking endlessly pleased with himself. "With that final ingredient, I'd finally have the means to have the throne regardless of you or your father."

"But you have me instead," Daphne reminded bitterly. "So—"

Tom shrugged. "So nothing," he said. "All I need is the blood of my enemy, and you, as it turns out," he said, levitating her in the air and compelling her towards him, "are most _certainly_ my enemy. Far more than anyone who might have simply been your betrothed," he added. "So I thank you sincerely for that."

"You can't do this," Daphne said furiously, struggling from her position mid-air. "It's one thing to make a foreign dignitary disappear, but you can't explain away _my_ death—"

"Oh, but I won't have to, will I?" Tom prompted, smiling at her. "I assume Astoria has been in Polyjuice form while you've been competing in the duel, hasn't she?" Daphne struggled not to respond, but it was clear that Tom knew. "I'm sure I could compel her to carry on the ruse."

"She wouldn't," Daphne snarled.

"I said _compel her_ , not ask nicely," Tom retorted, snapping at her before suddenly softening again. "I take it you didn't tell anyone else about your little plan, did you?" he mused, drawing her close enough to tuck a finger under her chin. "Sad, then, that there won't be anyone to disagree with my story."

"Don't do this, Tom," Daphne protested, trying to pull away from his touch. "You won't get away with it—"

"Ah, but I will," he countered, shaking his head as he set her down on the ground. "I will, because I have before. Aren't you curious, Daphne, who I am?" he asked, prowling a circle around her with his wand raised. "Who I _was_ , I should say?"

His eyes flashed into something mean—something slanted and vicious and red—and she took a breath, realizing.

"You're Lord Voldemort," she gasped, and he smiled, offering her a bow.

"Yes, Princess Daphne," he said. "And it's about time you give me back my throne, don't you think?"

"Actually," Daphne heard Theo say behind her, his wand pointed at Tom's head. "I think it looks better on her."

* * *

The man who had called himself Lord Voldemort blinked, releasing Daphne to take a few steps towards Theo.

"Who are you?" he demanded incredulously, cocking his head in confusion. "You're not a prince, or a noble—"

"No, I'm not," Theo agreed, shrugging. "I find the titles burdensome."

Lord Voldemort paused, his face stiffening, before abruptly beginning to laugh, his wand rising to level with Theo's chest. "You're just a little street rat, aren't you?" he murmured, tutting softly. "You think you're going to defeat me, boy?"

"Well, I'm in love with the princess," Theo said, growing tired of having to repeat himself. "And I sort of already made a deal with myself that I'd win her hand, so—"

"You?" Lord Voldemort echoed dubiously. "You think a mask and a few flashy spells is enough to make yourself a prince?"

"I don't know," Theo countered. "Did you really think the 'blood of your enemy' was enough to make you a king?"

Behind Lord Voldemort, Theo watched Daphne slowly begin to move, bending to pick something up from the ground. _Keep going,_ she mouthed frantically, and he forced himself to focus on Lord Voldemort, who looked more than a little infuriated by his taunts.

"I will kill you where you stand, street rat," Lord Voldemort hissed, prompting the roots of the cemetery's trees to bind themselves around Theo's ankles, holding him in place. "You think there's anything you can do to me?"

Daphne's fingers closed on a rock and she inched her way back to a standing position, carefully taking a step towards Lord Voldemort as Theo frantically tried to conjure a distraction.

"See, the thing is," Theo began, and then—nearly too late—felt an idea emerge; a distraction. His specialty. He turned to Lord Voldemort and smiled, beckoning to him. "Felix's deal isn't that Wynona is _dead_ ," Theo orated grandly. "It's more an issue of possession."

Lord Voldemort blinked.

"What?" he demanded. "Are you mad?"

"See, Wynona is possessed by evil spirits," Theo continued, "of which, frankly, I think Felix is one. It's a difficult relationship," he added. "Very complex. Many twists. Hermione doesn't quite understand it either—"

"Stop talking," Lord Voldemort interrupted furiously. "Who are these people?"

"Well, the irony of it is that Felix is himself somewhat of a demon," Theo pressed on, raising his volume. "A ghost, really. Yes, that's it," he concluded. "Felix is a ghost, right? And Wynona is alive, which you wouldn't expect—but, again, entirely possessed, as I mentioned, by evil spirits—"

"Shut up," Lord Voldemort roared, raising his wand. "Shut up, shut up, _shut up—_ "

Daphne raised the rock in her right hand, holding it aloft in the same moment that Lord Voldemort slashed his wand through the air, aiming for Theo's chest; Theo forced himself to rocket backwards, falling with his feet still rooted to the ground to avoid the blow of Lord Voldemort's curse. He permitted himself one humiliating yelp of pain as he twisted around, just catching the sound of a dull thud before witnessing a collapse across from him—then the dust cleared and Daphne stood, triumphant, above the other wizard's unconscious form, her hair floating forward over her shoulders.

A moment passed in silence as Daphne and Theo slowly looked up to lock eyes, both trying to process the scene before them.

"So," Daphne said eventually, breathing heavily as she brushed a loose strand of hair out of her eyes. "That's the deal with Wynona, huh?"

Theo stared at her. "Yeah," he croaked. "It's, um—pretty straightforward."

Daphne withdrew her wand from the heap that was Lord Voldemort's unmoving body, putting him in a full body-bind and then moving to release Theo from his hold, pausing to kneel at his feet.

"Hey," she said, watching him slowly struggle to sit up. "You know that the reason I didn't come see you isn't at all because you're not a prince, right?"

"Oh, totally," Theo lied weakly, forcing a smile. "I presume it was—"

"The evil royal advisor and Dark Lord in disguise who put my father under a curse?" she prompted, gesturing behind her. "Yeah. That was the more pressing issue." She stood, reaching a hand down to help him up. "I'd choose you, you know, if I could," she remarked. "If you want to think about it for when we go back. To hell with my father," she added, shrugging. "I just won a tournament and knocked out a bad guy with a rock. I think I've earned the right to marry whoever I want."

"Well, slow down, there, Princess," Theo murmured jokingly, letting her pull him to his feet. "I think being a royal might ruin my reputation," he pointed out, "but, I suppose for you, I'm willing to consider it."

Daphne smiled radiantly, tucking her hand in his. "Maybe someday?" she asked brightly.

Theo grinned. "Maybe someday," he agreed.

* * *

"It's a shame this tournament was such a waste," Daphne murmured, sipping her wine as she surveyed the dancers at the final ball, nodding genially to some passing royals.

"Eh," Theo said, shrugging. "Not a total waste. A good day for thieving orphans," he determined, raising his glass to where Hermione was dancing with Draco and then turning to grin at Daphne. "And for warrior princesses like you."

"My father does seem grateful to have his brain back," Daphne said, glancing at where King Viridian was sitting beside Astoria, looking shaken but otherwise content. "I think he's going to gloss over the whole identity theft thing we both pulled."

"Think I'll have his approval?" Theo asked drily, and Daphne shook her head.

"Certainly not," she snorted, "but I do." She took a sip of wine, smiling. "And really, that's all I wanted."

"Really," Theo remarked, turning to her. "That's all you wanted?"

She lifted her hand, gesturing to where his fingers had interlaced with hers. "And this," she admitted, giving his hand a light squeeze.

"Such simple pleasures," Theo said, and then leaned towards her. "And to think," he murmured, "I could have shown you the world."

"The world?" Daphne echoed, glancing askance to admire his easy grin.

"I could take you wonder by wonder," he clarified innocently. "Over, sideways, and under—"

"Ah," she interrupted knowingly, shaking her head as he smirked at her. "I want that too, then," she murmured back, nudging him. "I want it all."

"You're a swindler, Princess," Theo teased. "A veritable rook."

Daphne smiled. "Potato, potato."

* * *

 **a/n:** born from a Theo request from jackwhitesgirl (thank you!) and a Theomione bromance suggestion from delaqour on Tumblr. This is obviously not _the_ Dramione one shot, by the way (there will be another) and hopefully the upcoming Disney one shots won't be quite this long—but either way, hope you enjoyed!


	70. Wonderland

**Wonderland**

 _Pairing:_ Tomcissa (Tom Riddle x Narcissa Black)

 _Universe:_ Disney AU ( _Alice in Wonderland_ )

 _Rating:_ M for sexual situations

 _Summary:_ The second of four one shots based on Disney plots. I was horribly bitten by this pairing after _Pretty Things_ (chapter 5 of my other story collection, _Draught of Living Death_ ) and couldn't resist when plot came calling.

The summary? Hm. Narcissa Black goes down the rabbit hole, and everything's mad down there.

* * *

She saw him first from the window of her bedroom where she was curled around a book, catching sight of movement on the lawn outside her family home. He was wearing a slate grey double-breasted suit, a silk handkerchief tucked in his pocket and his arm hooked complacently at an angle to accommodate the small, white-gloved hand resting against the dark material of his jacket.

"She looks happy, doesn't she?" Andromeda said from the doorway, joining Narcissa at the window seat. "If a little smug."

"Who is that?" Narcissa asked, eyeing the man on her eldest sister's arm. "Is that the doctor she's been seeing?"

"Yes," Andromeda confirmed. "Dr Tom Riddle. Whom I'd be happy to thoroughly hate," she added, sniffing, "except he seems pleasant enough. If a bit _too_ handsome."

"Too handsome?" Narcissa echoed skeptically, watching below as the man glanced askance at her sister, smiling politely as Bellatrix spoke.

"Isn't he?" Andromeda said, nudging her. "He comes to see her every Saturday, always with every hair in place. Always immaculate. And his face—" she shrugged. "Let's just say I prefer a man with dimension."

"He has dimension," Narcissa pointed out, tilting her head towards the window. "Look," she teased, "a nose and everything."

Andromeda made a face. "Yes," she agreed with a smirk, "very clever, Cissy, but still." She perched at Narcissa's feet, letting out a somewhat burdened sigh. "I've missed you," she said quietly, reaching out to brush the tips of Narcissa's fingers. "It's very dreary when you're at school."

"Well, I'm home for good, it seems," Narcissa reminded her, having finished earlier that month. "I'll be around until Mother and Father try to pass me off to some dull tweed-wearing highborn."

Andromeda laughed, tucking a curl behind Narcissa's ear. "They're pushing Rodolphus Lestrange on me," she muttered, feigning a gag. "As if I can't tell by looking that he's an unutterably boorish fiend."

"Ah, and to think you're the second daughter," Narcissa said wryly. "Imagine the the barrel they'll be scraping by the time they get to the _third._ "

Andromeda shuddered in agreement. "Sickening, really."

They fell silent, returning their attention to their eldest sister as she flirted outrageously with Dr Riddle, his mouth curled upwards in a small smile as Bellatrix reached out to rest her palm against his chest.

"He's beneath her," Andromeda commented, arching a brow. "A tradesman, really, albeit a fairly rich one—but he seems to have Mother and Father wrapped around his finger."

"Hm," Narcissa vacantly agreed, watching Bellatrix extend her hand, a coquettish smile blossoming to delight as he brushed his lips against her knuckles. "And Bella?"

"Besotted, as you can see," Andromeda grumbled, waving a hand at the scene out the window. "He seems to be fond enough of her," she added, shrugging, "if the frequency of his visits are any indication of his affection."

"Hm," Narcissa said again, and then glanced up, hearing a noise. "Are Sirius and Regulus here yet?"

"Ah, yes, they very likely are," Andromeda sighed, rising primly to her feet. "Marvelous," she added insincerely, "as an injection of their specific brand of nonsense would be ideal." She gestured, waiting for Narcissa to join her and then threading their arms together, heading towards the house's main staircase. "We're doing lunch soon, I believe, so they should be—"

"We're here," Sirius yelled, the sound of his voice echoing through the high ceilings of the manor house's entryway and then dissolving to a yawn as he stretched up, smacking his brother in the face. "Andy, why is nobody throwing rose petals?"

"Sirius, _hush,_ " Andromeda scolded him, sharing a conspiratorial glance with Narcissa and then slipping her arm free to give their cousin a hug, lightly swatting at his shoulder. "We have guests, you know," she reminded him, pretending to be stern.

"Oh, you mean the man-shaped coat Bella's wearing?" Regulus prompted, gesturing outside. "We've already met."

"She's quite taken with him, it appears," Sirius remarked grandly. "And what's not to like, really? He's got arms, legs, a face—"

"Stop," Andromeda warned, brandishing a finger at him even as she struggled to rein in her smile. "Be nice, children."

"Ah, speaking of children," Sirius remarked gleefully, turning to Narcissa. "The youngest Black darling hath returned!"

"He says, as though he is not himself a scarcely sprouted youth," Narcissa sniffed, but Sirius' retort was interrupted by the sound of the footman, Ted, delicately clearing his throat.

"Lady Andromeda, Lady Narcissa," Ted offered in greeting. He nodded respectfully to each of them, subsequently engaging the dance of protocol with Sirius and Regulus, before letting his gaze drift magnetically back to Andromeda. "Your mother is calling, so If you would follow me, please—"

"Ted, were you not planning to fetch us as well?" Bellatrix interrupted snidely, walking into the entry hall with her arm looped in Dr Riddle's. "Is it time for lunch, then?"

"Forgive me, Lady Bellatrix," Ted offered quickly, tearing his gaze from Andromeda's face to offer an apologetic bow. "I was just coming outside to—"

"No matter," Dr Riddle interrupted, smoothly unfazed. "It's a beautiful day, and there's no need to rush. Is there, my lady?" he asked, gently patting Bellatrix's hand and then looking up, catching Narcissa's eye. "Ah," he remarked, pleasantly surprised. "You must be Narcissa."

"I am," Narcissa replied, turning towards him. "And you must be Dr Riddle, then."

"Call me Tom," he invited, offering her a smile. "A pleasure."

She tilted her head, suffering an unexpected thrill of something odd as their eyes met. "Quite," she managed, the word fleeing swiftly from her tongue.

He had been handsome from her window, but up close, he was something else entirely; he was a breathtaking exercise in symmetry, a study in meticulous arrangement, born of a craftsmanship so refined it was nearly celestial. The angle of his cheek, the shape of his mouth, the particular shade of his eyes were nearly inhuman, the patrician arch of his brow so artfully angled that it was difficult to look away—and as he inclined his head, acknowledging her response, she felt her breath hitch, sensing trouble in the very motion of his lips.

Bella frowned, glancing between them with a narrowed glance, before looking expectantly up at him. "Well," she prompted impatiently, gesturing forward. "Shall we?"

The moment of reverie broke, and Tom laughed.

"We shall," he murmured, flashing Narcissa a final parting smile before accompanying Bella to the dining room, the smell of amber and sandalwood carrying on a breeze that she was sure she'd only imagined.

* * *

"Narcissa," Druella said sharply. "Are you listening?"

"Hm?" Narcissa asked, startled. "Were you saying something, Mother?"

"Always got her head in the clouds, that one," Cygnus remarked, nudging Tom beside him and huffing in disapproval. "I keep telling Druella we ought to put her to work," he insisted. "Stamp the daydreaming right out of her, I say, or else she'll never find a husband."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Tom replied slowly, glancing across the table at Narcissa. "I find a thoughtful woman to be a rather refreshing rarity. After all," he added silkily, "is it such a flaw to dream?"

"Ah, no, I wouldn't say _that,_ per se," Cygnus assured him, backtracking hurriedly. Narcissa noted that Tom looked quite unsurprised by this behavior, and even a bit smugly pleased at the sight of her father floundering for approval. "Obviously we _treasure_ Cissy's, erm, more fanciful eccentricities—"

"No, we decidedly do not," Druella grumbled briskly, admonishing her husband before turning back to her daughter. "She needs to come join the rest of us on earth, where we concern ourselves with things like putting food on the table. And as I was saying," Druella pressed, "I'll need you to join me on my visit to Malfoy Manor next week."

"Yes, Mother, of course," Narcissa assured her, nodding as Ted offered her more tea. "Whatever you need," she sighed, nodding politely to Ted in thanks and then stirring some lemon into her cup.

"Tea, Lady Andromeda?" Ted asked quietly, the inflection ever so noticeably more gentle when he spoke her name. Andromeda turned over her shoulder to smile indulgently at him, nudging the cup closer for him to pour.

"Narcissa, dear, if you could please _try_ to be a bit more attentive when we visit," Druella sniffed impatiently. "I've heard rumors that Abraxas is on the lookout for his son Lucius. Oh, and Andromeda," she added absentmindedly, "you'll need to come as well. Rodolphus is expecting you," she explained, looking pleased, and Andromeda promptly knocked over the tea that Ted had poured her, spilling it into her lap.

"Oh," she exclaimed, leaping back. "Oh, Ted, I'm so sorry—"

"Nonsense, Lady Andromeda," he assured her quickly, fumbling for a cloth. "Here, let me—"

"Get away from her," Bellatrix snapped, glowering disapprovingly at him across the table. "Haven't you done enough already?"

"Bella," Tom offered coaxingly, turning to glance at her. "Need we be quite so harsh? It was just a simple mistake," he added, his gaze flicking testingly to Andromeda's. "Wasn't it?"

"Yes, of course," Andromeda said quickly, and Bella, whom Narcissa had never seen take very kindly to criticism, promptly painted a rather insipid smile across her lips.

"Well, perhaps it was," she said brightly, leaning over to cover Tom's hand with hers. "I suppose my expectations that my sister _not_ be horrifyingly disfigured by the help overtook my more agreeable nature."

"It wasn't his fault," Andromeda repeated, nodding reassuringly at Ted. "Really."

"Yes, so true," Sirius drawled. "After all, how could he have done it when it was Andy who was unabashedly staring at his—"

He broke off, choking, as Andromeda slammed an elbow into his ribs.

"Father," Narcissa ventured, turning to him, "may I be excused?"

"Books again?" Cygnus groaned. "This one," he muttered, leaning conspiratorially towards Tom. "Always reading, night and day—"

"An excellent quality, I think," Tom murmured back, smiling at her, and Cygnus nodded quickly.

"Oh yes, yes, quite—"

"I just thought it would be a nice day for a walk in the gardens," Narcissa clarified, feeling an itch to be outside; something about the air in the dining room was stifling and stocked with discomfort, not the least of which being the implication that she could be unwillingly betrothed within a week. "And if we're all finished here—"

"Yes, fine, go," her father permitted flippantly, and Narcissa rose without hesitation, eager to leave the odd feeling of displacement behind her.

* * *

"You were in quite a hurry to leave," Tom remarked quietly, and she turned, meeting his eye with a somewhat forced smile. "I hope that it wasn't that the company was lacking."

"Where's my sister?" Narcissa asked, aiming for nonchalance as she checked expectantly over his shoulder, and Tom smirked.

"We do, on occasion, separate," he informed her. "My visits are intended for the Black family as a unit, not for her specifically."

Narcissa grimaced. "I'm not sure she'd agree."

Tom shrugged. "Bellatrix is, like you, a woman of her own mind," he commented. "She is free to interpret my intentions as she wishes."

"Perhaps _you_ should be clearer with her," Narcissa retorted, facing him. "I don't appreciate you suggesting that you might be—"

"I'm not suggesting anything," Tom assured her smoothly. "I'm simply making conversation." He turned, looking out over the gardens. "A lovely time of year for roses," he noted, and Narcissa made a face.

"You didn't come out here to talk to me about flowers," she said, and he passed her a knowing smirk, shrugging innocently. "What is your interest in my family, exactly?"

"What's not to like?" Tom prompted. "You're all very fine company."

"That's not true," Narcissa said bluntly. "My father's an unapologetic sycophant, and my mother's a social-climbing parasite."

"Are they?" Tom mused, chuckling to himself. "I hadn't noticed."

"Yes, you have," Narcissa pressed, furrowing her brow. "You're smarter than they are, and you know it. Do you simply enjoy toying with them?"

"Who says I'm toying with anyone?" Tom asked, mockingly affronted. "Or that I'm enjoying myself, for that matter?"

"You're a doctor," Narcissa reminded him. "You have no business with a house full of doddering aristocrats unless you have something to gain from them."

Not surprisingly, he paused, teasing out his answer.

"You're very blunt, you know," Tom commented eventually. "An interesting quality to have picked up in a house that you seem to think is full of duplicity, don't you think?"

"Do you feel it gives you power to speak in riddles?" Narcissa demanded, frowning at him. "I won't play your games, Tom."

He smiled again, the motion slow and calculated, before tipping his hat to her.

"I suspect you will, Miss Black," Tom replied, retreating a step. "And I suspect further still that you'll like them," he added, the smile twitching once before he turned on his heel, promptly carrying himself back to the house.

Narcissa watched him go, feeling a little shaken; there was something very unnerving about him, and the way he seemed entirely out of place with his surroundings. Oh, he certainly _appeared_ to fit in nicely, she corrected herself, scowling at the memory of her father's unrepentant groveling; but in doing so, Tom only distinguished himself further. He seemed so distinctly separate from her mother's mindless pureblood gossip and her father's constant showboating that it only served to highlight the many ways in which he was actually quite foreign, and entirely unpredictable.

She paused her reverie, hearing something in the grass. She turned, startled, to find that a snake, perhaps ten feet long, had slithered right up to her feet, prompting her to freeze in alarm.

The first thing she noticed about the snake was that it wore a gold monocle over one eye.

The second thing she noticed was that the snake seemed to be trying to communicate with her, which she found deeply unsettling; _nearly_ as unsettling, in fact, as a snake bearing a monocle in the first place. The creature, sensing her hesitation, drew itself up, cocking its head slightly, and then seemed to beckon with what might have been its chin in the direction of the gardens, luring her away.

"I'm sorry," Narcissa said, glancing around. "Are you—do you mean _me_?"

The snake nodded.

The snake _nodded._

"Are you quite certain?" Narcissa pressed, and the snake seemed to give her a look of supreme impatience, nodding again.

"I just—I'm not sure that would be the best—"

She stopped, cutting off as the snake dove forward; she had expected a bite, fearing the worst, but it only curled itself around her feet, herding her in the direction it had pointed.

"Okay then," Narcissa said, taking a step. "If you insist, but I can't be gone long—"

She sighed, realizing she was talking to herself. "Nevermind," she said, gesturing ahead. "Carry on," she prompted, and the snake, despite not having the capacity to smile, seemed to nod with satisfaction, pleased that she was at long last following instructions as it led her to the large willow tree in the garden.

The snake paused, checking over its shoulder, and Narcissa noticed for the first time a small door at the base of the tree that she'd never seen before, the handle shining with a crisp finished brass.

"What's this?" Narcissa asked, and the snake gave her a look, as if to say _what on earth does it look like?_

"Well, I can see it's a door," Narcissa replied, and the snake made a gesture that seemed to suggest it wished her to be more observant. "Are you trying to tell me that you need me to open it for you?"

 _I don't have any arms,_ the snake seemed to say, _so yes, that would be somewhat of a necessity._

"Well, alright," Narcissa said. "There's no need to be so snide."

 _Isn't there?_ the snake seemed to retort, and Narcissa pursed her lips, reaching for the handle.

"Okay," she said. "I suppose once I've opened it, you'll just—"

But she never finished her sentence. By the time she'd touched a finger to the knob, Narcissa felt herself swept into a vacuum of something unknowable, the ground vanishing beneath her feet as she began to fall.

* * *

Narcissa opened her eyes to a flash of a white crescent and a set of two sapphires, blinking above her. She reached up, squinting, and they promptly disappeared, swept back in darkness.

"Hello?" she called groggily, attempting to sit up. "Mr, um," she paused hesitantly, "snake?"

"She's a 'miss,' actually," a familiar voice corrected her. "Her name is Nagini," the voice added. "Not that such a thing should concern you."

Narcissa lurched forward, realizing with a gasp who was speaking. "Tom," she said with a groan. "What are you— _why_ are you—" she stopped, taking him in. "What are you wearing?" she asked, noting that the dapper suit he'd worn had been replaced by a loose-fitted black shirt which gaped around his chest, paired with a set of black trousers and boots.

"Tom?" he echoed blankly, eyeing his fingernails. "Whoever do you mean?"

"I mean you," she said impatiently, rising to her feet. "And how do you know the snake?"

"Everyone knows Nagini," Tom replied. "The more pressing question is how _you_ came across her, I should think."

Narcissa sighed. "Tom," she began. "I hardly think this is—"

"You keep calling me that," Tom interrupted, his eyes flashing. "Who is it you think I am?"

"I—" Narcissa stopped, shaking her head in disbelief. "Who is it _you_ think you are?"

Tom brightened, offering her a bow. "They call me the Cheshire Cat," he said, straightening. "And you are?"

"I'm Narcissa," she said, "and also, you're not a cat."

"Ah, she's observant," Tom mused to nobody in particular. "Magnificent. Narcissa, you said?"

"Yes, which you _know_ ," Narcissa reminded him. "As we met earlier this afternoon."

"Seems quite unlikely," Tom—or, as the case might have been, _not-_ Tom—remarked, offering her a languid smile. "But if you say so."

"I do," Narcissa said, and then looked around, realizing for the first time that she was not remotely where she had been. "Where are we?"

"This is the place," Tom replied. "There is no place quite like this place anywhere near this place, so this must be the place."

"I—" she stopped. "That's not an answer," she said cautiously, and he shrugged.

"It _is_ an answer," he replied. "And further, I don't see how it could possibly be wrong."

"Yes, but, I meant more in terms of location," she clarified, and he looked around.

"North," he replied ambiguously. "In a state of confusion, it seems," he added, eyeing the canopy of trees above them, and Narcissa sighed, giving up on him.

"Where's my house?" Narcissa asked, looking around. "Where are the gardens I just came from?"

"Past," Tom replied evasively.

"I meant—" Narcissa groaned. "Location."

"Ah," he said. "I thought you were asking where it was within the linear confines of time," he clarified. "Which is, to say, _past_."

She paused, gaping at him. "You're mad," she deduced with certainty.

Tom shrugged. "We're all mad here, darling," he assured her, offering her a sweeping bow.

"Be that as it may," she pressed, nudging past him, "I need to get back."

"I suppose that if Nagini led you in," Tom called after her as though the idea had just occurred to him, "she would be the one to lead you out." Narcissa paused, waiting. "Though, of course," Tom mused aloud, "you can always abandon that plan altogether and simply agree to meet the King."

"The King?" Narcissa repeated, turning back to face him. "What King?"

" _The_ King," Tom answered loftily. "You really must listen better, you know."

"Well, why would I want to find this _King_ , then?" Narcissa prompted, looking around. "And where'd that snake go?"

"Nagini had business to attend to, I'm sure," Tom informed her, "but I'm quite certain she's around here somewhere. Perhaps if you took this road?" he suggested, pointing to a narrow path she hadn't noticed until that moment. "Seems the best way, if you're really so intent on trading here for there."

"I am," Narcissa said, bristling. " _Quite_ intent."

"Very well," Tom said, bowing again. "Don't hesitate to call if you need me."

"I'm sure I won't," Narcissa informed him. "You haven't been very helpful at all, Tom."

He cocked his head, frowning. "This Tom you speak of," he ventured. "Is he quite as handsome as I am?"

Narcissa hesitated, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of an honest answer, but eventually sighed in resignation. "Yes," she agreed crisply, and turned to leave. "Thank you for your help—"

"Oh, and Narcissa?" Tom called after her, and she turned, waiting expectantly. "Do be careful, will you? There's no telling what you'll find out here."

She fought a thrill of something frightening, and new; the second that day.

"What does that mean?" she demanded, and Tom the Cheshire Cat shrugged, stepping back into the trees.

"Only that it'd be a shame for you to lose yourself in here," he murmured, and the last thing she saw of him was the glow of his smile, the whites of his teeth flashing amidst the shadows.

* * *

The path through the forest led to a small clearing after about a mile of walking; Narcissa, feeling her shoes start to pinch, decided to take a rest, frowning as she looked around.

"Nagini?" she called, hoping the snake would appear. "I'm not sure if I offended you, but if you could come back, I would really appreciate it." She paused, waiting, but heard nothing. "Nagini?"

"Oh, she's not here," someone interrupted, and Narcissa turned, catching sight of Sirius approaching through the trees.

"Sirius," she exclaimed, running to throw her arms around his neck. "I can't tell you how relieved I am to see you! A first," she added under her breath, but Sirius had already disentangled himself from her grasp, taking a step back just as Regulus appeared beside him. "Regulus!"

"Who?" they asked in unison, glancing at each other. Narcissa noticed, then, that they were in matching bright red pantaloons; items she'd never seen them wear, and which she was confident Sirius would rather die than be seen in.

"I'm sorry," she stammered, taking a step back. "Who are you?"

"I am him," Sirius supplied, and Regulus nodded.

"And I am not," he agreed.

Narcissa rubbed her temple. "Have either of you seen Nagini?"

"Nagini is very busy," Sirius said, and paused. "Though she is a lover of riddles."

"Yes, she feasts upon discourse," Regulus said with a nod. "Perhaps if we share one?" he suggested, his grey eyes bright.

Narcissa, at a loss, offered them a shrug. "Please," she said, gesturing for them to continue.

"Have you heard the one about the walrus and the carpenter?" Sirius asked, perching at her feet as Regulus moved to do the same. "There was a walrus, and a carpenter—"

"Quite," Regulus agreed. "And they lured out a series of oysters, and then gorged themselves upon them."

"Well, thank you _ever so_ for preserving the element of surprise," Sirius snapped, admonishing him. "Now where's the riddle?"

"Perhaps a different story, then," Narcissa suggested. "Any others?"

Sirius paused, and then brightened. "The death bridge!"

"The death bridge!" Regulus agreed. "The three brothers who cheat Death, only to be claimed by him in the end."

"Again," Sirius said exasperatedly, "you've destroyed the purpose of the tale."

"Tell me anyway," Narcissa urged. "What's the riddle?"

"Simple," Regulus told her. "How does one cheat death?"

"They don't," Narcissa replied. "Isn't that what you just said?"

"The King would disagree, I think," Sirius cut in. "Perhaps he could change your mind."

"I'm not here to see the King," Narcissa informed them. "I'm simply looking for Nagini to help me find my way home."

"I would think you'd enjoy meeting the King," Regulus told her. "He's very shiny."

"He's . . . shiny," Narcissa repeated slowly, shaking her head in disbelief. "Well, while that is certainly in my preferred qualities for a person—"

"Another riddle," Sirius blurted out, and Narcissa turned to him, her lips pressed together thinly as she waited.

" _Sisters three, and closely tied  
_ _Legacy and blood abide  
_ _Each sister with a heart in hand  
_ _Three hearts that interrupt a plan_ —"

"I don't know the end of this one," Regulus interrupted, and Sirius clapped a hand over his mouth.

"Good," he said flatly, and continued.

" _Sister eldest, power craves  
_ _Sister second, love will save  
_ _Sister last, a myst'ry still  
_ _What favor does each fortune fill?_

 _Sisters beauty, sisters grace  
_ _Sharp of mind and fair of face  
_ _Glory rising, glory run  
_ _A sister who has favor won_

 _Two sisters selfish, two will take  
_ _One sister will her triumph make  
_ _Sorrow each, abundance lost  
_ _Each sister made to pay the cost_

 _You ask a riddle, I provide  
_ _When sisters three at last collide  
_ _Which sister will outlast the fight  
_ _To that which brings us all to night?"_

Sirius concluded with a flourish, eyeing her expectantly.

"I don't know what any of that means," Narcissa said, grimacing, and Regulus muttered something incoherent behind Sirius' hand.

"What?" Sirius asked, retracting his palm.

"I bet the King will know," Regulus clarified, and then pointed across the clearing. "Or perhaps Nagini does."

"Nagini," Narcissa exclaimed, rising to her feet and catching sight of the snake as she slithered down the path. "Nagini, _wait—_ "

She picked up her shoes, waving at Sirius and Regulus. "Bye Sirius, bye Regulus," she shouted over her shoulder, "have to run!"

The two looked at each other, shrugging as she went.

"What an oddity," Sirius remarked.

"Quite," Regulus agreed.

* * *

Narcissa stopped, wheezing slightly; she was almost certainly lost. She'd strayed from the path over the course of chasing Nagini and she'd been no match for the snake's unrelenting speed, having long since lost sight of her.

"She's a slippery little devil, isn't she?"

Narcissa turned, startled. "Oh, Tom," she sighed in relief, and he pursed his lips in displeasure at the reference. "Erm, I mean—cat."

"You've lost her again, I see," Cheshire Cat-Tom commented. "At this rate, it might be easier just to go see the King, don't you think?"

"I told you," Narcissa said, catching her breath, "I have no interest in the King."

"Why not?" he asked, stepping closer to her. She felt her breath catch; Tom was no less handsome here—regardless of what he called himself, or, for that matter, where they were—and the black fabric of his shirt gaped appealingly against the contours of his chest. "You can't tell me story time with Tweedledee and Tweedledum was a reasonable use of your time," he scoffed, the corners of his mouth poised in a dubious grimace. "Nothing but nonsense and impending doom with those two."

"They told me a very strange riddle," Narcissa explained, frowning as she struggled to recall the details. "It was about three sisters, but none of it made sense."

"Ah, well, sometimes a riddle is just a riddle," Tom told her, his gaze wandering perplexingly over the contours of her face before settling on her lips, then rising to meet her eyes. "Though, of course, sometimes a riddle is precisely the answer you need."

"That," Narcissa remarked, "is not helpful."

"I'm the Cheshire Cat, not the Helpful Cat," Tom reminded her. "He's busy today."

"There's a Helpful Cat here?" Narcissa asked, and Tom shrugged.

"He's really very dull," Tom assured her. "Terrible company."

"Ah," Narcissa permitted, sighing. "Though, I presume, helpful?"

"Provided you ask the right questions," Tom replied. "But that's very often the trouble, isn't it?"

"They should call you the Unhelpful Cat," Narcissa muttered under her breath, and Tom smiled beatifically.

"Better keep going," he advised, gesturing to the path that she could now see again from where they were sitting. "Wouldn't want you to stray too long."

* * *

An hour on the path took her directly to a small garden, set very much as her dining table had been for lunch. Narcissa cast a longing glance at the pastries and sighed, feeling her stomach start to rise up in protest.

"Oh," someone said behind her. "You're here."

Narcissa turned. "Andromeda," she exhaled in relief, but stopped, eyeing the elaborate headgear that her sister wore. "Andromeda?" she asked hopefully, but her sister blinked, not sparing any recognition.

"I've been expecting you," Andromeda remarked, gesturing to the table. "You're the one the King is waiting for, aren't you?"

"I don't think so," Narcissa replied gently. "Do you know who I am?"

Andromeda stopped, her posture going rigid. "This is all wrong," she determined, staring down at the table setting. "I'll have to change it," she declared, busying herself with rearranging the plates and cups. "Move that over there, would you—"

Narcissa, not sure what else to do, began shifting the plates. "Over here?" she asked, reaching out to touch one of the settings. Unlike the others—which were a rather gruesome shade of scarlet—this plate was white, with a fine silver filigree around the outside. There was a crack in the porcelain, Narcissa noted, but by and large, it was the finest setting on the table, lain out with evidence of care.

"No!" Andromeda shrieked, reaching up to steady her hat with one hand as she leaned over with the other, slapping Narcissa's hand away. "Don't touch that one," she warned sharply. "Never _that_ one, do you understand?"

For a moment the hazy vacancy had fled from her eyes, replaced with a bolt of violent rage; but as Narcissa slowly nodded her assent, the distinct sense of dottiness had returned.

"Now," Andromeda instructed briskly, "I think that one is wrong." She pointed to another setting. "Swap those saucers, would you?"

"Andromeda," Narcissa began, speaking to her as she worked. "What are you—"

She stopped, realizing her sister was not responding.

"Andromeda?"

Nothing.

"Er," Narcissa said, "Miss, um—"

"Hatter," Tom supplied, suddenly materializing at Narcissa's side and gesturing to the very tall floral arrangement that Andromeda wore on her head, crowning a wide-brimmed hat. "As you can see."

Narcissa jumped, frowning at his appearance, and then turned back to her sister. "Miss Hatter?"

Andromeda looked up, owl-eyed, and pursed her lips impatiently. "Yes?"

"Why are we doing this?" Narcissa asked gently, gesturing to the table. "Are you hosting a party, Miss Hatter?"

"So many curiosities," Tom commented, leaning against a tree. "Everything would go much more smoothly if you would just pay a visit to the King, you know."

"Will you stop?" Narcissa groaned, turning to him. "I'm trying to talk to my—" she paused, grimacing. "My new friend."

"She's not your friend," Tom informed her. "What she is is a rather eternally unsatisfied party planner who's merely getting fingerprints all over the dishes."

"Nobody asked you," Narcissa retorted, and turned back to her sister. "Miss Hatter," she prompted again, and again, Andromeda froze, blinking. "Why have you prepared the table like this? Perhaps if I knew what your intended arrangement was," Narcissa continued, "I could _help_ you be certain that you've—"

"He won't come until everything is right," Andromeda cut in mechanically. "Everything must be in place, but once I've arranged everything perfectly, he'll come."

"Who?" Narcissa pressed. "The King?"

Andromeda blinked, straightening, and cocked her head.

"I think that one's wrong," she said, pointing to a place setting beside the one with silver filigree. "Those two shouldn't be next to each other."

"Okay," Narcissa said, fighting her frustration and consenting to move one place setting to another. "Where should I—"

"Careful!" Andromeda shouted, lunging forward as Narcissa reached for a small porcelain tea cup. "You mustn't spill!"

"I—it's empty," Narcissa said, frowning, but Andromeda had snatched it from her hands, cradling it in her palms.

"Be careful," Andromeda whispered, not looking up, and Narcissa, lost for words, felt Tom's hand close around her shoulder, leading her out of the clearing.

* * *

"My goodness," Tom drawled. "You have a gift for losing your way, don't you?"

"What happened to Andromeda?" she asked. "Why is she like this here?"

"I don't know who you're referring to," Tom replied chipperly, "but who's to say she's not like this in any other 'here'?"

"She's—" Narcissa hesitated. "She's _mad_ here—"

Tom nodded. "Yes, but as I said, we're _all_ mad here."

"She changed all the settings except for one," Narcissa said. "Nothing was right except for _one_ place setting. She got so _angry_ when she thought I—"

She stopped, realizing. "When she told me not to spill the tea," she realized, and then turned, looking accusingly at Tom. "Is it Ted that's doing this to her? Is he driving her mad?"

"Did you ever consider," Tom suggested, "that perhaps she's not mad at all?"

Narcissa frowned. "But—the way she was acting—"

"Perhaps you simply mistake her true intentions for madness," Tom suggested. "Is it possible," he added, "that she knows precisely who she's waiting for, and that madness is only in the eye of the beholder?"

Narcissa opened her mouth and then closed it firmly before opening it again.

"You," she declared, "are infuriating."

Tom abruptly stopped walking, pivoting towards her and swiftly bringing his face so close to hers that she nearly gasped, the air sticking in the back of her throat and molting to an unswallowable dryness.

"I've upset you," he commented, searching her face and then leaning away, nodding as though something he'd seen in her eyes had assured him that his estimations were true. "Curiouser and curiouser," he remarked, turning to continue down the path.

Narcissa stared after him and then picked up speed, jogging slightly to catch up. "What's curious about that?" she demanded. "Of course you've upset me. You've done nothing but antagonize me with nonsense all day."

"Again, beholding is a rather inexact science," Tom said flippantly, scarcely sparing her a glance. "I find it rather distressing that your particular process of beholding unfairly renders me less desirable than I might otherwise be."

"Desirable," Narcissa echoed, letting the word settle intently on her tongue, and Tom glanced askance, smiling.

"Beholding again," he murmured, his teeth flashing. "I hope it leans in my favor this time."

She held her breath, realizing they'd stopped walking. "I," she began, frowning. "I don't know what that means," she lied, and Tom smiled.

"Down there," he suggested, pointing to a sparkling palace at the bottom of the hill's sloping path. "If Nagini is anywhere to be found, she's likely down there."

"Whose palace is that?" Narcissa asked, shading her eyes to look. "Is that the—"

She stopped, realizing he had disappeared.

"—King's?" she finished unnecessarily, but sighed, finding herself alone. "Well then," she continued to the empty air, setting her shoulders. "Off we go."

* * *

"Hello?" Narcissa called, nudging open the door to the palace. "Is anyone here?" She paused, looking around. "Uh - King?" she attempted, frowning. "Your Majesty?"

Nothing.

"Is anyone here?"

She heard a sound and kept walking, aiming herself at the noise. "Hello? Is anyone—"

"FINALLY," she heard, a high-pitched wail that carried from afar before seeming to manifest in a spirited yawn. "IS SHE HERE?"

Narcissa heard a low sound of slithering on the marble floor, leaping back as Nagini promptly traveled past her.

"Nagini," Narcissa exclaimed, following her. "Nagini, wait!"

She chased the monocled snake through an ornate ballroom and past a decorative series of doors to burst into the palace's labyrinthine gardens, chasing the snake as it dove through a series of rose bushes. Narcissa reached out, attempting to follow, but promptly cut herself on one of the thorns; she recoiled with a hiss of pain, eyeing her hand, and noticed that the pigment from the rose's scarlet petals seemed to have leaked onto her palm.

She squinted at the roses, leaning closer, and realized that they had been recently _painted_ ; which, despite not being entirely normal, she deduced was no key detail to her search for Nagini. She stepped away, looking around, and began trying to circumnavigate the maze, attempting to find her way through it at a run until her gaze snagged on a set of distinctly familiar figures in matching red pantaloons.

"Sirius?" Narcissa asked, screeching to a halt. "Regulus?"

Sirius froze, his grey eyes widening as he slowly brought a finger to his lips, warning her of something over her shoulder.

Narcissa frowned. "What are you—"

"WHERE IS SHE?" someone bellowed behind her, and Sirius and Regulus promptly dropped to the floor in a nearly comical approximation of reverence as Narcissa turned, catching the eye of her eldest sister. Bellatrix wore an ornate gown which boasted a jagged, faintly warlike pattern lined in red and black, her lips stained a vibrant shade of crimson that twisted into a grimace of displeasure.

"Who are you?" Bellatrix demanded, righting the crooked black diadem that had fallen forward on her head. "Have you come to steal my roses?"

"What? No," Narcissa said quickly, eyeing Sirius and Regulus where they lay on the ground. "What's going on?"

"I know a thief when I see one," Bellatrix sneered, taking a few terrifying strides closer. "Look," she added, reaching out to clamp her fingers around Narcissa's hand. "You've been caught red-handed!"

"I—that wasn't—" Narcissa pulled away, jerking her hand free. "These roses are freshly painted," she retorted impatiently. "You should really put up a sign!"

"What, and aid would-be thieves?" Bellatrix countered, looking inflamed with fury. "How very dare you even suggest such a thing!"

"I—who are you?" Narcissa stammered, looking around. "Is this the King's palace?"

At the mention of the King, Bellatrix scoffed once, twice, and then promptly convulsed in laughter; she paused, glaring expectantly at Sirius and Regulus, and then they, too, offered up a matching set of weakly conciliatory chuckles.

"The King," Bellatrix sniffed, "will arrive any day now. I am simply readying myself for his arrival," she explained, gesturing around the garden, "and making certain that he will be rightfully impressed by my expert cultivation."

"But none of this is real," Narcissa protested, gesturing to the paintbrush that was still held in Regulus' hand. "Why would this impress a King?"

Bellatrix stiffened, taken aback. "You're right," she said crisply, and then looked down. "OFF WITH HIS HEAD," she barked, pointing to Regulus, and Sirius leapt to his feet, taking Regulus' arms behind his back and wrestling him up to drag his heels along the garden's maze of grass.

"Wait," Narcissa said frantically, leaping forward to stop him. "That's—you can't—they were _both—_ "

"OFF WITH _HIS_ HEAD, THEN," Bellatrix shouted, pointing from Regulus to Sirius, and after a moment's pause, Regulus promptly twisted his brother into a headlock, attempting to force him into submission. Narcissa, bewildered, quickly stepped between them, forcing them apart and then holding them each at an arm's length, panting from the effort.

"You can't," she began, and took a breath, "simply _behead_ people, Bellatrix—"

"Can't I?" Bellatrix asked, lurching forward to take Narcissa by the hem of her collar, coiling her hand in the fabric of her dress. "I'm the Queen, aren't I?"

"The Queen?" Narcissa choked out, ignoring the sounds of Regulus and Sirius battling behind her as she tried to free herself from Bella's clutches. "Are you the King's wife?"

Bellatrix's gaze hardened. "I am the Queen of _Hearts,_ " she specified, drawing her hand down to press it to Narcissa's chest, the heel of her hand digging into her pulse as if to cement her point. "He is _the King_."

"Of _what_?" Narcissa prompted impatiently, but Bella wasn't listening; her eyes had grown wide, fascination stirring in the darkened orbs of her eyes as she captured the feel of Narcissa's quickened blood, tunneling under the claws of her nails.

"I would have yours," Bellatrix murmured, eyeing her sister through batted lashes. "Will you give it to me?" she asked sweetly, and Narcissa wrenched herself free, taking several steps back and nearly colliding with Sirius and Regulus as they continued to grapple with each other on the ground.

"You can't have my _heart_ , Bella," Narcissa protested, but then, at the dangerous spark of mania that flooded her sister's eyes, she hesitated. "I mean," she amended quickly, "Your Majesty, I can't—"

"I can have whatever I want," Bellatrix snarled, stomping towards her again. "I'll have your heart," she raged, and then faltered, considering the prospect with an unabashed hunger. "And when the King is mine," she continued, a faint look of unhinged delirium settling itself in her gaze, "I'll give it to him as a trophy, won't I?"

Narcissa's breath stuttered. "You wouldn't," she protested, and then paused, chewing her lip. "Would you?"

Bellatrix flashed her a malignant smile, her wild eyes traveling down to Sirius and Regulus on the ground. "UP," she commanded, and they leapt at her command, springing apart like a boisterous pair of weeds. "Never mind each other." Sirius and Regulus exchanged a glance and then looked back at their Queen, nodding numbly.

"Now," Bellatrix murmured, her tongue passing delightedly over her lips as she turned back to Narcissa. "OFF WITH HER HEAD!"

* * *

Narcissa looked up groggily, feeling the strain of the shackles at her wrists that held her forcefully upright against the wall. From the shadows, two sapphires blinked at her, a crescent moon below them, and she squinted into the darkness, feeling a leap of relief.

"Tom?" she murmured hoarsely, and then corrected herself. "Mr Cat?"

Tom stepped out of the darkness and into the dim light of a single flickering torch, his teeth flashing as he smiled at her. "Narcissa," he mused softly. "In trouble again, I see," he said, luxuriating against the bars of her cell— _from the inside._

"How," she began, and swallowed, trying again. "How did you get here?"

Tom sighed, somewhat exasperated. "Can't you tell by now, Narcissa?" he prompted. "I'm _magic_ ," he explained, hopping in and out of her cell to prove it. "If you'd been paying attention," he added, materializing in front of her, "you'd have caught that quite a lot earlier."

She grimaced, wishing she could rub her temples; her wrists ached, and she let out a sigh of resignation.

"Can you help me?" Narcissa whispered to him, eyeing the dingy walls of her captivity. "My sister seems quite intent on cutting off my head."

"She does, doesn't she?" Tom asked, quietly amused. "You seem to have set her off quite stupendously."

"I don't know how," Narcissa grumbled. "I only mentioned that painting the roses was hardly going to fool a King."

"Which the King will surely thank you for," Tom informed her, nodding pointedly, and Narcissa shook her head.

"I don't care about what your King wants," she told him. "I just don't understand why she's taken something perfectly lovely and tried to pass it off as something else."

"Do you really not?" Tom prompted. "Perhaps what you deem lovely, the Queen of Hearts deems unfit for the King's eyes."

"But why should that matter?" Narcissa demanded. "He's only a King."

Tom chuckled. "Yes," he agreed. "He is."

Narcissa let out an exhausted sigh, suffering an angry twist from her aching shoulders. "So can you help me?" she asked again, eyeing him hopefully.

Tom shrugged, considering her. "I can't make your heart any less valuable," he commented neutrally. "Nor can I make the Queen want your head any less."

Narcissa groaned wearily. "Nevermind," she sighed. "Obviously you can't get me out of here."

"Oh, _that_ I can do," Tom corrected, nodding once, "but there are rules. The King will be very angry if he hears I let you go without giving him a chance to meet you."

"Well," Narcissa prompted impatiently. "What can I do, then?"

Tom took a step closer, tilting his head to take in the duress on her face; his blue eyes traveled slowly over the curve of her cheek, and she wondered—fancifully—if his touch that was not a touch could still be felt quite as gently as she'd imagined it. "I'll make a deal with you," he offered quietly. "I'll get you out of here, _if_ ," he warned emphatically, "you agree to see the King."

It was enough to make her want to scream.

"Why does everyone want me to see this King?" Narcissa demanded, making a face. "And _what_ is he even King of?"

"Everything," Tom supplied, and then cocked his head to the side, reconsidering. "Nothing," he amended.

"He's not much a King, then," Narcissa grumbled, and Tom took another step, slipping a finger under her chin to look at her.

"Help me help you," he murmured, sliding his thumb along her cheek. "Would it be so awful to have a King, Narcissa?"

"I don't wish to be ruled," she informed him bluntly, though she was unable to prevent her hips from meeting his of their own accord as his breath skated promisingly across her lips. "I don't submit to his authority," she forced out, trying not to focus on how close he was to her.

"No, you certainly don't," Tom agreed, a flash of longing appearing in his celestially blue eyes before softening to something distressingly warmer, touched with a hint of intimacy. "For me, then," he asked. "Will you?"

She watched him swallow, circling restraint. "For you?"

His mouth was so close to hers. An inch would do it; a breath, even, or less. "For me," he agreed.

She tilted her chin up, the whisper passing from her lips to his. "Why?"

She watched his shoulders tighten in agony as he let his hands fall to his side, preventing himself from reaching for her. "Why not?"

"That's not an answer," she told him, and he gave her another punishing smile.

"It _is_ an answer," he began, and she shook her head.

"Tell me," she beckoned. "Or I won't agree," she warned, and his unyielding smile wavered.

"If I tell you that I rather selfishly want to see you freed," he offered slowly, "will you hold it against me?"

"Better than telling me you wish to see me captive," she reminded him, and he nodded, the air snatched from her lungs as he abruptly leaned away, eyeing her wrists with a grim calculation.

He reached up, tentatively, and then drew his fingers along the inside of her forearm, making her shiver. "I never wished for you in chains," he commented. "Though I suspect they're of your own making."

"Mine?" Narcissa asked, feeling her brow furrow. "Why would I put _myself_ in chains?"

Tom shrugged. "Perhaps the truth is that you don't trust yourself out of them," he ventured, and then smiled again, the motion unfairly languid amidst the turmoil simmering in her stomach. "Shall we find out?" he asked, and then, as he reached out, the shackles on her wrist shattered in a moment of deafening silence, falling to the earth below like dust and blowing away on a breeze, the scent of amber and sandalwood dissipating with them.

Narcissa lowered her arms, testing her autonomy with a wiggle of her fingers, and then she looked up, meeting his eye.

"Kiss me," she suggested, and the smile twitched at his lips. He took a step towards her, delicately resting his palms on her waist before stretching his fingers out one by one, swelling up towards her ribs and circling the span of her breath, the core of her held— _coveted_ —between them.

"If I do," he said, "you'll see the King?"

She sighed, rolling her eyes. "Yes," she promised, " _fine_. Kiss me, and I'll see the King."

He smiled his cutting smile—the arch of it tauntingly laden with secrets—and then his sapphire eyes fell on hers, drinking her in. He pulled her closer, his fingers spreading possessively across the material of her dress and digging into the skin underneath to lay claim to the roots of her; he leaned down, bending to join them, and as her heart raged against the hollow of her chest and he—softly, rapturously, inescapably—whispered her name to the spare inches between them, she felt herself suspended in mindless oblivion.

And then, with the barest touch, she gasped.

His kiss was as torturously slow as his smile, sweet and overindulgent, an ache that settled weightily into her belly and then floated to nothing in her mind, filling her wordless throat with the vibration of his pulse beneath her fingers. Sound and sight ceased to exist in favor of touch and taste, insatiable craving that manifested in the deepened pressure of his lips against hers, inviting and haunting, a sensation she knew she would never fully rid from her soul. He pulled her closer— _impossibly_ close—and she stumbled, losing her balance; he walked her backwards, pressing her against the stone wall, leaving her to stretch out against him.

She drew her fingers along the edge of his jaw, tearing through the roots of his hair, gripping the back of his neck; all a clumsy, primitive effort to have _more of him_ , to be nearer, to banish the mockery of any space that wasn't contact. His teeth cut into her lip and she let her head hit the wall behind her, let his mouth travel over her lips and chin and jaw and down to the swell of her throat, turning taste into consumption, dalliance to devolution.

"Narcissa," he murmured roughly, and she brought her hands to his chest, slipping her fingers under the fabric; he slid his hands under her dress, grazing the length of her thigh.

Her heart raced—violent, frantic, _mad_.

 _We're all mad here, darling_ —

She tore his shirt open, using it to pull him towards her, rutted against his hips; he pulled back in surprise, licked his lips, and then she yanked him back, dragging a startled breath from him that was met with a gasp from her, his hand rising exhilaratingly to brush the stitched hem of her stocking. He paused, the tips of his fingers lingering at the precipice of silk and skin.

"You'd give me to him," she whispered. "You'd give me to the King?"

Tom looked up, dazed, to meet her eye.

"Haven't you been listening?" he said back, and she counted the seconds that she held her breath as he slowly lowered himself to his knees. "You could never be ruled by anyone."

She swallowed, her heart racing, as he gently parted her legs, taking the hem of her dress in hand and dragging it upwards, pausing at the clasps of her stockings to press his lips to the bare curve of her thigh. She whimpered, her lips parting of their own accord, and he looked up, not looking away as he leaned closer, his breath passing through the thin material beneath her garter.

The first time his tongue passed over her it was confident, but careful; there was a conscientious quality to it—an element of control—but it was cautious, like the first step of a dance. The second was aloft, a leap, his tongue alight, alarming; she shuddered, shook, his fingers spreading her apart, his mouth supple, soft, inviting. She lost her breath, caught it, let it run wild; he moved with her, faster, darting, directing her to a sense of loss, of phantom wonder. She ran her fingers through his hair, arching her back, losing track of the words that dribbled helplessly from her lips— _yes, please, ohyes, yesyesmore, there, there, there, like that, Tom, want you like that, like this, want you, please, I want you I want you I want you—_ and letting him build her up; letting him break her down, tear her apart, make her a wreckage, an affliction, a _ruin._

It washed over her, euphoric devastation, and she knew in a wash of calm where she was, where she'd been; exactly where she'd lost herself.

This, she knew, was the place.

This was _wonderland._

* * *

He took her to a castle, kissed her hand; placed her in the center of a room with a ceiling like sky. _I'll see you soon,_ he promised, and then he was gone, and she wandered towards a set of empty thrones, gilded and— _celestial_.

There was a sound of trumpeting from somewhere far away and then a slither on the ground, Nagini entering without greeting; Narcissa, feeling subject to whimsy in this strange land of madness, dropped to a curtsy, waiting expectantly. She watched his boots come into view first, then let her eyes travel slowly upwards as he materialized in his throne, the monocled green snake coiling itself tightly around the leg of the still-vacant chair.

A crown glinted from his head, unmistakable against the richness; Narcissa gasped, leaping up and then back, reeling from the sting of unexpected recognition.

"It's—you're—" she broke off in disbelief. " _You're_ the King?"

Tom rose to his feet, the same smile spreading across his lips. "Bet you feel foolish now," he informed her, taking a step down from his throne to meet her where she knelt. "You could have agreed much sooner."

"You tricked me," she realized furiously, glaring at him.

"You trusted me more as a vanishing nobody," he reminded her. "I felt that since you found it necessary to make such an unrelenting fuss about it, I could at least do you the courtesy of playing along."

"But if you could have had me all along," she protested suspiciously, "then why would you lie?"

He waved a hand, coming to stand before her. " _Having_ you is not the important thing," he informed her, with an effortless sort of certainty. " _You_ had to come to _me._ "

She was sure she'd spent too long there when the things he said began to make sense.

"So—are you Tom, then?" she asked, and he frowned, indicating otherwise.

"You keep calling me that," he said. "But I think I've made it quite clear that I'm the King."

"And the Cheshire Cat," she prompted hazily, and he nodded, shrugging.

"That too," he agreed. "But only those two, I'm afraid, and one of them was merely for convenience."

"But how did I get here?" she asked. "And why did you—"

She stopped, eyeing the vacant throne and then turning back to look at him, realizing slowly what he had offered her.

"Me?" she asked, and he took a step closer, gesturing her towards a looking glass that hung upon the wall.

"You," he agreed, his lips brushing the back of her neck as she looked into the hazy reflection in the glass, leaning helplessly towards it.

"Is that—" she frowned. "Am I—"

But she never finished her sentence. By the time she'd touched a finger to the mirror's gilded frame, Narcissa felt herself swept into a vacuum of something unknowable, the ground vanishing beneath her feet as she began to fall.

* * *

Narcissa opened her eyes to a flash of a white crescent and a set of two sapphires, blinking above her. She reached up, squinting, and they promptly disappeared, swept back in darkness.

She sat up with a gasp, struggling for breath.

"It's you," she managed, sighing with relief, and Tom turned over his shoulder, beckoning to someone in the room.

"She's awake," he said, and Andromeda hurried forward, taking her hand.

"Thank goodness," she breathed, pressing her lips to Narcissa's knuckles. "Cissy, we were so worried—"

Narcissa swallowed, her eyes flicking to Tom's. He met her gaze steadily, eyeing her like a subject.

Like a _patient,_ she realized, and felt her lungs twist.

"Dr Riddle's been keeping an eye on you," Andromeda explained, stroking Narcissa's hair. "You've had a terrible fever."

"Have I?" Narcissa asked, her heart pounding as she gradually registered the sweat the she could feel clinging to her linens. "Then I've just been—"

"Here, in bed," Andromeda supplied reassuringly, stroking her cheek. "I told Mother I was certain you wouldn't want to go to the infirmary, but I was worried you were starting to get worse—"

"The whole time," Narcissa rasped, dazed with loss. "I've been here?"

"Yes, you have," Tom said, leaning over to check her pulse, pressing the cold stethoscope to her chest. "Have you been hallucinating?" he asked her. "Fevers can sometimes have that effect," he clarified, turning to Andromeda. "But now that she's awake, I'm quite certain the worst of it is over."

"Thank goodness," Andromeda exhaled deeply, patting Narcissa's arm. "I'll just go inform Mother and Father, then—"

"Wait," Narcissa called after her, taking her hand. "Andy, I—"

"What is it?" Andromeda asked, leaning towards her. "Is everything okay?"

Narcissa forced herself upright, speaking in her sister's ear.

"Andy, if you love him," Narcissa whispered, feeling her breath quicken. "If you love him, Andromeda, _tell him,_ " she murmured urgently, watching her sister's cheeks drain of color. "You'll drive yourself mad if you don't."

Andromeda paused, letting the words sink in, and then nodded slowly, rising to her feet to stumble unsteadily towards the door. "I'll—I'll be back, then," she stammered, her dark eyes wide. "It'll—I'll just—"

She broke off, a smile slowly etching its way across her lips. "Thank you, Cissy," she whispered, blowing a kiss before turning through the doorway and heading swiftly through it.

"Well," Tom remarked, removing his stethoscope and tucking it into his bag as he looked on in Andromeda's absence. "I suppose now that you're awake, I won't need to keep such a close eye on you."

"I suppose not," Narcissa agreed, feeling inexplicably saddened at the thought. "I suppose, too, that I must have gone a bit mad while I was ill," she added, giving him an apologetic glance.

"Nonsense," Tom remarked, meeting her eye. "We're all mad here, darling."

She froze, the words chilling the air between them; he let the moment settle and then offered her a wink, briskly tipping his hat.

"Perhaps you do enjoy my games after all, Miss Black," he commented at a murmur, and then he turned, heading for the door.

"Tom," she said desperately, calling after him. "Was I—was any of it real?"

He gave her a slow smile; one that was achingly familiar.

"Why would it not be real?"

 _Sometimes a riddle is just a riddle -_

"That's not an answer," she whispered.

 _Though, of course, sometimes a Riddle is precisely what you need._

"It _is_ an answer," he replied. "And further, I don't see how it could possibly be wrong," he remarked, aiming himself at the door.

"Tom," she called again, and he turned, tilting his head expectantly.

"It's mine, isn't it?" she asked. "The throne?"

His teeth flashed beneath his sapphire eyes.

"Get some rest, Narcissa," he murmured. "We have quite a lot of work to do."

* * *

 **a/n:** Up next: _Beast_. Can't thank you enough for reading!


	71. Beast

**Beast**

 _Pairing:_ Jily (James Potter x Lily Evans), Wolfstar (Remus Lupin x Sirius Black)

 _Universe:_ Disney AU ( _Beauty and the Beast_ )

 _Rating:_ T for language, sexual references

 _Summary:_ The third of four one shots based on Disney plots. Not unpredictably, I was propositioned for a _Beauty and the Beast_ story with Dramione, but decided that plot/pairing combination was overdone. Here's something a little different.

When a sinister plot leads to James Potter's disfiguration and traps him in Hogwarts Castle with only a talking menagerie for company, he's comfortably certain that all is lost. But the arrival of a certain defiant redhead means that whether he likes it or not, everything is about to change.

* * *

 _ **I.**_

 _Once upon a time, in a faraway land, a handsome prince lived in a castle. As a child, he had all the riches he could want, and loyal friends and subjects both, but he was spoiled, selfish, and unkind, and for a time, this was to be his undoing; for he, in all his gloried splendor, could not imagine what forces might make him pay for his vanity._

 _To start: a rivalry, and an audience._

* * *

"What's this, Snivellus?" James asked, snatching the book from between Severus' fingers as Sirius Black snickered loudly, sidling up to Severus' left. "Still trying to unlock the secrets of the darkest arts, are you?"

Severus sighed. "Give it back, Potter," he muttered through gritted teeth, holding his hand out expectantly. James only laughed.

"One of these days you'll learn that you're not _magical_ , Snivellus," James said brusquely, "you're just like the rest of us, only a bit less exquisitely groomed." He leaned over, grinning. "What do you think, Sirius?"

"I think," Sirius began loftily, "that Snivellus could do with less reading and more bathing."

Severus reached for the book, scowling as James promptly tucked it behind his back, grinning mercilessly. "Stop," Severus growled. "Give me the book back, Potter—"

"Or what?" James challenged. "You'll get grease on my shirt?"

Severus bit back a response, leaping sideways as the branch of a nearby tree suddenly brandished itself from nowhere, smacking James in the face and prompting the book to tumble from his hands as he let out a graceless yelp.

"Careful, Potter," Severus muttered, privately delighting in watching James rub furiously at his cheek, a solid red line already blooming from where the wayward tree branch had hit him. "Wouldn't want you to hurt your pretty face," Severus added boldly, promptly darting back as James took an imprecise swing at his stomach.

"Yeah, you'd _better_ run," James muttered, scowling. "Come on, Sirius," he added, gesturing for the other boy to follow as they took off on the path back to the castle. "Watch yourself, Snivellus," he warned over his shoulder, and Severus grimaced.

"Watch for trees," he muttered under his breath, looking around for the book of ancient runes that the insufferable James Potter had dropped. Severus was sure the runes would eventually come to mean something if he just concentrated hard enough.

"Excuse me," a young man interrupted, holding out the book. "Did you drop this?"

"Oh," Severus said, reaching out for it. "Yes, thank you—"

"Not a problem," the man assured him, smiling broadly. It was not a particularly warm smile, Severus noted, but he found himself imperceptibly drawn to it anyway, a bit unsettled by the concept that a man as refined (and, frankly, unnaturally handsome) as this one had chosen to speak to him and not to James or Sirius. "Tell me, are you one of the students up at that Hogwarts boarding school?"

"Yes, sir," Severus confirmed unsteadily. "I'm in my first year."

"Ah, excellent," the man commented. "Are you diligent in your studies, Mr—?"

"Snape," Severus supplied, forcing a smile. "Severus Snape, sir."

"Alliteration," the man noted. "Excellent."

"I suppose," Severus agreed, swallowing uncomfortably. "Well," he said awkwardly, "thank you, sir, for returning this—"

"Tom," the man supplied, interrupting. "I work just over there," he added, pointing to a shop in the village behind them. "Do let me know if I can ever help you find anything."

"What do you sell?" Severus asked, frowning, and Tom laughed.

"A number of things," Tom assured him. "None of which you need concern yourself with now. Have a good day, Severus Snape," Tom added, stepping away. "And do be careful with that book, will you?"

"I will," Severus called back, opening it to find his page. He frowned, looking up. "Sir—I mean, Tom, this isn't actually—" He stopped, realizing the other man had vanished from sight. "Tom?" he called, scrambling to his feet. "I wasn't—this isn't— _mine_ ," he muttered under his breath, seeing the words _Book of Spells_ on the book's inside cover.

He turned to a page in the middle, mindlessly skimming its contents.

 _Transfiguration: human to animal._

"Huh," Severus murmured to himself, tracing the letters on the page.

* * *

Tom Riddle slid back into the seat across from his companion, replying to her indeterminable look of curiosity with a slow, too-clever smile.

"What was that about?" Narcissa prompted, arching a brow.

"You saw, didn't you?" Tom Riddle asked, reaching out to tap his fingers lightly on her forearm. "The boy over there—the quiet one, with the dark hair—he showed something, just a moment ago."

Narcissa Black turned over her shoulder, glancing at where the rowdy trio of boys had been. "He showed evidence of having magic, you mean?"

Tom nodded. "I think so," he said, curling a hand around his mouth and leaning back in his chair. "I'd have to see it again," he clarified thoughtfully, "but I figured he could use a push, and then we could find out for certain."

Narcissa nodded, picking up her cup.

"Well," she began coolly, taking a sip of her tea. "What now, Tom?"

Tom smiled his clever smile. "Now we wait," he told her, reaching out to thread his elegant fingers through hers.

* * *

 _ **II.**_

 _The prince was uncharitable, and in his privilege, unused to compassion, and when a vindictive magic danced at his doorstep, he did not take heed; the coldness in his heart beckoned a troublesome flame of ire, and danger revealed itself to have lain beneath an unimposing mask._

 _And so: a trick, and a disaster._

* * *

"Come on," James whispered, nudging Sirius. "I've sent Snivellus a note from Marlene that she wants to meet him in the trophy room—"

"And he believed it?" Sirius scoffed. "Idiot. As if Marlene McKinnon would ever agree to speak to him."

"Yes, well, _precisely,_ so—"

"I wouldn't, James," a voice warned from behind them, revealing Remus Lupin in the common room's corner armchair. "One of these days, Snape's going to bite back."

"Oh, _is_ _he,_ Remus?" James sniffed dubiously. "With _what_ , exactly?"

"I'm just saying," Remus commented, turning the page of his book. "You should really stop messing with him."

"Ignore him," Sirius muttered under his breath, giving James a shove towards the door and glaring over his shoulder at Remus. "He's just a wet blanket with hands."

"And ears," Remus called pointedly, but the other two ignored him, pushing through the common room door without a second glance.

Remus sighed, turning another page. "Idiots," he muttered to himself, shaking his head firmly.

* * *

Severus didn't know what happened.

The letter wasn't real, he'd known as much—there was, after all, no world in which any girl was asking Severus to meet him late at night, much less a world where Marlene McKinnon deigned to speak to him—but he figured getting James Potter alone might be worth it in some respect; the book of spells Tom had given him was, after all, useless without practical application.

But then, maybe he'd mixed them up.

He'd meant to try something simple. A stunning spell, for example, but Latin was easier read than spoken aloud, and he'd been _thinking_ about the transfiguration spell, so perhaps language in general was suspect when the mind was unfocused; essentially, the whole ordeal had ended with—

Well. Severus wasn't totally sure what had happened, but when eleven-year-old human boy James Potter had suddenly grown several feet and sprouted antlers, he was pretty sure he'd done something wrong.

"I knew I could do it," he'd whispered to the palms of his hands, but that hardly seemed the most pressing thing at issue when the veritable prince of Hogwarts was currently without his proper face and his best friend had been left behind in the room, looking at Severus with a mix of horror and rage.

In a panic, everything froze— _what do I do where do I go what do I say?_ —and then, wordlessly, Severus ran.

* * *

"So," Tom said slowly, "you've turned him into— _what_ , exactly?"

The boy was sweating, his cheeks bloodless and pale.

"I—don't know, exactly," Severus admitted, eyeing his feet. "A, um—a sort of beast-like thing. Antlers," he explained, gesturing to his head. "And, uh, _claws,_ really—and he's sort of, well—inhumanly large, I suppose—"

"Hm," Tom commented, tapping his mouth. "Well," he sighed, "what do you want me to do about it?"

Severus fidgeted. "Well, turn him back, please," he mumbled. "I'll take whatever punishment I get, sir, but I can't leave James Potter like that, the school will _kill me_ —his parents are important, and he's the headmaster's favorite—"

"Clearly you care deeply for the boy," Tom drawled facetiously, and Severus blanched.

"I do feel bad about what I've done," he said hastily, "though Potter is, um—"

"Beastly," Tom said wryly. "Or so you've claimed."

Severus let out a burdened sigh. "Please, sir—"

"Tom," he corrected.

"Tom," Severus amended, "please, can you—" he grimaced. "Can you turn him back to how he was?"

"I'm afraid I can't," Tom lamented, shaking his head. "A curse like the one you seem to have bestowed upon this Mr Potter is not easily withdrawn."

Severus' face fell.

"I _can_ , however," Tom said, making sure to look as though the thought had taken great effort, "take care of the situation. Make sure nobody will find out what's been done," he clarified, "and be certain that nobody at the school would ever come after you."

"You can?" Severus pressed earnestly, his dark eyes wide. "Really?"

Tom eyed the boy carefully, steepling his fingers at his mouth.

"It would be quite a favor," he warned, careful to conceal his delight at how conveniently the situation was unfolding. "You'd have quite a debt."

"I don't care," Severus said quickly. "I'll do whatever you want, I _promise_ —"

Tom smiled, glancing up. "Narcissa," he called, and she emerged from the shop's backroom, her pale blonde hair flowing down her back. "Narcissa, I'd like you to meet someone," he said, gesturing to Severus. "Severus here will be joining our little project."

"Will he?" Narcissa asked knowingly, her gaze flicking down as the boy stared up at her in awe.

Tom nodded, giving her a wink. "Narcissa is a witch, too," he explained to Severus, lifting one arm for her to settle herself beneath it. "An enchantress, one might say," he murmured, passing her a teasing smile. "If she and I fix your little problem, Severus, and we promise not to tell anyone what you've done," he added sternly, wanting to laugh as the boy's chin dropped with shame, "then you'll stay here to work with us, and learn what we know."

The boy couldn't hide the greedy flicker of excitement on his face at the prospect.

"Yes, Tom," he agreed, and Tom nodded again, satisfied.

"We'll fix you up with new accommodations," Tom told him. "In the meantime, Narcissa and I will take care of your little beast problem, and we'll agree not to discuss it with anyone. Are we clear?" he prompted, and Severus nodded. "Good," Tom declared, gesturing to the shop's office. "Just head back, then, and I'll be right there—"

As Severus turned to walk away, Narcissa looked up expectantly.

"What would you like me to do?" she murmured, and Tom smiled.

"Take care of the whole castle, would you?" he requested. "Immobilize them. Render them thoroughly useless."

"Done," she said, offering him her cheek. He brushed his lips against it, chuckling against her skin.

"What would I do without you?" he wondered aloud, and she smirked over her shoulder, letting her hips sway as she went.

"Die, I expect," she proclaimed musically, throwing her cloak over her shoulders.

* * *

 _ **III.**_

 _One day, the prince was visited by a witch, who placed upon him a curse; that he may wear an abhorrent skin, but be made beautiful within, or else suffer a beastly eternity._

 _And in so doing: an enchantress punishes, and a punisher enchants._

* * *

James opened his eyes to a dull throbbing pain in his skull and a violently beautiful young woman standing above him, her pale blonde hair catching the light from the castle's flickering torches.

"James Potter," she said softly, her voice like a siren's; tempting, but faintly cold. "I regret that an unexpected series of events has led us to this moment, but I think you should consider it a chance for moral redemption."

James blinked, struggling to sit up. "Ouch," he said foggily, wondering why he could not lift his head. "Who are you?"

"Tell me, James," she murmured. "Is beauty so important to you that you would forsake all else—and all _others_ ," she added, "to assume it your right to possess?"

"Uh," he said. "What?"

"Do not be deceived by appearances," she warned. "After all, beauty is found within."

He reached a hand to the source of his head's throbbing, holding his breath as his fingers closed around a thin protrusion of what felt like bone.

"What—" he began, and swallowed. "What's happened?"

The blonde woman straightened, crossing her arms over her chest. "What's happened is that you have been cruel, James Potter, and unkind, and for your errors you must pay the price." She conjured a rose from nowhere, smiling as James' eyes widened in disbelief. "This rose will bloom on your twenty-first birthday," she informed him, levitating it to produce a glass case that blossomed around the outside, settling itself on a pedestal. "If you can learn to love another, and be loved in return, then the spell will be broken."

"Spell?" James echoed hoarsely, scrambling upright. "What spell? What have you—" He broke off with a startled gasp, catching sight of his reflection from the trophy cases. "What—how did you—what am I—"

"If you cannot," the blonde witch warned him, "you will be doomed to remain a beast for all of time."

"Wait," James protested, blinking. " _Wait_ —how can you—what about everyone else?" he demanded. "Severus, he's the one who did this—and where's Sirius? He was right h- "

He broke off as a low moan came from a large black dog, its head resting piteously upon its overlarge front paws.

"Sirius?" James rasped, and the blonde woman snapped her fingers, securing his attention.

"As I said," she told him. "You have until the last petal falls, or you and the rest of this castle will remain beasts for eternity." She turned, moving to exit the room, when James stopped her.

"Wait," he called desperately, struggling to his feet and finding them heinously clawed, his joints stiff and unnatural. "Isn't there something I can do? My parents will pay," he added. "If you want money, or jewels or something, I can just go see them and—"

"Oh, you foolish boy," the blonde woman spat, rounding on him. "Don't you understand? You cannot leave this castle," she said, gesturing around her. "The very walls themselves have come alive, and they will _keep you in_ —which is just as well," she sniffed, throwing the hood of her cloak over her hair. "For really, who could ever look upon your face long enough to hear you speak?"

"But," James protested. "If I can't leave, then how can I—"

"Darling, mobility is the least of your worries," she assured him, her blue eyes flashing with irritation. "After all," she added, dropping her voice to a sultry purr, "who could ever learn to love a beast?"

He swallowed, and she laughed.

And then, with a twist of her fingers, the air swallowed her, and she was gone.

* * *

"How did it go?" Tom asked, glancing up from his book as Narcissa apparated into their bedroom.

"It went," she said smoothly, discarding her cloak and then perching on the bed beside him, sweeping a curl from his forehead. "I decided to teach him a lesson while I was in the business of cursing the castle."

"A lesson?" Tom asked, laughing. "Really? And what did you teach him?"

Narcissa's smile tightened. "That beauty is foolish," she murmured, and Tom chuckled, pulling her towards him.

"Not yours," he said, his hands on her waist. "Your beauty is a dangerous lure, Narcissa."

"And yours a clever mask, Tom," she told him, brushing her lips against his. "Are you certain the Snape boy is worth the trouble?" she asked, the words escaping into the warmth of his mouth. "It wasn't easy concealing the castle, nor was altering everyone's memory."

"You saw Severus' handiwork," Tom reminded her, nipping at her lip. "He's untrained, yes, but certainly powerful enough to be an asset to our project, don't you think?"

She closed her eyes, letting him loosen the ties of her gown as she hummed her vacant acknowledgement. "My cousin was at Hogwarts, you know," she informed him. "Sirius. He's a dog now," she clarified, half-smiling. "I thought it fitting."

"You are arousingly clever," Tom assured her, pulling her onto his lap and smirking as she let out a breath of surprise. "You have other cousins, don't you?" Tom asked, his voice slightly hoarse as he eased her gown over her shoulders. "A younger one we might use?"

"I do," she said. "But we can discuss it later," she murmured in his ear, kissing the side of his neck.

Tom smiled.

"Good girl," he whispered, returning a kiss to the line of her clavicle.

* * *

 _ **IV.**_

 _For ten long years, the castle festered with wild magic; the edges of it sprouted an enchanted forest that climbed, higher and higher, to hide the walls from view to the villagers below, rendering the inhabitants long forgotten. But while the stone itself thrived, the beasts inside grew mournful, missing their human forms, and the prince succumbed to fits of despair, losing all his hope._

 _And so: a beast suffers, and elsewhere, a beauty emerges._

* * *

"James—"

"Don't call me that," James snapped gruffly, not turning around. "I told you to stop."

"Right," the rat squeaked nervously, fidgeting with his paws. "Prongs, then."

"What is it?" James muttered, watching another petal loosen from the enchanted rose.

"Well," Peter offered nervously. "I know you're not, er, _in the mood_ , per se, but—"

"Just say it," James snarled, rounding on him. "What, pray tell, can I do for you, your utter fucking _ratship_?" he growled, the sound of it echoing around the room as Peter let out another squeak, ducking behind one of the school's old trophies. "Sorry," James muttered, suffering a twinge of guilt as he watched the rat tuck his shaking tail in behind him. "What do you need, Wormtail?"

The rat let his head peek out, eyeing him beadily.

"Moony and Padfoot," Peter ventured tentatively. "They're, um—"

"Ugh, don't bother," James cut him off, gritting his teeth. "I know what they're up to." He forcefully rose to his skeletal clawed feet, shoving through the doorway and opting for the east stairs as they shifted towards him, coming alive in his presence. "MOONY," he bellowed, "PADFOOT—"

"Prongs," Sirius barked in response, the sound coming from somewhere on the third floor. "You rang?"

James sighed, leaping over the side of the staircase and swinging onto the third floor landing to find the dog and the wolf tangled in awkward wrestled pile.

"What are you idiots fighting about now?" James demanded, huffing in irritation. "Don't tell me this is about Scarlett _again_."

"Moony makes her nervous," Sirius yelped defensively, pawing at the wolf's face. "She thinks he's going to fucking _eat_ her, as I've made a point to tell him _one thousand times_ —"

"It's not me she's afraid of," Remus interrupted bitterly, baring his teeth. " _You're_ the one always hunting her down, aren't you?"

"I'm not _hunting_ her," Sirius protested. "I am merely a sweet, domesticated puppy, perfectly well-suited for an adorable red panda—"

" _You're_ a shaggy, unbearable pile of dander and _she's_ a whiskered little snot," Remus cut in, muttering under his breath. "Your obsession with Marle- "

"Don't," James warned, scowling, and Remus let out a small groaning whimper.

"Scarlett, I mean," he corrected himself. "And as I was saying," he continued, snapping at Sirius' tail, "it's getting out of hand."

" _You're_ out of hand, you wolf-faced tyrant," Sirius retorted. "Why can't you let us be in love in peace?"

"Love? Don't make me laugh, you horrible brute of a—"

"STOP," James roared. "First of all, you're _both_ monstrosities and I rue the day I was forced to breathe your very air—"

"Always a crowd-pleasing intro," Sirius assured him, to which Remus arched what might have been a brow.

"—and secondly, nobody's in love, nobody's getting eaten, and I'M STARVING," James finished, suddenly hearing his stomach rumble. "I'm going to the kitchens. Have the twins made anything worth eating?" he asked, glancing between Remus and Sirius and then throwing his hands up at their matching looks of skepticism. "They're the only ones with _thumbs_ ," James sniffed, stalking away and muttering to himself. "You'd think they'd figure it out one of these days—"

"Right-o, Prongs," Sirius called after him, "be right there—and as for you," he muttered to Remus, dropping his voice, "can you please not upset our little prince?"

"I haven't upset him!" Remus retorted. "He's upset about _the rose_ , you cunting fool—"

"Well, if _you_ hadn't been here while I was in the middle of performing for Scarlett the most stunning ballad the world has ever witnessed—"

"Stop," Remus said, snapping at his nose. "Shut up. _You're_ the one who always gets in _my_ way, Padfoot—so maybe it's me you're actually looking for," he taunted irritably. "Ever thought about that?"

Sirius shoved Remus away with a yelp, smashing his paw into the wolf's snout. "Get off of me, Moony," he growled, baring his teeth. "Stay away from me."

Remus bristled.

"I wish the castle were big enough," he replied, stalking away and glaring at the cat, who primly continued licking her paw and pretending she'd seen nothing.

* * *

The last ten years had been kind enough to Severus to permit him the luxury of forgetting, from time to time, what had happened to James Potter; before long, the name had lost most of its meaning, as had any reference to the long-forgotten Hogwarts Academy and all those who had filled it. On occasion, a villager might think of the school; might grow dreamy and nostalgic, tracing a hand to the horizon—" _wasn't there a castle once_?"—and Severus' innards would twist would fear; but then it would fade, the villager themselves inevitably returning to idle gossip.

The years had been kind enough to Severus, though not excessively so. He had been eager to learn from Tom and Narcissa, but his education had been tempered by errands—menial tasks for a 'project' that he didn't quite understand—and then, later, the recruitment of Narcissa's younger cousin Regulus, which meant that Severus had been pulled away from his studies more than once.

It had been fine, but not idyllic; the years had been kind, but not indulgent.

At least, not until one day in the shop.

"Excuse me," came a female voice. "Is a Mr Borgin or Burke available?"

"They both passed before I started working here," Severus replied, momentarily losing his place at the interruption and opting not to look up from his paperwork. "But if you'd like to speak to an owner, Tom's around here somewhere."

"Oh, not necessarily an owner," the visitor amended. "I'm just looking for one particular book jacket, and I thought—well, I'd just hoped someone could help me, I suppose." She gently cleared her throat. "If you have time, that is."

Severus sighed. "Well, I don't normally deal with customers, but if you—"

He stopped, looking up to catch her eye and promptly swallowing whatever he'd been saying, choking on it with an alarming immediacy. "Sorry," he coughed, giving his chest a hollow-sounding thump. "I just—I wasn't—"

"It's no problem at all," said the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen, flashing him a radiant smile.

Her name was Lily Evans, and she was perfection in bodily form. Her long red hair—tinted the kind of auburn that was more autumn than summer, more comfort and richness and warmth than simply grating brightness—had been flowing down her shoulders in loose, yawning waves, and her eyes—the most astonishing shade of green he'd ever witnessed, wide and framed with an exquisite bow of lashes—fixed on his and smiled in tune with her charming lips, rendering him speechless.

"Can you help me?" she'd asked, and he was _wrecked,_ fully torn asunder.

She needed the first edition cover for a book; a rare one, albeit non-magical—and thus, rendering her fairly useless for either Tom or Narcissa's purposes, which struck Severus as a massive relief—and he could barely think, barely process, barely _breathe_ as he searched their inventory, promising her he would find a copy.

"Come back in three days," he said, trying not to beg, and she nodded.

"I look forward to it, Severus," she told him, gracing him with a smile before turning away on a delicate breeze of something floral and tragically alluring.

"You're in trouble, aren't you," Regulus commented from behind him, bringing in a package from the back room. "I think you might have started drooling," he teased, stroking the leaf of a quivering tentacula in the corner.

Severus instantly checked his mouth, hiding the motion with a quick duck of his chin.

"Did not," he muttered, but he looked up again as soon as Regulus had chuckled, retreating to the back. "Lily Evans," Severus repeated to himself, toying with her name on his tongue.

Lily Evans.

Severus Snape was in _love_.

* * *

"He's distracted," Tom commented, watching Severus arrive late from his lunch with the redheaded girl who, despite not having magic of her own, seemed to have bewitched his apprentice to utter imbecility. "I don't like it."

"Of course you don't," Narcissa agreed. "But you don't want to lose focus from your other projects just to intervene with a harmless spurt of calf love, do you?"

"I'd hardly call it love," Tom scoffed, turning to look at her. "Tell me you don't actually believe in such fanciful things, Narcissa."

"What, _love_?" Narcissa asked, straightening in apprehension. "Are you saying that you don't love me, Tom?"

"Love," Tom retorted skeptically, "is merely a foolish imbalance of chemicals." He took a step towards her, curling a finger under her chin. "The things I feel for you are much stronger than any such childish delusion. I admire you," he informed her. "I respect you. I value your intellect, I trust your abilities, and I feel a kinship with you like no other I've ever known," he added, pulling her towards him. "I worship you as if you alone are my salvation."

She fought a smile.

"You're far beyond saving, Tom," Narcissa informed him at a murmur, and his lips curled up in amusement. "Besides, whether you disagree or not, love is real enough, as far as magical principles go," she reminded him. "Enough to break curses and the like."

"Curses," Tom echoed, his lips at the top of her head. "Like your little curse at Hogwarts?"

"Precisely," Narcissa confirmed, and then glanced up, an idea taking root. "You know, if you wanted her out of the way," she ventured, " _that_ is certainly a possibility."

"What, send her to Hogwarts, you mean?" Tom asked.

"She'd be trapped in the castle the moment she arrived," Narcissa pointed out, musing aloud. "It would be terribly convenient."

"Unless she breaks the curse," Tom countered.

Narcissa laughed; an airy, dubious melody. "She could never love the beast in that castle," she remarked. "And even if she did come to love him, it would take weeks, months, _years_ —time he doesn't have, and which keeps her away long enough for Severus to forget her. Long enough," she clarified, "to finish our project."

"Hm," Tom said, mulling it over. "A very good possibility, my enchantress," he said thoughtfully, passing her a smile.

"Shall I change for the occasion?" Narcissa prompted, transfiguring her clothes to the ones Severus had been wearing. "I think these suit me, don't you?"

"Deviance always suits you," he promised, kissing her cheek. She smiled.

"Perhaps I'll let you adore me later," she murmured, and once he'd reverently grazed his lips against her knuckles, she promptly vanished into thin air.

* * *

 _ **V.**_

 _There once was a beautiful girl; quite beautiful, and such thing can be a curse of its own._

 _The girl, of humble means and parentage, was more than simply lovely. She was kind and intelligent, and pure of heart, and made content by simple pleasures; but she was determined, too, and such a thing is often overlooked._

 _And so: a beauty comes upon a curse, and a castle falls under her spell._

* * *

There was something very odd about the people of Hogsmeade.

The owners of the shop where Severus worked, for example, were particularly strange; they gave Lily a very unsettled feeling, despite them being the two most beautiful people she had ever laid eyes on. The man, Tom, had the distinct look of seeing too clearly, or too much; the woman, Narcissa, rarely met her eye, but Lily often felt that she was watching, toying with the space between them, as though she commanded the very air around her without deigning to lift a finger.

The others in the village—well. They hadn't quite warmed to Lily; thought her peculiar, in fact, and wondered with a somewhat unabashed openness why a young woman would choose to remain unmarried, struggling to open a bookshop in a town where most people cared more for stewing turnips than reading literature. She'd heard them whispering about her more than once—and, indeed, scarcely at a whisper; things like " _pretty, but rather odd_ " and " _dazed and distracted and always alone, shouldn't she come down and join the rest of us?_ " and " _she'd have a lovely face if her nose weren't stuck in a book_ "—and slowly, Lily understood that she'd made a terrible choice, coming to this provincial town where everyone seemed to avoid her.

Everyone except Severus, that is, and while she appreciated his friendship—needed it more than she felt she could admit—she wondered if she weren't in some way stringing him along.

"Do you ever wonder," Severus murmured one day, "whether there isn't more for you out there? Somewhere else?"

Lily turned, offering him a smile. "Hard to believe that there isn't," she remarked, reaching overhead as though she could brush the stars with the tips of her fingers. "I like to think the world is too big—and too _unexplored_ ," she added wistfully, "for this to be the best part of my story."

Severus looked back at her, his dark eyes surprisingly warm. "Maybe we should run away together," he commented quietly, and she wasn't sure it was a joke.

"I don't think Tom would give you the time off," Lily teased, and Severus' smile faltered.

"Forget Tom," he said seriously. "Forget Hogsmeade." He sat up, turning to look at her. "Would you leave with me, if you could?"

Lily hesitated, wishing she could say something— _anything_ —that wouldn't cause the hope in his eyes to sputter. "I'm trying to carry on my father's legacy with the bookstore," she reminded him. "I hardly think I could just disappear," she added carefully, "do you?"

The last trace of his smile vanished.

"Sorry," he said awkwardly. "I guess I just thought—"

"I care about you, Severus, I do," she assured him hastily. "I just—I don't think it would be a good idea for us. You have a job," she reminded him, "and I'd like to do this for my father."

"I know," he acknowledged gruffly. "I guess I should just be happy you're here at all." He reached over, settling his fingers on hers. "For once, I'm not totally alone," he murmured quietly, and she sighed, sitting up to rest her head on his shoulder.

"No," she assured him. "You're not."

He seemed satisfied with that, or at least relieved, but the mentions of running away together—of a festering need for something _more_ —grew more insistent over time; and so, when he brought her in the midst of a thickened forest the following week just to 'get away from things for a bit,' she didn't think anything of it.

* * *

"Moony, for the _last time_ ," Sirius announced, "I'm trying to find a proper place to take Scarlett after I've recited some poetry for her this evening—"

"Stop talking," Remus snarled, turning sharply and prompting the dog to collide nose-first with the side of his ribs. "Did you hear that?"

"Did I hear you rudely interrupt me while I was speaking?" Sirius whined, indignant. "Yes, Moony, I heard it—"

"Not that," Remus sniffed impatiently. "The _voice_."

Sirius' ears perked up, listening for something other than the sound of the heavy stone steps shifting.

"There," Remus whispered, cocking his head. "Outside."

"Sev?" they heard a female voice say. "Severus, where are we?"

The familiar name was an unexpected surprise, and for a moment, both the dog and the wolf were lost in thought, feeling a strange sort of tapping from their splintered memories as they each contemplated what this could mean.

"Hello?" the voice came again, closer and more anxious this time. "Is anyone here?"

"Do you think," Sirius breathed, huffing out an excited sneeze, "that she's the one that will break the curse?"

"Do I look like I know the answer to that?" Remus retorted, snapping at him. "Just— _be quiet,_ and maybe she'll just—"

The doors to the castle suddenly creaked open, revealing a shadowed figure in the doorway below.

"Hello?" she called, her shoes tapping on the stone as she took a few steps inside, the doors falling shut behind her. "Oh no," she whispered, turning to reach for the handles and giving them a sharp but ineffective tug. "This doesn't seem promising."

Remus and Sirius exchanged a glance, and then they promptly took off down the stairs.

* * *

Lily warily surveyed the castle, wondering how she'd never seen it before. They hadn't come _that_ far from Hogsmeade, after all; she should have been able to see a building this size from the village. She frowned, looking around for Severus.

"Sev," she hissed, her hand still on the locked door handle. "This isn't _funny_ —"

She stopped, hearing the sound of footsteps on the stone. "Hello?" she offered, but paused in alarm, realizing they weren't normal footsteps. "Um," she said, turning towards the doors and giving them another sharp tug. "I just—I don't mean to disturb," she called over her shoulder. "I'm just—looking for a friend—"

She whipped around as the sound of tapping claws grew louder, coming to the conclusion with a strike of panic that the doors weren't going to open. Behind her, a set of glowing yellow eyes appeared from one of the cavernous castle corridors and she let out an unwilling squeak of fear, reaching for one of the torches on the wall.

"Stay back," she called fearfully, trying to look bigger than she was.

"Oh, _stop,_ " the wolf replied, making what appeared to be an expression of disdain. "If I were going to kill anyone, I'd have done it a long time ago."

Lily blinked, wondering if she'd gone mad.

"That's true," another voice contributed from somewhere near her knees, and Lily looked down to find a shaggy black dog looking up at her. "Moony's been trying to kill me for several years, but he never succeeds."

"I never _try,_ " the wolf—Moony—said indignantly. "Believe me, if I'd tried, I'd have succeeded."

"Are you—" Lily paused, floundering, and the wolf patiently took a seat, waiting for her to finish her sentence. "Are you talking to me?"

"Yes," Moony confirmed. "Padfoot is also talking to you. Don't worry," he added. "His bark is far worse than his bite."

"Yes," the dog agreed, "and as for Moony, neither his bark _nor_ his bite are much to write home about."

She glanced down at the dog, who was eagerly offering her his paw. "Oh," she said, accepting the handshake. "Padfoot, was it?"

"Honored to make your acquaintance," Padfoot replied, his tail wagging. "Truly delighted."

"Oh, contain yourself, you shameless sycophant," Moony sniffed.

"And you are?" Padfoot prompted, blatantly ignoring the wolf.

"I'm Lily," she supplied, still not certain she wasn't dreaming. "And I was just trying to leave, but—"

"Oh, you can't," Padfoot told her. "Dreadful inconvenience, that, and as much as I'd love for you to move around of your volition—" he shrugged, or tried to. "Them's the rules."

"Well," Lily sighed, "that's unfortunate."

"It's not all bad," Moony assured her. "Padfoot is the worst of it, obviously, but, um—" he paused, appearing to carefully choose his words. "The master isn't so bad."

Lily frowned, watching Padfoot's tail pause. "The master?" she echoed.

"Er—yes," Padfoot confirmed. "He's upstairs," he added brightly, "if you want to meet him."

"Oh," Lily said, watching Moony's ears suddenly brace apprehensively against the sides of his head at Padfoot's suggestion. "Well, um, I suppose I could—"

"Padfoot, may I speak to you?" Moony interrupted. "Privately?"

"Uh, _hello_ ," Padfoot said emphatically, indicating Lily with his snout. "I'm sort of in the middle of something. He's always like this," he added, muttering conspiratorially to Lily. "I'm in love with an exquisitely beautiful lady, you know, and Moony's always showing up, boring holes into my many atmospheres of roman- "

"It won't take long," Moony growled, giving Padfoot a brusque headbutt of a shove that was met with a low whine, both of them slipping quickly through a portrait on the wall and vanishing from sight.

Lily stood frozen, uncertain what she'd just seen.

"Okay then," she murmured to herself, looking up. From the rafters, a very regal looking cat appeared to be observing her closely. "Hello," she offered, waving awkwardly. "Do you talk too?"

"Only when I wish it," the cat retorted, licking her paw.

"What's your name?" Lily attempted, and the cat glanced down, eyeing her through what looked like a set of marked spectacles.

"Minerva," the cat replied.

"Oh," Lily offered warmly. "That's an adorable name for a cat."

Minerva stared at her, blinking once.

"Quite," she agreed dully, exiting the room without a word.

* * *

"We can't just spring her on him," Remus argued. "We have to—I don't know, _warm him up_ first, or something—"

"Oh, nonsense," Sirius retorted. "He'll be _thrilled_ to see her—after all, this can only mean that she's here to break the curse, don't you think?"

"Her being here could simply be coincidental," Remus admonished gruffly. "There's no guarantee she'll actually break it. She is, after all, very kind and beautiful," he sighed, "and Prongs is—"

"Surly?" Sirius prompted. "Arrogant? A bit of a grumpy twat?"

"I was going to say beastly," Remus admitted, "but you're not wrong."

They paused, interrupted by a sudden loud noise on the other side of the wall.

"What was that?" Sirius asked, and Remus sighed.

"I think Lily has met the master," he grumbled, cursing their unfortunate timing.

* * *

James squinted down at the shadowed form by the door from one of the shifting staircases, feeling murderous. He'd heard voices and was disturbed from his daily brooding, which was not something he appreciated.

"Who are you?" he growled, leaping from one moving staircase to another and then dropping to all fours before the intruder. "How did you get in?"

"I—"

James squinted at her, startled by the woman who had come into view. He deliberately kept to the shadows, careful to conceal most of his features.

"I'm sorry," the girl said frantically, her hand shaking around the torch she held. "I, um—I was with my friend Severus, and then I got lost—"

"Severus?" James repeated, a harsh bitterness reaching his voice at the name. "He's here?"

She was clearly afraid, but trying her best not to show it; in the light from the torch James could see her hair was an equally glowing sort of red, her eyes a startling green, and he felt a moment of awe that quickly molted to shame, hardened around the edges with envy for the obvious perfection of her face.

"No, I—I can't find him. And I'm sorry," she repeated hurriedly, reaching behind her for the handle of the heavy double doors. "I really didn't mean to disturb you, but I can't—"

James saw the panic on her face, gauged the degree of it, and recognized his own reflection in the flare that had lit in her eyes. He was a monster, after all—had been one for ten miserable years—and she, the only evidence of beauty that he'd seen in a decade, was trying desperately to escape.

It made him angry. It made him suffer shame, and _that,_ more than anything, made him furious.

"You can't leave," he snarled, his voice clipped. "You're trapped here along with the rest of us."

"Oh, wonderful, Prongs," Sirius interrupted, suddenly appearing through a portrait. "Moony and I were just going to bring Lily to meet you—"

Lily. Of course her name was beautiful too.

"Lily, is it?" James echoed, cutting Sirius off and staring at her. "Well," he began grimly, revelling in her discomfort. "Welcome to hell, then, Lily."

* * *

The man—the _creature_ —that stood before her was unnervingly tall, though he was currently crouched on all fours. She couldn't see his face clearly—only pieces of it, in streaks of light from the unevenly spaced torches—but what she could see tore the air from her lungs, as if it had been snagged on the very prongs of his antlers.

"Stay away from me," he snarled, and then he was gone, turning with such sharpness that the torch in her hand was put out.

Lily slowly let out a breath, trying to understand what she'd just seen. She felt Padfoot sidle up next to her, his coarse black fur rubbing at her stocking, and she absentmindedly let her hand fall, resting on his head.

"What," she gasped, " _was_ he?"

"That's the master," Moony admitted hesitantly. "He's a bit out of sorts."

"Totally out of character," Padfoot assured her. "He's probably just hungry," he added, and Moony shook his head at that, appearing to roll his eyes.

"But—his face," Lily whispered, unable to blink away the creature's eyes; they'd been so _human,_ a volatile hazel that changed in the light, from rage to fear to fury. "It's—he's not like any animal I've ever seen before, he's—"

"He used to be human," Moony explained. "We all did."

Lily blinked. "You did?"

"Well, naturally," Padfoot said. "It's how we came to possess such undeniable charm."

"What happened?" Lily asked, and the dog and the wolf exchanged glances.

"Well," Moony began, but was promptly interrupted.

"MOONY," they heard, a roar from upstairs. "PADFOOT!"

"Hold that thought," Padfoot yipped tentatively, his tail between his legs as he and Moony padded up the stairs to their master.

"Wait," Lily called after them. "What am I supposed to—"

"Oh, I can take care of you," a small voice squeaked, and Lily, despite her best efforts, let out a scream as she spotted a rat near her foot. "Or not," the rat muttered under his breath, giving Lily a beady-eyed glare of disapproval.

"I'm—I'm sorry," she offered hastily, recovering long enough to regain some semblance of manners. "I was just surprised, that's all—"

"Yes, sure, of course," the rat squeaked. "Nevermind that the _wolf_ didn't make you scream, but the _rat,_ abominable threat that I am—"

"I'm so sorry," Lily said again, crouching to speak to him. "What's your name?"

"Wormtail," he sniffed, "and I can take you to your room, if you like."

"My room?" Lily asked. "But I really should _go_ , you know—"

"Dungeons or tower?" Wormtail prompted, ignoring her. "I only ask, you see, because if the master is to decide, you may not care for what he chooses."

Lily glanced longingly at the door, which remained hopelessly locked.

"Tower," she sighed, and the rat nodded.

"I thought as much," he said, looking pleased. "Excellent choice."

* * *

"Please, Prongs," Remus insisted. "You really must _try_ to be nice to her. This could be our only chance to break the curse—"

"That curse will never be broken," James interrupted bitterly. "You heard the enchantress, didn't you?" he reminded them. "Nobody could ever come to love a beast."

"Perhaps not a beast who behaves _beast_ -ily," Sirius ventured. "But if I can make a darling red panda fall in love with me—"

"Which you can't," Remus muttered, " _and_ which is not presently the issue—"

"—then surely you can convince her to see you as you truly are, Prongs!" Sirius finished. "Woo her, Prongs—win her over, and _then—_ "

"Who says I want to win her over?" James growled. "Why _try,_ " he demanded, "only to be disappointed when she doesn't return my feelings?"

Remus and Sirius exchanged a hesitant glance.

"Perhaps," Remus attempted, "you might consider doing it for us?"

"Yes," Sirius agreed. "Being a dog has its advantages, but frankly, the tail leaves my very sensitive emotions overly exposed."

James grimaced, watching both sets of ears lift hopefully.

"Fine," he muttered, feeling a brush of guilt. "I'll invite her to dinner. But if she looks at me like—" he broke off, miserable. _If she looks at me like I disgust her; like I repulse her, like I'm a monster, like I'm a beast_ —

"If she looks at me like that again, this is over," James told them, bristling. "If this goes badly, then curse or not, this whole castle be _damned_ ," he shouted, stalking away to begin circling the rose with poorly-managed apprehension.

"That's the spirit," Sirius called after him brightly. "Slightly different words, ideally," he clarified, "but I certainly appreciate the spirit."

Remus glared at him. "You realize this will distract from your romantic pursuits, Padfoot," Remus warned. "Are you prepared to focus on someone other than Scarlett for a change?"

Sirius made a face. "I've been known to use my generous talents for seduction for the betterment of all," he sniffed airily. "I think that with my guidance, Lily will fall in love with Prongs by sundown."

Remus glanced up, watching James pace the floor of the trophy room, another petal falling from the rose as he cursed violently under his breath.

"Well," Remus muttered. "I suppose it's too late to warn you not to get your hopes up, then."

"Yep," Sirius confirmed, barking gleefully. "Quite."

* * *

"Do you like it?" Wormtail asked hopefully.

"It's beautiful," Lily said, gingerly picking Wormtail up from her shoulder and moving to place him on a nearby bookcase until she stopped, seeing Minerva the cat washing herself in a corner. "Oh," she said tentatively. "You aren't, um—"

"I'm not going to eat him," Minerva assured her listlessly, not looking up. "We don't really do that here."

"Oh, of course," Lily agreed. "You're all just—"

"We're all just a veritable menagerie of creatures forcibly trapped in a magic castle," a small, delicate-faced red panda interrupted, sneaking in through a crack in the door and using her tail to prod it shut as Lily set Wormtail down on the bookshelf. "But we all remember who we used to be."

"You do?" Lily asked, and the panda nodded.

"Yes," she said. "Though Prongs prefers that we not use our real names, and doesn't let us talk about who we were."

"Well," Lily sighed, perching on the edge of a bed that seemed to have conjured itself from nothing, "what should I call you, then?"

"Call me Scarlett," the panda said. "And you must be Lily?"

"Yes," Lily said, surprised. "How did you know?"

"Oh, Trill overheard you talking to Padfoot and Moony," Scarlett explained. "She's a bird. Very nosy."

"Because she's a bird?" Lily asked, and Scarlett's little snout twisted up in a smirk.

"She was nosy well before that," Scarlett said. "In fact, back when this was—"

"Careful," Wormtail warned, displeased.

Scarlett withered slightly, catching herself. "It's really not important," she said hastily. "The point is, Trill's always been a gossip."

"What were you going to say?" Lily pressed curiously, not quite ready to let it go. "Back when this was _what_?"

"Lily," Wormtail interrupted, slightly squeakier than he had been up to that point. "Is there something I should have the twins prepare for you this evening?"

"The twins?" Lily echoed.

"A pair of chimps," Minerva explained, patently unimpressed. "We call them 'See' and 'Do,' but really can't tell them apart—"

"—and they're not particularly great cooks," Scarlett warned her. "The castle at least seems to provide us with food, presumably from the Forbidden Forest—"

"Forbidden Forest?" Lily repeated, frowning. "Why's it called that?"

Minerva hacked up something that sounded like a feline scoff. "Guess," she quipped, unenthusiastically.

"Right," Lily murmured, just as there came a loud, thundering set of footsteps from the hall, the monster's voice tearing through the echoing corridor and prompting a fearful wrench in the base of her stomach. However kind the other animals might be, the master of the castle was something . . . different.

Something both _more_ human, and considerably _less_.

"LILY," the creature called Prongs had shouted. "YOU WILL HAVE DINNER WITH ME THIS EVENING—"

"Gentler, perhaps?" Lily heard Padfoot whisper from the corridor. "Perhaps more, um, songlike?"

"Or simply _ask_ her," Moony countered. "You know, as though it were a question."

"Ridiculous," Prongs muttered, sighing before thudding his fist twice against the door. "Lily," he said again, only slightly softer. "You will have dinner with—" he coughed, adding a lilt to the end of the sentence. "Me?"

"Phrasing," Padfoot tutted. "Try a 'please,' also—"

"Are you deliberately undermining my authority?" Prongs snapped. "It's not a _request_ —"

"Yes, but women _like_ to be requested _,_ " Padfoot told him, which was met with a sniff from Moony.

"I would never stoop to admitting that Padfoot ever knows what he's talking about," Moony reminded Prongs, "but in this case, he isn't technically wrong."

Prongs let out a growl. "Lily," he said, trying again. "Dinner, you me. Please. Tonight."

"Close enough," Padfoot sighed, and Lily glanced nervously at the animals who watched her from inside the room, blinking expectantly as they waited for her answer.

 _No,_ her fear whispered. _No, no, I can't_ —

"Um," Lily called back, biting her lip as she ducked Scarlett's imploring gaze. "I don't know."

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DON'T KN- "

"Hush, hush, Prongs, _gentle_ —"

Prongs let out a growl, lowering his volume. "What do you _mean_ ," he seethed irritably, "you don't _know_?"

Lily chewed her lip, trying not to look at Scarlett's hopeful nod.

"I just—it's been a very confusing day," she said, frantically searching for a possible excuse. "I don't know that I wish to have … dinner," Lily finished, staring at her feet.

 _I don't wish to have dinner with you,_ she had been careful not to say, but by the look of Scarlett and Wormtail's displeasure, the intent had been clear enough.

There was a pause from the other side of the door.

"What does that mean?" Prongs demanded, his voice poorly hushed. "She doesn't wish to eat?"

"Er," Padfoot said, clearly not wanting to clarify. "I, um—"

"Perhaps," Moony interrupted, "it might show a softer side of you, Prongs, if you were to _accept_ her disinclination to join you, and thus—"

"LILY," Prongs roared furiously. "YOU WILL HAVE DINNER WITH ME, OR—"

"Well, now, wait a minute," Padfoot cut in nervously, "perhaps you could cushion the request with some humor, perhaps—use that excellent wit of yours, my liege, or offer her some flowers, or chocolates—"

"Or promises you don't intend to keep," Moony contributed in a low drawl, as Prongs huffed his disapproval.

"Lily," he said again, the entire room shaking beneath her as he stepped closer to the door. "You _will_ have dinner with me. You can't stay in there forever—"

"Can't I?" Lily remarked bitterly, the words slipping out without much forethought. "You've trapped me in this castle, haven't you?"

"Oh no," she heard Padfoot whisper.

"You think _I've_ trapped you?" Prongs snarled. "Fine. _Fine._ Stay in there," he shouted, the sound of claws raking pointedly across her door. "STARVE, FOR ALL I CARE!"

"Prongs," Padfoot pressed nervously. "Prongs, if you could just—"

But by the sound of it, he had already stomped away.

"Yes," Moony remarked eventually. "You _do_ have quite the romantic touch, Padfoot."

"Shut up," Padfoot retorted, and on the other side of the door, Lily Evans sank to the floor, wondering what she'd just done.

* * *

 _ **VI.**_

 _A curse upon a castle seeps in through the floors, flooding the souls of its occupants. A beauty, well-intentioned, is still capable of fear; a beast, clinging to hope, is still capable of cruelty. A curse, then, which lives in their bones, tears apart what would destroy it._

 _And thus: danger, and deceit._

* * *

Lily slipped out of her tower bedroom, careful to keep her steps silent.

"Where's the kitchen?" she whispered to Minerva, who offered something that might have been a shrug.

"Down," the cat replied, darting in front of her and prompting Lily to nearly trip over her own feet on the stairs. "Be careful you don't go anywhere you shouldn't," she warned, leaping onto one of the stone banisters.

"Somewhere I shouldn't?" Lily echoed curiously. "Like where?"

"Hey," Moony barked, sitting up at the bottom of the staircase. "What are you telling her?"

"Nothing," Minerva purred smoothly, though she looked rather smug. "Didn't you hear me specifically say that she's not allowed to go to the west wing?"

"West wing?" Lily repeated, her eyes wide. "Why not?"

"Oi, would you _not_?" Moony yelped, baring his teeth slightly. "You know Prongs would utterly lose his shit if he heard you telling her not to go to the—"

"The trophy room?" Minerva asked languidly, flicking her tail. "You heard me, Moony. I specifically told her not to go there."

"But why _not_?" Lily protested, though she was ignored as Padfoot suddenly barreled into Moony's thick grey fur.

"Did I miss it?" he panted. "Is she coming down for dinner?"

"Yes," Minerva said stiffly, just as Moony let out a groan.

"Prongs specifically said for us to make sure she _didn't leave_ ," he reminded them. "You know how he is—"

"Yes, we do," Padfoot said, "and we don't care. Look at her!" he said, bounding up a step to rest his chin on Lily's thigh, whining excitedly. "We have to care for her, Moony, she's a _lady—_ "

"But of course, she shouldn't go to the west wing," Minerva remarked, scrutinizing her paw. "Certainly not there."

"Okay," Lily sighed, "you keep saying that, but—"

"Oh, _hard_ no to the west wing," Padfoot agreed. "But surely we can indulge the tiny mutiny of finding her _dinner_ —"

"You're impossible," Moony grumbled.

"Well, do you want her to starve?" Padfoot countered, leaping down the steps to bound after him. "Listen, we'll take her down to the kitchens and have the twins prepare her something, it'll all be very delightfully hush-hush—"

"Will you _stop_?"

"No I will not _stop,_ Moony, not until Lily has been properly fed and loved and protected—"

"For heaven's sake. Have you ever heard the phrase 'worship like a dog,' Padfoot?"

"Have _you_ ever heard the phrase 'hungry like the wolf,' Moony?"

"That's not even relevant!"

"It is too, she's _hungry_ , like a _wolf—_ "

Lily, who had only pretended to follow, watched the bickering dog and wolf disappear from sight before ducking down one of the alternate shifting staircases.

"Hey," she whispered to Minerva, "which part of the castle are we in?"

The cat didn't look up. "Third floor," she said, nudging a paw to the left, and Lily hid a smile, promptly descending the staircase and stepping off in a hallway lined with armored figures, all of whom seemed to have turned their heads to watch her go.

She picked up speed, feeling nervous, and suddenly emerged in a room that _had_ to have been the trophy room; or rather, it must have been at one time. The glass cases had all been smashed—a long time ago, by the looks of it, as dust had collected on the broken shards—and what had not been broken or shattered lay on the floor, shoved against the walls, the trophies themselves tarnished beyond legibility.

Lily bent, picking one of them up and running her thumb over what appeared to be a crest, featuring four animals and a scroll she couldn't quite make out. She was about to rub the letters into view when she looked up, catching sight of something glistening; a single red petal, falling from a perfect blooming rose.

She came to her feet, approaching it curiously. Unlike the other trophies, the rose was clearly cared for, the glass around it pristine and untouched by dust, and it hovered mid-air, suspended from nothing above a pedestal. She raised a hand, suffering an inexplicable need to touch it—to connect with it, knowing it was magic—and feeling in awe of it, despite its obvious fragility.

"Don't fucking touch that," a voice warned behind her, and Lily leapt back with a gasp, Prongs' ominous shadow coming into view behind her. "You may not want to have dinner with me," he said testily, "but you certainly don't get to _ruin_ me."

"Ruin you?" Lily echoed, fighting the urge to gulp as he took a step closer, his face coming into the light. "Why would a rose ruin you?"

"As if you care," Prongs snorted dubiously, taking a step and then seeming to delight as she shrank back in fear, something in his eyes changing as they met hers. "All you see when you look at me is a beast."

"And why shouldn't I?" Lily retorted, trying to be firm despite how very foreboding he was, all black claws and big teeth and sharp edges. "It's not like you've been particularly welcoming, you know."

"Please," Prongs said gruffly. "I've been more than kind. I've been indulgent, in fact. Overly so, seeing as _you_ are a trespasser, and would have been dumped in the dungeons if I were anything but immensely charitable—"

"I told you, this was an accident!" Lily countered. "I was with my _friend_ —"

"Severus?" Prongs supplied, his eyes flashing dangerously. "Well. Trusting him was your first mistake, then."

"What does that mean?" Lily demanded. "He's actually been nice to me, you know, unlike _you—_ "

"Yes, well, 'niceness' doesn't exactly top my list of priorities, considering it's _his_ fault that I—nevermind," Prongs growled, abruptly cutting himself off. "The point is," he said brusquely, " _you_ need to learn to follow the rules."

Despite herself—despite the danger she knew she should feel in his presence, and the very real sense of apprehension—she felt compelled to give in to a sudden rush of temper.

"Why do _you_ make the rules?" Lily demanded, glaring at him. "The others seem terrified of you!"

He shrugged, indifferent.

"Animal kingdom, darling," Prongs muttered, flashing his teeth. "In case it escaped your attention, I'm rather large and impressive."

"So?" Lily countered. "What gives you the right to tell them what they can _do_ , or what they can call each other, or—"

His face darkened warningly, and she let the words trail off, dissipating from her tongue as she watched him stiffen in anger.

"I've suffered long enough in this castle without the added trauma of being forced to listen to _you_ ," Prongs snarled at her. "Just—go back to your room—"

"You can't tell me what to do!" Lily retorted, taking a step forward in her fury. "You may be _their_ master, but you're certainly not _mine_ —"

"Oh, I most certainly _am_ ," Prongs snapped, lunging forward. "If you're going to live in this castle, you'll abide by my authority—"

"And who are you to decide that?" Lily retorted furiously. "You're arrogant and selfish, and if Severus did this to you, then—" She stopped, scowling. "Then you probably _deserved_ it!"

Prongs' face went blank with rage.

"You," he said, stepping towards her, "have _no idea_ what you're talking about."

"I think I've seen enough to know," she protested forcefully, stumbling backwards as he took a step, unnerved by the prospect of him coming towards her. "You can't possibly be so cruel and still think you're somehow _innocent_ , you know—"

"And _you_ can't possibly be this self-righteous and stubborn, and yet here we both are!" Prongs roared angrily. "You're living in _my_ castle, disturbing _my_ rose—"

"Listen," Lily seethed, "I don't want to be here any more than you want me here, so I'll just—" she sputtered. " _You_ can just—"

"Er, found her," Padfoot interrupted sheepishly, appearing in the doorway with Moony. At the sound of their voices, Prongs turned, leaving a vacancy between Lily and the door.

She didn't say anything; didn't make a sound. She simply aimed herself towards the exit and took off running, knowing that two things were certain: one, that a locked door didn't necessarily mean barred windows, and two, that there was _no possible way_ she could spend another moment with the beast who called himself Prongs.

* * *

"Where is she going?" Sirius said fretfully, and James let out a huff of annoyance.

"Running away," James muttered, staring at where she'd disappeared. "Good riddance," he added, fighting the unconscious shudder of nerves that Remus, watching silently, hadn't missed.

"Prongs," Remus warned, his voice low. "You know what'll happen to her if she gets outside these walls."

James grimaced, helplessly bringing a hand to the raised edges of the scars around his throat. " _She's_ the one who wanted to leave," he said simply, but Remus shook his head.

"Come on now, Prongs," Remus said, shaking his head. "You know you can't let her go like this."

There was a crashing sound of a window breaking from elsewhere in the castle, and James reached up, rubbing the bridge of his monstrous nose.

"This isn't my fault," he muttered insistently. " _She_ came in here fucking around with the rose. _She_ goaded me. _She_ broke the rules. _She_ —"

"Yes, yes to all of that," Sirius agreed. "But still." He lowered himself to the ground, resting his head mournfully on his paws. "You won't let her die, will you, Prongs?"

James sighed.

"She'll always hate me," he told them, stiff with certainty. "I can't make her love me."

"How about," Remus ventured, "you settle for saving her life, and then we'll see how that turns out?"

James grimaced.

"Fine," he muttered, shoving past them and heading towards the sound of the crash.

* * *

Lily leapt from the smashed-in window frame of the castle's Great Hall down to a thicket of trees, determined to make it out. It was dark by then and the foliage rendered sight nearly impossible, but she steadied herself and launched ahead, certain it was this or nothing.

She stumbled against a tree trunk, something wrapping itself around her ankle; she tried to free herself but the more she pulled, the tighter the grip got, a vine of sorts twining up her leg and rooting her in place. She struggled, fighting to tear herself free, but the vines only seemed more insistent, reaching out like tentacles until they had twined themselves around her waist, her ribs, her chest, her _neck_ , slowly cutting off her breath.

"Help," she choked out, shutting her eyes to avoid the thorns she could feel on the branches and calling desperately to anyone who might hear. "Help me, _please—_ "

The final word was incoherent, little more than a gasp, and she surrendered herself helplessly to a solitary defeat when suddenly a large claw sliced through the vines across her front, releasing her with a loud, gasping breath. She turned, feeling herself tugged against the chest of the creature that could only be Prongs as he used his claws to fight the tangled vines, the thorns of them shifting their paths to reach greedily for his throat.

"Get out," he muttered hoarsely to her. "I'll keep them away from you."

She nodded and ran, searching for something useful at the line where the trees had met castle walls. She caught a glimpse of silver—an axe—and heaved it up over her shoulder, running back to where Prongs had already collapsed, the branches dragging him to his knees.

She slashed at the vines with difficulty, finding the tool difficult to maneuver, but discovering that it was enough for only one of two things. One, to free enough space for a small person to get out, to make it through the forest, to possibly _escape_ while the vines were distracted _;_ or two, to hack them away long enough to permit a much larger beast to crawl back towards the castle.

Lily made her choice and slammed the axe against the largest branch—the one that had wrapped itself around Prongs' neck, the thorns digging in and leaving tracks of blood in their wake. The vines, finding a new target, slowly retreated from Prongs' unsteady form, instead swallowing the silver axe as Lily managed to drag her rescuer back towards the castle.

She collapsed with him, her strength used up by the process of moving him, and tore a piece of her skirt, pressing it to the wounds at his neck. She noticed, then, that there were raised white edges torn into the skin and fur; scars, she realized, from what must have been a similar attempt.

"You could have warned me," she murmured to him, putting pressure on the seeping wounds. His eyes fluttered, neither open nor closed.

"I did," he said flatly, and she sighed.

"You could have been killed," she told him.

This time, his eyes opened, revealing the odd, human hazel within.

"Yes," he said. "But you didn't let me die."

"No," she agreed. "I didn't."

Prongs sighed, flinching as he tried to move his arm and found it bloodied. "You can't get out," he told her. "I've tried."

"How many times?" she asked, and he grimaced.

"Enough to know for sure," he admitted, staring at his hands.

For a moment, she felt sad for him, seeing the way he had suffered; she felt, despite everything, that there was something in this creature she could understand.

 _Escape._

"Can you stand?" she asked, gesturing to the heavy double doors. "I don't think I can drag you, or that it would be very comfortable for you even if I could."

Prongs glanced at them, and then seemed to consider her for a moment. "Will you follow my rules?" he demanded, and she made a face.

"Will you be nice?" she countered.

He scoffed. "Will you be reasonable?"

"I will if _you_ will," she said sternly, and he let out an unsteady breath; something that might have been a laugh, had his lungs not been compromised, or his pride not been wounded.

"Fucking magical forest," he muttered, glaring at it, but Lily thought she saw something flicker in his eyes when they met hers.

Another thing she understood, she realized.

 _Relief._

* * *

"She didn't open the bookstore today," Severus said, fidgeting. "I was supposed to meet her this afternoon, but she wasn't there."

"So?" Regulus asked, not looking up from his cartography assignment; he was charming a map to chart the magical zones of an Albanian forest, on the basis of one of Tom's ambiguous whims. "Is that so abnormal?"

" _Yes,_ " Severus replied impatiently. "That bookstore means everything to her—the collection was her father's, and he's the reason she wanted to open one, and—" he grimaced, trailing off. "It's just not normal."

"It's one day," Regulus assured him. "I'm sure she'll have an explanation tomorrow."

Severus chewed his thumbnail, still festering with worry.

"Sure," he lied, thoroughly unconvinced.

* * *

 _ **VII.**_

 _What does a beast share with a beauty? A hunger to be seen for what lies beneath; to be witnessed for a soul, which bears no face, but harbors truth unyielding. For things that are shared, beauty beholden; for things accursed, cast aside._

 _And so: close quarters, and on the horizon, distant smoke._

* * *

"She's been missing for nearly three weeks," Severus ranted, pacing the floor of their workshop. "This is no accident, Reg, something _happened—_ "

"You're certain she wouldn't have left on her own?" Regulus asked, glancing up. "I know you were close, Sev, and perhaps you don't want to admit it, but people come and go, especially ones who don't have any other roots in Hogsmeade—"

"I'm _sure_ ," Severus insisted. "Something's happened to her, I know it—" He spun, facing Regulus with a contorted look of pain. "Help me," he begged. "Please? _Trust_ me," he added. "She wouldn't just go."

Regulus sighed, finding the other man's sorrow impossible to ignore. "Alright," he said quietly. "I'll help you."

"Thank you, Regulus," Severus exhaled, gripping the other man's shoulder with a mixture of gratitude and relief. "Thank you."

* * *

"Prongs," Lily said in greeting, taking her seat across from him at one of the Great Hall's tables. "Good morning."

The window, unsurprisingly, had long since repaired itself.

"Lily," Prongs returned, nodding once. He picked up a spoon, glaring at it, before dipping it in the twins' mediocre approximation of porridge. "Did you sleep well?"

"Quite," she replied. "And you?"

"Horribly," he told her. "Had a nightmare."

"Were you trapped in a magical castle with only talking animals for company?" she asked innocently, and he glanced up, checking for signs of mockery.

Not finding any, he relaxed.

"No," he replied smoothly. "I dreamt that I was an unholy abomination. Red hair," he explained, gesturing to his antlers.

"Oh, _hilarious_ ," she snorted, rolling her eyes.

He smiled, though the evidence of it vanished the moment his spoon slipped between his fingers. "The nightmare continues," he muttered to himself, fishing it out of his porridge.

She stifled a laugh, hiding the motion behind a napkin.

"It's happening," a voice whispered loudly. "Do you see it, Moony?"

"Yes, Padfoot," the wolf returned, sighing. "I'm right here."

"What's happening?" Wormtail piped in. "What is it?"

"Nothing," Padfoot and Moony said in unison, the former releasing a dreamy sigh.

"Padfoot," Prongs called neutrally, prompting the dog to pop up from beneath the table. "Don't you have a panda to woo?"

"Ah, she can wait," Padfoot returned. "Romance takes time, you know," he added slyly, and then let out a swift yelp. "Moony, can you _not—_ "

"Sugar?" Lily asked. Prongs nudged it towards her.

Their hands touched; she didn't flinch.

"Thank you," she said, absentmindedly taking a bite of toast as she lowered a cube of sugar into her tea.

At her feet, Padfoot sighed with pleasure.

* * *

"You should give her something," Remus advised, stretching lazily. "She seems to like books."

"She likes them, yes, but her taste in them is horrid," James muttered reflexively, but at the suggestion, he slowly looked up. "What would you propose?"

"Frankly, I would simply _propose_ ," Sirius ventured obnoxiously, but Remus placed his paw on the dog's insufferable snout, silencing him.

"She's already seen the library," Remus remarked, "but we all know where the good books are."

"Is the owl still hoarding them?" James asked, frowning thoughtfully, and Remus gave him an oddly cogent shrug.

"One way to find out," he mused, refusing to budge as Sirius snorted his approval from beneath the wolf's paw, contributing a muffled bark of agreement.

* * *

"So," Prongs said, gesturing to a door with an eagle-shaped knocker. "This is Ravenclaw tower."

"Ravenclaw," Lily echoed, staring at the lifelike brass. "What's that?"

"This castle used to be a school," Prongs explained, either failing to notice her look of surprise at the rare detail or dismissing it entirely. "Ravenclaw was one of the four houses."

"Oh," she said, noticing he was in a sharing mood, but deciding not to press the issue. "And what's so special about Ravenclaw?"

"Well, they're intellectuals," Prongs began, sounding bored with his own characterization, "or so they believe; but more importantly, they're deeply insatiable thieves."

"Thieves?" she asked skeptically.

"Thieves," he confirmed, nodding. "The best books—the _rare_ ones—will be in here."

"Oh," Lily said, trying and failing to hide her excitement at the prospect; she missed, more than anything, the comfort of her father's books, and had found the castle's library nearly stripped of any she'd once loved. "How do we get in?"

"Well, I wasn't a Ravenclaw," Prongs informed her, bending to look at the knocker. "But I think we have to answer a riddle."

"What kind of rid- "

"What do all men want," the knocker began, opening its beak, "but few possess, that some would die for, and none protest?"

"Beauty," Lily guessed, just as Prongs murmured, "love."

She glanced at him with surprise, but the eagle seemed to nod smugly, satisfied. "Both answers accepted," it murmured, and the door was opened, revealing an airy room with high ceilings, the breeze from a tower balcony swirling around their waists to draw them in.

"Wow," Lily exhaled with surprise, looking around the room. "This is—"

"Those fucking _thieves_ ," Prongs cursed under his breath, shaking his head.

The room was lined—floor to ceiling, apart from equally high windows—with shelves that were littered with books, all neatly arranged; there was obvious care here, even reverence, but the books themselves showed signs of age, of constant touching along their spines. Lily stepped towards the nearest shelf, freeing a thick royal blue volume from its slot.

"This looks just like a book my father gave me," Lily murmured, running her finger over the embossed lettering of the anthology of fairy tales. "On the inside cover, he had written—"

She stopped, her breath catching as she noticed the familiar handwriting inside. _Dearest Lily,_ it read, _may your life always have magic._ "No," she whispered, looking up. "Prongs, this is—I can't believe it—"

"Hm?" he asked vacantly, looking up from a book titled _Hogwarts, A History_ and stepping towards her. "What is it?"

"This book," Lily said, wondering if it were even possible. "I think it's _the exact one_ my father gave me, but—I left it in my shop, in the village—"

"Huh," Prongs remarked, tilting his head. "Well, this _is_ a magic castle," he reminded her wryly. "I suppose if it can trap us and feed us, it can do us the not-unreasonable favor of also slipping us a book or two."

"Yes," Lily agreed, feeling a shiver of awe and something strangely promising. "I suppose so." She looked up, smiling helplessly as she hugged the book to her chest. "I miss him," she confessed quietly, and Prongs, unexpectedly, seemed to soften, his hazel eyes warming as he looked at her.

"What happened?" he asked, and she sighed.

"My parents passed away when I was a teenager," Lily explained. "My father had a bookshop that had quite a bit of debt, so my sister and I sold the store and agreed that I would keep some of the books. I promised my sister I would re-open his store somewhere else—not that she really cared," she added, making a face. "She thought being a shopkeeper would be too small a life."

Prongs considered her silently. "Is it?" he asked, and Lily grimaced.

"Smaller than a castle," she admitted, and he made a sound that she swore was a low appreciative chuckle. "What about your parents?"

Prongs swallowed heavily, his amusement promptly fading. "I haven't seen them since—since _this_ ," he said, gesturing vaguely to his face. "Not really, anyway—but I do know they passed somewhat recently."

Lily bit her lip, watching his chin drop with sadness. "I'm so sorry," she murmured, reaching for his hand. She rested her fingers atop his. "How do you know?"

He opened his mouth and then closed it, hesitating; his gaze tentatively darted askance, and she frowned. "What is it?" she pressed, letting her hand fall back to her side.

He looked down, noting the absence, before letting out a burdened breath.

"Lily," he ventured tangentially, slowly dragging his eyes back to hers. "Would you want to have dinner with me tonight? I could show you the castle," he offered, and she blinked, finding the suggestion deeply unexpected. "Take you on a tour?"

"I thought there were rules about where I could go," she remarked mockingly, and he made a face.

"I'm making an exception," he grumbled, looking haughtily bristled. "So will you?"

In the moment, he was devastatingly awkward, hunched over slightly as though he fully expected her to refuse and was dreading the inevitable; overall, the effect was surprisingly charming, and yet the smile that tugged at her lips still caught her by surprise.

"I'd like that," she told him honestly, and he gave her a beatific look of relief.

* * *

"I made us dinner tonight," she said, placing the plate of food in front of him. "The twins and I actually _share_ the benefit of opposable thumbs, after all," she explained, "and the castle provided us with the materials for a roast my mother used to make, so—"

"I'm ecstatic," James assured her, taking a deep, satisfying breath of the most indulgent meal he'd had in several years. "My mother used to be diligent about Sunday roast, and this looks even better."

Her cheeks flushed, breathlessly pleased.

"Good," Lily said primly, doing a rather poor job of hiding her satisfaction as she sat down and tucked her napkin in her lap, promptly raising a leg of chicken to her lips with her fingers.

"What are you doing?" James asked, startled. She took an overly large bite, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Eating," she said simply. "Forks and knives are tiresome."

James looked down at the too-small fork—one that he'd been struggling to use for nearly a month now—and felt a tingle of something warm; gratitude, perhaps, or else—

Well. It was a small thing, in any case. He shifted in his seat, grateful neither Remus nor Sirius were present to remark upon his—

" _Aww_ ," Sirius whispered loudly. "That's sweet."

"PADFOOT," James barked, and then a hurried series of footsteps carried from the hall to the corridor. "Sorry about that," he offered, and Lily smiled, holding a finger to her lips.

"You can leave too, Moony," she called, and then there was a loud, burdened sigh, followed by more sounds of retreating footsteps. "There," she said, smiling.

He smiled back.

"This tastes remarkably familiar," James ventured, flashing back unwillingly to time spent with his mother and father. "It's quite a bit like how my mother used to make it."

"Were you close with your parents?" she asked, and he swallowed uncomfortably, something inexplicably lodged in his throat at the thought.

"Yes," he said, but didn't elaborate. He stared down at his potatoes, severing one with his claw and bringing it to his mouth.

She reached out, stilling the hand that remained on the table. He looked down, surprised, but she continued eating, seemingly pretending not to notice the contact.

"You know, there's nothing like a roast," James attempted, aiming for airy nonchalance, "but one of these days, I'd murder someone for cacciucco."

"Sorry?" Lily asked, glancing up. "What?"

"Not really," he assured her quickly. "I mean, I'd like some, but I promise nobody would have to die."

"Not that," she said with a laugh, rolling her eyes. "The other thing."

"Oh, cacciucco? It's a seafood stew from Tuscany," James explained, his mouth watering at the memory of the meal, eaten on a family holiday in Livorno. "Have you had it?"

Lily shook her head, cheeks flushed. "I haven't been much outside this county, to be quite honest," she told him, the confession clearly burdened as she slowly retracted her hand. "I always _wanted_ to travel the world," she insisted, attempting brightness before her expression promptly faded. "But then my father, and the books, and opening the store—" she shrugged, picking at her food. "I suppose somewhere along the way, preserving his legacy became more important."

James frowned. " _You're_ his legacy," he corrected, and when she ducked her head sheepishly, he reached out, careful not to scratch her as he rested his hand on hers. "No, listen," he admonished, shaking his head. "Don't you think he would want you to be happy?"

"Well, I—I know that," Lily stammered, fidgeting. "But still, the books—"

"The books are something you shared, and they're important," James told her seriously, "but _you're_ his daughter." He stared at her, taking in the way the light flickered, making her green eyes dance. "He was probably prouder of you than any of the books," he added softly, and Lily's eyes widened, something warm filling her gaze.

 _There it is again_ , he thought. Something small.

 _Gratitude._

"Come on," James announced, suddenly toppling the bench behind him as he rose abruptly to his feet. "I want to show you something."

* * *

"So," Tom said, kissing the back of Narcissa's neck. "How goes it at Hogwarts?"

"Rather swimmingly," Narcissa remarked, watching their captives in the looking glass. "A bit _too_ swimmingly, I'd wager."

"You think they'll break the curse?" Tom asked, and she shrugged.

"Nothing I can't remedy, even if that's the case," she assured him. "Hogwarts is a veritable fortress, and they seem to have abandoned any desire to venture out."

"Really? Even the girl?" Tom asked, surprised. "Perhaps she does love that terrible little beast, then."

"She does seem to have a way with broken things," Narcissa commented, waving away the glass reflection and leaning back against his chest. "After all, look at the devotion she seems to have wrangled from Severus."

"Ah, yes," Tom sighed in acknowledgement, pursing his lips. "His distraction doesn't seem to have resolved itself," he lamented. "Perhaps his feelings for her are harder to stamp out than I predicted."

"Is he an asset still?" Narcissa asked pointedly. "Or has Severus become a liability for the success of the project?"

Tom hummed thoughtfully. "Hard to tell," he murmured, and then smirked as she turned in his arms, her fingers running suggestively down the line of his chest. "But perhaps we should discuss it later."

"Perhaps we should," Narcissa agreed, pulling him towards her as she curled her fingers around the back of his neck.

On the other side of the door, Regulus slipped quietly out of sight, uncertain what to make of what he'd just heard.

* * *

 _ **VIII.**_

 _A reflection can be an illusion, a trick of the light, and a mirror will prove it so; what lies beneath is stirring, and turmoil amongst the beastly thunders underfoot. Beauty and honesty rarely lock hands, but the prince, given one, must then face the other._

 _And so: a threatening truth, and a very true threat._

* * *

"Sev," Regulus said urgently. "I've just heard Tom and Narcissa talking about Lily, and, well, I don't really know what to make of this, but—" he inhaled, grimacing. "Have you ever heard of Hogwarts?"

The parchment slipped from his fingers. "No," Severus whispered, suddenly realizing where Lily had gone.

"Wait," Regulus called after him. "Wait, Sev, there's more—"

But he had already disappeared from sight.

* * *

"The rose's petals have almost all fallen," Lily commented, slipping her hand into the crook of Prongs' arm as they walked. "Are you worried?"

He glanced down, noticing the gesture, but apparently chose to ignore it in favor of sighing dramatically. "I thought I told you to stay out of there," he muttered, glaring at her, and she shrugged.

"You did," she assured him. "I opted to ignore you."

"You're terrible," he grumbled.

"You're _in trouble_ ," she pointed out. "Are you sure there's no way to break the curse?"

Prongs hesitated, then grimaced. "I don't know," he said smoothly— _too_ smoothly—and then took a sharp turn, leading her down a corridor she'd never noticed before. "I wouldn't worry about it. After all," he added, "you've no need to fear ever becoming a beast."

"Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad," Lily said neutrally. "Easier to eat with my hands. And I'd have a much easier time reaching things," she added, "so you wouldn't have to do it for me every time I needed a book from Ravenclaw tower."

Prongs came to a sudden halt. "What?"

"Well, you're tall," Lily joked. "Which _may_ have escaped your attention, but—"

"Not that," he cut in, fidgeting. "You'd—stay?"

She cocked her head, realizing what he meant. "Well," she said slowly, "I'm trapped, aren't I?"

"But what if you weren't?" Prongs pressed. "What if when the last petal falls, the castle lets you go?"

"Oh," Lily said, chewing her lip. "I suppose I hadn't thought about it."

Prongs appeared to force a nod. "Right," he said vacantly, his voice clipped and distracted. "Well, this way, anyway—"

He pulled her into another long darkened corridor, the walls of which were midnight blue and lined with mirrors, each a different size and shape.

"This is the Hall of Mirrors," he explained, gesturing to it. "Each of these mirrors shows you something different."

Lily felt her eyes widen, stepping towards the closest one; an ancient, ornate fixture with clawed feet and a gold frame. "What does this one show?"

"This is the Mirror of Erised," Prongs informed her. "It shows you the thing you desire most in the moment."

Lily stepped in front of it, curious what she'd see. She waited, her reflection suddenly shifting; she was somewhere warm, colorful buildings and the sea behind her, and she was holding something in her hand. A bowl, she realized, filled with a richly vibrant stew, the steam of it wafting up and manifesting in a knowing look of pleasure on her face; an expression that she somehow instinctively knew meant that she'd been everywhere, and seen it all.

"Cacciucco," she murmured, and turned to Prongs, unable to resist a smile. "What do you see?"

She stepped aside, gesturing for him to take her place, but he shook his head.

"I always see the same thing," he informed her unhappily, with a sulky twinge to his voice that almost made her laugh.

"Which _is_?" she prompted, and he arched a brow.

"Don't push it," he warned gruffly, but at her look of pleading disappointment, he sighed. "Myself," he admitted, the sound rumbling unhappily under his breath. "As I was before the curse."

"Oh," she murmured, trying to ignore the sudden curiosity that rose up in her chest at what the person under the claws and antlers—the _man_ , with the changing hazel eyes—might have looked like. "Well," she said, glossing over it, "don't you want to have a look?"

"No," Prongs muttered. "It tends to make things worse."

"Oh, come on," she urged, taking his hand and giving him a yank. "Just for a _minute_ —"

He let her pull him into the frame of the mirror and pursed his lips, facing his reflection. "Okay," he muttered, "you got your way, and now I have to—"

He stopped, his eyes widening as he stared.

"What?" Lily pressed. "What is it?"

Prongs heaved a swallow. "Nothing," he whispered. "Like I said," he told her, clearing his throat loudly and hastily ducking out of the mirror's view. "Same as always."

She frowned. "Are you sure?" she asked. "Because you look a little—"

"This one is why I brought you here," he interrupted loudly, pointing to a smaller oval-shaped glass in the corner. " _This_ mirror lets you see anywhere in the world that you wish."

"It does?" Lily asked, successfully distracted. She stepped towards it and then looking over her shoulder at him. "This is how you saw your parents?"

"Yes," he confirmed. "I would ask to see them, and the mirror would oblige."

"Hm," she said, placing herself in the frame. "Show me Petunia," she asked, and then glanced back at Prongs. "That's my sister," she explained, and he nodded. "Huh," she remarked, watching Petunia as she sat quietly in her sitting room. "I guess she's still with that horrible Vernon." She paused, thinking. "Show me Severus, please," she asked, and the mirror surface quickly changed.

"Wait," Lily said, her eyes widening as she watched. "Oh no— _oh no_ —"

"What is it?" Prongs asked worriedly, stepping towards her. "What's happened?"

"Tom," Lily gasped, bringing a hand up to her mouth.

* * *

"What have you done to Lily?" Severus demanded, storming into the store's back room. "And _why,_ Tom? Why her?"

"You're very worked up, Severus," Tom murmured, not looking up from the locket he was toying with. "It's very difficult to understand you when you're frustrated."

Severus bristled.

"How did you do it?" he insisted violently, suffering an unwise combination of anger and worry and fear. "You told me the school had been _closed,_ Tom, that you'd _fixed it_ —"

"And I had," Tom replied, referencing the spellbook at his side and then glancing down again at the necklace. "You've noticed, haven't you, that nobody's come after you in the last ten years?"

"Is the castle still there, then?" Severus pressed. "Hogwarts, the castle—is _she_ there? What have you done?" he asked again, taking several furious strides forward. "What did you _do_ , Tom?"

"My goodness," Tom drawled, turning the page of his book. "It's almost as though you've forgotten that _I've_ been the one to take care of you for the last ten years. I'm the one, after all, who cleans up your messes," he reminded him pointedly, "and I'm the one who taught you everything you know."

He finally glanced up, slowly meeting Severus' eye. "If I didn't know better," Tom mused, his cold blue eyes flashing with something that felt suspiciously like a taunt, "I'd say you might've foolishly forgotten that I protected you from the vitriol you surely would have faced from this town, if not something far worse. Imagine," he murmured emphatically, "if the villagers of Hogsmeade knew you were a _wizard_ , and a dark one, at that—"

He trailed off meaningfully and Severus clenched a fist, long past irritated.

"You may have protected me then," Severus hissed, quietly seething, "but you've crossed a line now, Tom."

"Have I?" Tom asked neutrally, leaning back in his chair. "Tell me, Severus, how I've done such a thing."

"Lily isn't yours to play with," Severus snapped. "You may have toyed with _me_ for the last ten years, but I'll be damned if I let you—"

"Let me?" Tom cut him off, scoffing. "Do you think there is a world where you are a match for me, Severus? Because let me assure you," he said, rising sharply to his feet and holding out a hand, " _there is not."_

Severus choked as Tom's fingers closed in mid-air, his magic coiling itself around Severus' throat.

"Yes," Tom murmured suddenly, his brow faintly furrowed as he watched Severus struggle for air, "the castle still exists. It's hidden in the forest." He tilted his head, observing Severus from afar. "Lily's there—though I should warn you, so is James Potter. You remember _him_ , don't you?" He smiled as Severus fought for a gasping breath. "You _do_ remember turning him into that—well, what should we call it?" He tapped his mouth facetiously with the hand that wasn't strangling Severus, making a show of his deliberation. "A _beast_ , perhaps, is the word?"

Severus choked out something like acknowledgement, and Tom smiled.

" _You_ did that, Severus," he reminded him, half-laughing at the memory. " _You_ used a spell to ruin him, and now you wish me to save your precious beauty from—what, exactly?" Tom mused. "Do you imagine, somehow, that I wish an innocent girl's demise?"

"You—" Severus choked out. "You—"

"I?" Tom asked expectantly, cupping a hand around his ear. "Do spit it out, Severus," he remarked, chuckling as he abruptly released him and Severus fell to his hands and knees, coughing and retching on the floor.

"You know," Tom commented, walking around his desk to drop to a crouch beside Severus, "I had no intention to hurt her. I wonder, though," he tutted softly. "If the beast you created feels the same way?"

Severus' chest filled with fear, straining in his lungs.

"Where," Severus rasped, coughing again. "Where is the castle now?"

"Ah, same place it always was," Tom informed him, looking terribly amused. "You were just too eager to put your sins behind you to ever bother _looking_ , weren't you?"

Severus reached up, using the corner of the desk to launch himself to his feet, ignoring Tom's unflinching smile.

"I'm going to save her," Severus grunted, and Tom chuckled beatifically as his apprentice shoved past him, heading for the door.

"Best of luck," he called, resoundingly unapologetic as he watched the other man's exit.

The moment Severus exited the room, Narcissa entered, apparating with a soft crack.

"Well?" she prompted, gesturing to where Severus had been. "What would you like me to do?"

Tom turned towards her, flashing his too-clever smile. "Oh, just gather the villagers," he suggested whimsically. "I think it's time we told them who the real monster is in this town."

* * *

"He's in trouble," Lily said, her eyes wide. "Tom's _hurting_ him, and I can't tell how or why but something is _wrong—_ " She paced the room, toying with her long auburn hair. "I just—I wish I could _get_ to him, somehow, to make sure he's okay, but—"

She groaned, stopping in front of James and suddenly resting her forehead against his chest. "I just wish there was something I could do," she whispered, and James let his hands fall, one of them gingerly stroking her hair.

"Maybe there is," he murmured, and she looked up, her brow furrowed.

"How?" she asked. "You've tried for _ten years_ to get out, Prongs, so I doubt there's a way to—"

"The book I found in Ravenclaw Tower," he interrupted, a stir of apprehension at the confession sinking unhappily in his chest. "It says there's a room in the castle that can produce a way to the outside."

Lily frowned. "Like a secret passage?"

"More like a portal," James said. "But I didn't say anything before," he clarified hastily, "because I have no idea yet if it's true, or if it would even work, so—"

"But we have to _try,_ " Lily exclaimed, taking a step back and pulling him out of the Hall of Mirrors at a fairly graceless run. "Where is it? If we could just—"

"Oooh, you two are in a hurry to get upstairs," Sirius interrupted, suddenly appearing out of an alcove and nipping playfully at their heels as Remus followed. "I take it the dinner went well?"

"Not now, Padfoot," James grumbled, leading Lily up one of the shifting staircases.

"Where are you going?" Remus called after them, a dubious tone creeping into his wolfish growl.

"Oh, hush," Minerva admonished, the voices fading as James and Lily stepped onto the seventh floor landing.

"It should be here," James explained, pointing to the wall. "You just have to, um—think about it," he said, feeling foolish. "About where you want to go, and then walk in front of it three times—"

"I feel silly," Lily sighed, dutifully following his instructions. "I mean, what if it doesn't work?"

"It might not," James admitted. "But if it does, then—"

He stopped as a door appeared and Lily's eyes widened; she pulled it open and a long tunnel seemed to materialize from nothing, a light glimmering at the other end.

James, catching the look of wonder on her face, paused to consider that he wished the feeling that had struck his chest had been, as her response indicated, simply surprise at the portal's appearance, but he knew that in reality it was something much worse. It was an incomprehensible, harrowing dread, knowing for certain what would have to come next now that her way out was real.

"Wow," she whispered, and then shook herself of her reverie, taking James' hand. "Come on, we have to stop him—"

"Lily," James ventured hesitantly, his claws closing gently around her wrist as she tried to pull him through the doorframe. "I can't come with you."

She frowned. "Why not? Don't you want to leave?"

 _Yes,_ he thought. _With you, anything—anywhere—I swear it—_

"Lily," James sighed forcefully, " _look_ at me."

She blinked. "It's—you're not—" she inhaled sharply, shaking herself of what they both knew was true and yet wanted so badly to deny. "It'll be _fine,_ Prongs, I promise—"

"No, it won't be," he told her. "Look at me, Lily, look at what I _am_ —"

"Okay, so people will be frightened at first," Lily babbled tentatively, "but eventually they would get to know you, and they would _see,_ like I did—"

"That's not how the world works, Lily," James interrupted regretfully, shaking his head. "And you don't understand—this happened to me because I was _cruel_ to someone," he confessed, the words spilling out despite his fervent wish to shut his mouth. "Because I was selfish and arrogant, just like you said—"

"I didn't know you then," she half-whispered, but he pressed on.

"This is my punishment for what I've done," he told her. "I will be a monster forever, and no one outside of these castle walls will ever understand. If anything, the fact that _you—_ "

He broke off, still tormented by the image of her in the Mirror of Erised; haunted by the look on her face, the way she had glanced up at him with a smile that had said, somehow, that everything would be alright, that it would be _them_ , that they would be _together_ —that despite what he was, what he'd been, what he'd done, she would love him—

That she could _love him,_ wretched as he was—

But that could only be a foolish dream.

"The fact that you bothered to know me at all was reprieve enough," he told her sincerely, blinking away the fiction in the mirror. "But _you_ deserve more than this castle. More," he added, feeling his heart convulse to ash in his chest, "than a life that was meant for a beast."

She bit her lip, staring up at him. "I'll come back, then," she offered, her voice a little wobbly. "I'll come back, and maybe we can still figure it out—maybe we can still break the curse, Prongs, there's still _time—_ "

"Yes, there's time," James agreed, "for _you._ Go see the world," he urged. "Travel, explore. Eat with a fork," he teased, and she gave a tiny, tragic hiccup of a laugh. "Forget me," he murmured, tilting her chin up with his inhuman finger. "Forget me and live your life, Lily."

She leaned into his touch, her gaze dropping sorrowfully to the floor.

"Prongs," she began, but he shook his head, nudging her through the doorway before releasing her.

"Go," he urged, taking a few steps back. "And Lily, I—"

She paused in the doorway, still looking over her shoulder. "Yes?"

 _I'll miss you._

"I hope," he forced out, "that you get everything you're searching for."

Her lip trembled, and she nodded. "You too, Prongs," she whispered, and then he closed his eyes, standing still until the door had blended back into the wall and he was certain she had gone.

He wandered morosely through the halls, the castle suddenly empty without her; he came across Sirius and Remus waiting expectantly by the door to the trophy room and tried to summon the energy to address them.

"She's gone," was all he managed, the impact of the words like knives against his throat as he headed towards what was left of the enchanted rose.

"What do you mean she's gone?" Sirius demanded, following him inside. "Where'd she go?"

"Padfoot," Remus muttered, nudging him as he looked at James' face. "Not now."

"Do you mean spiritually gone?" Sirius pressed. "Psychologically?"

" _Padfoot—_ "

"No, I want to understand this," Sirius insisted, his teeth snapping together. "Are you saying you found a way out and then you _let her go_? What about the curse, James?"

"Don't," James growled, flinching at the sound of his name, but Sirius shook his head, for once refusing to cooperate.

"You're _James Potter,_ " Sirius barked furiously, "and I'm _Sirius Black,_ and she was supposed to help us be fucking _human again_ —"

"Padfoot," Remus warned sharply. "Don't—"

"How, James?" Sirius insisted as James fell to his knees in front of the rose, watching the last remaining petal and wishing the castle would simply swallow him whole. "How could you let her go?"

"Because that's love," Minerva interrupted, landing lightly atop one of the shattered cases. "And if he had asked her to stay, the curse could have never been broken."

"But it can't be broken _now_ ," Sirius wailed, burying his head in Remus' side. "She's fucking _gone_!"

"Well," Minerva said primly, leaping from the shelf to James' side and perching daintily beside him. "Call it feline intuition, but let's just say I'm optimistic."

"You just say that because _you_ have eight more lives after _our_ beastly eternity," Sirius muttered, resting his head on his paws with a sigh as Remus curled up beside him, nudging him with a low, sorrowful whine.

Minerva cleared her throat, and James slowly shifted his head, tearing his gaze from the rose's final petal to glance down at her.

"Cheer up, Mr Potter," Minerva told him quietly, tucking her tail underneath her. "Have a little faith."

James, who wanted very much to be completely laid to waste, managed a sigh.

"Thanks, Professor," he whispered, lightly patting the top of her head.

* * *

"Citizens of Hogsmeade," Tom announced to the crowd, "it is with great displeasure that I inform you that one of our own, Severus Snape, is responsible for unleashing a monster upon us this evening. I regret that I couldn't do more to stop him," he continued, painting a mask of sympathy, "but things being as they are, it is our responsibility to protect our town—to defend our women and children, and to be certain that his dalliances in the dark arts do not bring great evil among us."

He paused, watching their eyes widen predictably in horror.

"We must be brave," Tom continued, "and _strong,_ and we must defeat Snape's creature together, so that our futures will be restored along with our peace of mind."

"What is it?" someone asked. "A creature?"

"With horns," Tom confirmed, nodding, "and claws and terrible fangs, and a most gruesome appetite for those of us who simply wish to live our humble lives."

"We must kill it!" another voice shouted. "We must be rid of it before it destroys us!"

There were several shouts of agreement; Tom nodded solemnly, painting the final stroke.

"Be careful with Severus," Tom begged. "I hate to ask it of you, but seeing as I am so very fond of him—"

"He who creates abomination is vile himself," a voice contributed firmly. "I say we kill Snape _and_ his beast!"

"Yes, kill the sorcerer _and_ the beast!"

"We're not safe until we're rid of him—"

"We must stop them _both_ before it's too late!"

"Oh no," Tom murmured under his breath, fighting not to laugh. "What have I done?"

The voices grew louder, clamoring and festering, fear spreading like a virus in the night.

"We must—"

"We should—"

"It's our duty to our children—"

"There's no way around it—"

"We'll have to—"

"KILL THE BEAST!"

Tom curled a hand around his smile, letting it dissipate into his palm.

"I know the way," he announced grimly, and beckoned over his shoulder. "You all can follow me."

* * *

Lily emerged from the darkened tunnel to a room that looked hazily familiar; something carefully cluttered, much like the stockroom of her bookstore. She took a step through a full-sized mirror, passing through it as though the glass did not exist, and upon glancing ahead she was startled to find herself suddenly looking directly into a set of coldly alluring blue eyes.

"Hello, Lily," Narcissa said expectantly. "You didn't think it would really be that easy, did you?"

Lily leapt back, startled, but the mirror behind her had already turned back to glass. "Where's Severus?" she demanded, and Narcissa let out a haunting laugh.

"Going after you, I expect," she replied, shrugging innocently. "Pity that won't do him much good."

"How did you—" Lily gaped at her. "How did you know I was—"

Narcissa tapped her foot impatiently, summoning a set of restraints from nothing and fastening Lily to the wall behind her.

"Now, now, Lily dear," she murmured, taking a step towards her. "You didn't actually think your beast was the only one with a magic mirror, did you?"

* * *

 _ **IX.**_

 _Here is a riddle to end the story: what makes a monster, and what makes a man?_

 _And thus: a prince is redeemed._

* * *

"Lily," Severus shouted, running through the castle. Most of it had been destroyed over time, its finery long eroded, and an unsettling number of eyes seemed to blink at him from the shadows, hovering near his feet. "Lily, where are you?"

He ran through one of the familiar open doors, nearly stumbling over a shaggy black dog. "Lily, are you here?"

"Oh _good_ ," a voice said irritably. " _You're_ here."

Severus caught a glimpse of antlers and swallowed a vision that had haunted his nightmares, a set of hazel eyes beneath a halo of prongs. "Potter," he managed hoarsely, and the beast who was James Potter sat up, flashing him a darkened grimace.

"Severus," he said dully.

Severus blanched. "Not Snivellus?"

"Yeah," James scoffed. "Like I'd make _that_ mistake again."

He fell back against the floor, curling up in an awkwardly uncomfortable-looking ball.

"Have—" Severus started, and faltered. "Have you seen Lily?"

James' spine seemed to bristle at the mention of her.

"She's gone," he mumbled. "Went after you."

Severus blinked. "Me?"

"Something about you being in trouble," James muttered. "I don't know. Can you just leave me to my curse in peace, please?"

"Your curse?" Severus asked, and James turned over his shoulder.

"Can you not play dumb right now?" James demanded, his oddly human eyes squinting in a mix of misery and spite. "Yes, the fucking curse. The one that was put on this castle because of you. Because of what I did to you," he amended softly, turning away.

"But," Severus began, frowning. "But I only— it was just you that I—"

"Doesn't matter," James said miserably. "She's gone now." He stared into nothing, pulling his limbs in close. "She's gone," he murmured to himself, "and nothing matters."

Severus waited, unsure what to make of the creature before him whose heartbreak looked so very familiar, and more upsettingly, what looked so—

So completely _human_.

"Wait," Severus said slowly. "Did you—did you fall in love with her?"

The monster that had been James Potter forced his eyes shut.

"Get out," he croaked, just as a wolf bounded into the room, nearly startling Severus into dropping his torch.

"Prongs," the wolf shouted, speaking with an oddly familiar cadence that Severus was sure he had once known. "There are people coming. A mob," he clarified, "and they have _guns,_ Prongs—"

James didn't react; didn't budge.

"Good," was all he said, and Severus, torn between the memory of the boy he'd hated and the man he'd destroyed, felt an inexplicable wave of panic.

* * *

"Hey," Regulus whispered, nudging Lily as he suddenly materialized in the empty room. "Come on, we have to get you out of here—"

"What?" Lily asked, startled. "But—Narcissa—she could be back any moment—"

"Yes, precisely," Narcissa said, appearing with a soft pop. "Oh, Regulus," she lamented, tutting as she watched him pause his attempt to unfasten Lily's restraints. "And here I thought I could trust you."

"I heard him rounding up the villagers, Narcissa," Regulus said firmly, spinning to face her. "Tom's looking to get Severus _killed_ , and I'm not going to let that happen!"

"No he isn't," Narcissa retorted brusquely, making a face. "You're being dramatic, Reg—"

"You didn't hear him," Regulus warned. "I did. And you and I both know he's capable," he added vigorously. "He's leading a vigilante mob to the castle _right now_ —"

"The castle?" Lily gasped suddenly. "But Prongs—"

"Oh, don't pretend you care for him," Narcissa snorted delicately, arching a brow. "You can't possibly tell me you've actually caught _feelings_ for the beast."

"And why not?" Lily countered, glaring at her. "He's—he's kind, and sensitive—"

"And nine feet tall with horns," Narcissa reminded her, pursing her lips.

"I don't care what you think—I'm not going to let him get hurt," Lily said, struggling with her restraints. "Please, just let me go—I don't care if I get trapped in the castle again," she added wildly, not even sure what she was saying until the words had already fallen out of her mouth. "I don't care if I have to stay forever—just please, _please_ don't let anything happen to him—"

Narcissa stared at her, an inexpressible emotion filling her eyes for the first time.

"Do you admire him?" Narcissa asked abruptly. "Do you trust him?"

Lily blinked, uncertain what was happening.

"Yes," Lily said firmly, pleading finding its way to her voice. "Yes, _yes_ , I do—"

"Do you value his intellect?" Narcissa pressed, taking a few rapid steps towards her. "Do you feel a kinship with him?"

"Yes," Lily cried desperately. "Like I've never known before, I _swear_ it—"

"Interesting," Narcissa mused, pressing her fingers to her lips. "Very interesting indeed."

"Narcissa," Regulus cut in, his hand still poised above Lily's restraints. "Just let us save them, will you?"

Narcissa glanced at him, her brow furrowed in thought.

"Please," Lily begged, staring hopefully at her.

Narcissa turned to face her, considering her a moment. "You're very beautiful, you know," she commented, her gaze flicking pointedly over Lily's face. "Are you certain you would trade your precious freedom for the chance to save a beast?"

Lily locked eyes with her, certain of her answer.

"Yes," she confirmed flatly, and then, with a curl of Narcissa's fingers, the restraints at her wrists disappeared.

"Then go," Narcissa said, shrugging ambivalently, and with another wave of her hand, the tunnel in the mirror reappeared.

* * *

"Prongs, please—"

"They're breaking down the door, we have to do something—"

"They'll be coming for you, Prongs, just _get up—_ "

James rolled over, tuning them out.

"PRONGS!"

"Padfoot, stop—just—get downstairs, we'll have to stop them ourselves—"

"I'm not _leaving him_ , Moony—"

"He'll be safest if we stop them, Padfoot, you _know_ that—"

"Mr Black—"

"Yes, Professor?"

"Rally the troops. Mr Lupin?"

"Yes?"

"Bare your teeth, young man. You're not a wolf for nothing."

"Yes, Professor."

"And as for you, Mr Potter—"

"I'm not moving," he whispered. "I'm not going anywhere."

He heard her sigh.

"Very well," she murmured.

Her small, padded footsteps faded down the hall.

"I'm not leaving either," a quiet voice informed him.

Snivellus.

 _Severus._

"Don't care," James replied, covering his ears and gritting his teeth as the sounds of chaos outside swelled over him in a wave, leaving him numbly defeated.

* * *

"Ah," Tom said, shoving the trophy room door open with a bang. "Always excellent to see you, Severus."

"What _is_ this?" Severus hissed, stepping away from where James remained on the floor. "You told me you _fixed it_ , that you'd done something about my mistake—"

"I did," Tom said, gesturing around the castle. "You've noticed the animals, have you not? One of our finer curses," he mused, stepping closer. "And now, I expect the townspeople would like to slay themselves a beast, if you don't mind complying."

"Why did you bring them here?" Severus seethed. "What possible purpose did any of this serve? This—this _curse_ ," he said, repulsed by the very thought. "Was this always just about your own vanity?"

"Beauty," James muttered, and Severus stared at Tom.

"Was it?" he demanded, gesturing to James. "Was it only ever about that?"

Tom threw his head back, laughing. "You didn't really think this was ever _actually_ about beauty, did you? This was always about power," he scoffed. "This was always about _control_ , and you were simply too foolish to see it."

"Control," Severus snarled, shaking his head. "You can't control me anymore, Tom—"

"Perhaps I can't," Tom agreed, smiling cruelly. "But then, that's what all these men with guns are for."

* * *

Lily raced through the corridors with Regulus at her side, dodging a raccoon that had sunk its claws into the baker's leg. "This way," she said, pulling him after her. "He'll be with the rose, I'm sure of it—"

"What about Severus?" Regulus demanded, and Lily grimaced.

"I think if we find one, we find them all," she said, taking hold of his wrist and dragging him through the corridors as they skirted the collision of Minerva landing atop the banker's head, just missing the twins smashing spatulas into the greengrocer's abdomen and gleefully shoving him into Moony's waiting teeth. "Wait," she said, holding Regulus still as they reached the trophy room, hearing voices inside. "Be careful—"

"Now, let's see," Tom crooned, turning to where she could just barely make out the shape of Prongs curled up on the floor. "I suppose I can take care of the beast myself while we wait for the others to join us—after all, the villagers believe _you_ to be the sorcerer, Severus, and so _conveniently,_ too—"

"NO," Lily shouted, barrelling into the room and leaping in front of Prongs as Tom raised a hand. She yelped in pain, shuddering and convulsing as she took what felt like the corner of a wayward spell; at the sound of her voice, Prongs instantly turned, blindly seeking her out.

"Lily," he whispered, blinking to focus, as though he didn't trust his eyes. "Lily, what are you _doing_ —"

"Prongs," she sighed, cupping a hand around his cheek. "I had to come back, I couldn't leave you—"

"Ah, how wonderfully sweet," Tom sighed insincerely. "Well, I suppose while you two are busy—"

Lily turned over her shoulder in time to realize that Severus was staring at her—some sort of baffled realization on his face—and had failed to take notice of Tom's ominously outstretched hand.

"Severus," she said, scrambling to her feet, " _watch out_!"

Severus turned, quickly deflecting Tom's spell at her warning just as she picked up a broken trophy, advancing towards Tom with it.

"Well," Tom sighed, scowling. "I hadn't planned to have to do away with you, Lily," he remarked, lifting a hand towards her. "But I suppose I'd be a fool not to take advantage of the opportunity, wouldn't I?"

"DON'T YOU FUCKING TOUCH HER," Prongs bellowed, suddenly launching himself in front of Lily and Severus and shielding them both to take the brunt of what must have been a curse, the shock of it coursing through him and sending him crashing to the floor in a sideways blow.

"Prongs," Lily gasped, rushing to fall beside him. "Prongs, _no_ —"

"Lily," Severus yelled forcefully, thrusting out a hand that sent her sliding out of Tom's way in the same moment that the room was filled with a loud, guttural scream; Lily turned over her shoulder, fearing the worst, only to find that Tom's hand had dropped, the rest of him going horribly still.

Tom's blue eyes were unnaturally wide, the ghost of the scream still etched into his terribly handsome face as he suddenly dropped to his knees, his spine rigid. There was a moment—a lurch, a distressing sway—and then he collapsed to the floor, revealing Regulus in the doorframe behind him, one hand outstretched as color drained from his cheeks.

Then there was a moment when the sound below them rushed to their ears—the sound of a victorious howl from Padfoot and Moony and then the sounds of retreat, of villagers pressed to the edges of the Forbidden Forest; sounds of another battle altogether. There was a moment, a collective gasping breath, and then Severus rose to his feet, closing the few steps to Regulus as Lily turned back to Prongs, taking his face in her hands.

"Prongs," she whispered, feeling her heart wrench. "Hold on, okay? Hold on, I've got you—"

He reached up with difficulty, drawing the smooth edge of a claw across her cheek. "Lily," he murmured, and she nodded furiously, wiping tears from her eyes.

"Yes," she told him, choking on fear. "Yes, I'm here, so just—hold on, okay? _Hold on_ —"

He drew the hand down, letting it fall against his chest. "James," he said hazily, and she blinked, taken by surprise.

"James?" she repeated, startled, and then it sank in. "James," she breathed, realizing. "Your name is _James—_ "

"I love you," he whispered, his eyes slowly falling shut. "I love you, Lily—"

"I love you, James," she said back, feeling tears slip down her face as she cradled his head in her hands. "James, I love you—stay with me, _please_ —I _love_ you—"

 _I love you, I love you, I love you—_

Neither of them noticed when the last petal fell.

"James," Lily whispered, feeling the life drain from him as he fell still in her arms, and Severus came up behind her, resting his hand on her shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "About you, about him, about _everything_ —" he broke off, his voice breaking. "I'm just so sorry."

Lily shook her head, refusing to believe it.

"No," she said. "No, no, _no,_ this can't be—this isn't—"

She stopped abruptly as James suddenly rose in the air, slipping from her hands and changing, molting, shedding his skin and becoming, in the most radiant of transformations, a man whose face she'd never seen but still seemed so familiar; a man whose face bore traces of laughter lines, of a mouth for arrogant quips, of a brow meant to be artfully furrowed. Hazel eyes, she knew instinctively, that changed color in the light, and when he looked at _her_.

She watched a young man with messy black hair and a lean frame come into being and she watched, her lips parting with a gasp, as he came to his feet, his eyes fluttering open to give her proof of what she'd somehow known all along.

"James," she exhaled, watching his eyes change as they met hers, and he opened his arms, catching her in them as though she'd been made to fit.

"Lily," he whispered, and she pulled back, taking his face in her palms and kissing him firmly, the taste of him in equal parts the thrill of finally coming home and the inexplicable promise of adventure, of a life, of a precipice, of a _change_ ; of a love story, a tale as old as time.

He released her, stroking her cheek, and then glanced over her shoulder, meeting Severus' eye.

"Hi," he offered, holding out a hand as he slid one arm around her waist. "I'm James Potter."

Severus hesitated, and then met his grip. "Severus Snape," he said solemnly, and the two men locked eyes, a sense of understanding passing between them. "Do you want to go somewhere?" Severus suggested, somewhat unsteadily. "Talk about it?"

Lily glanced up, watching James meet her eye with a smile.

"Get me the fuck out of this castle," James agreed bluntly, and despite everything, Lily found herself laughing.

Behind them, Regulus turned to Narcissa, who slowly lowered her hands, visibly spent from the effort at mass transfiguration.

"Thanks, Cissy," Regulus said, nudging her. "I know this isn't exactly how you wanted things to go."

"Oh, it wasn't so bad," Narcissa admitted. "As it turns out, I happen to have a rather soft spot for a love story."

"Do you?" Regulus asked, surprised, and she flashed him a wry smirk.

"Better tell him how you feel, Reg," she said tangentially, gesturing to Severus. "I think you might be surprised by the outcome."

He glanced at her. "You think?"

She gave him one of her practiced smiles. "I do."

"Huh," he said, fighting a smile. "And what about you? I'm sorry about killing Tom," he added sheepishly.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry too much about me," she assured him. "I have a project to finish. I think all of this is for the best," she ruled decisively, and Regulus gave her shoulder a squeeze.

"See you around?" he asked her.

She smiled. "See you around," she promised, and then she took a step back, promptly disappearing from sight.

* * *

"Is it just me," the man who had been Moony said slowly, glancing at his now-human associate, "or are you actually quite handsome?"

"It's certainly not just you," the man who had been Padfoot retorted, though something equally appreciative seemed to glint in his grey eyes. "But you're not so bad yourself, Moony."

"I'm no adorable red panda," Remus reminded him gruffly, and Sirius smirked.

"I think I've come to discover that I rather have a taste for a surly predator these days," Sirius murmured, leaning towards him and flashing a promising glance that, despite lacking in fangs, still had a bite of intrigue. "Care to test my theory?"

"I have a list of romantic requirements to be met first," Remus informed him. "Remember, I've witnessed your attempts at wooing, so I know to demand atrocious poetry, for one thing," he said loudly, "and I would also like to hear of your affection in terribly written, ill-conceived, utterly pitch-less song—"

But then Sirius leaned forward and kissed him, and he found he was easily distracted.

* * *

Tom slowly opened his eyes, glancing at the discarded locket at his side before struggling to sit up, managing an unsteady cough.

"Hello, my love," Narcissa offered coolly, the spark in her blue eyes jolting him back to the living. "Where to next?"

It took him a moment to remember how to use his voice, but he managed it. "How many did it take?" he asked, rubbing his throat.

"Just the one," she said, but held up the ring and the cup. "Though I was prepared to use more if I had to."

"Hm," Tom said. "Perhaps we should finish the project, then. Did you say Gryffindor had a sword?"

"Gryffindor has a sword," Narcissa confirmed, nodding.

He gave her a slow, too-clever smile.

"Excellent," Tom murmured, pulling her into his arms and pressing a kiss to the side of her neck. "I find I rather fancy something I can use to kill a beast."

* * *

 **a/n:** Olivie Blake: Convoluter of Plots, Vomiter of Words. Hope you are enjoying these ridiculously long one shots? The final installment (yes, the Dramione) is up next.


	72. Valour

**Valour**

 _Pairing:_ Dramione (Draco x Hermione)

 _Universe:_ Disney AU ( _Mulan_ )

 _Rating:_ M for language, sex

 _Summary:_ The final of four one shots based on Disney plots. This one takes bits and pieces from multiple concepts, but is largely based on _Mulan_.

When Harry and Ron are forcibly taken by Grindelwald's army, Hermione is left to survive on her own with only an orphan's tale and a battered old hat. To find her friends, she impersonates a man and winds up with a surprising ally—a surly captain with a chip on his shoulder, who has some problems of his own.

* * *

Here are four lessons to begin the tale:

 **One** _, heroes make their own rules;  
_ **Two** _, a man's worth is built on his word;  
_ **Three** _, legacies are lived, not left;  
_ and  
 **Four** _, let no one destroy your magic._

* * *

"Can't sleep?" Harry asked, settling himself beside her.

Hermione turned, smiling faintly. "No," she admitted. "Feels sort of like something strange is in the air. Something coming." She stretched a hand out to let the night breeze slip through her fingers, the brush of it cool and dispassionate as it slid past the lines of her palm. "Which is stupid, of course," she qualified with a grimace, letting her hand fall back to her side.

"Not stupid," Ron informed her, flopping down on her other side. "My mum always said you could tell more by the feel of the wind than by the word of any man."

"Did she?" Hermione asked fondly, leaning back to wrap one arm around each boy's shoulders. "And what does the wind tell you now, Ronald?"

"Tells me we need a fire," Ron replied shortly, shuddering for dramatic effect. "Don't you want a jacket?"

"Nah," Hermione said, shaking her head. "Then the wind will need a translator," she joked, and Ron made a face, giving her shoulder an indignant shove.

"You mock, but he's not wrong," Harry told her, arching a brow as he met her eye. "My mum and dad always said something similar." At the mention of his parents, he turned his head to look out into the forest, his gaze drifting through the trees; searching them, as though if he looked hard enough, he would see his family standing there. "They told me there was magic in everything," he murmured sadly, "and that the earth breathed it in."

Hermione leaned a cheek comfortingly against his shoulder, letting out a hushed, nostalgic sigh.

"Tell me again," she asked him, and he looked down at her, questioning. "Tell me about the Court of Miracles, I mean," she clarified, and he smiled.

"Ah, that again." Harry looked over at Ron, who passed him a cheeky grin; _she never gets tired of it,_ he seemed to say, and he was right.

"Once there were four mages," Harry began, settling into the story as Ron leaned over, resting his head in her lap. "The Mage of Valour, who stood for bravery and loyalty; the Mage of Wisdom, who stood for knowledge and truth; the Mage of Virtue, who stood for honesty and justice; and the Mage of Power, who stood for cunning and ambition."

"The four mages lived in a time of fear, of blind hatred for their magics; and so, for protection, the four mages hid themselves away and created the Court of Miracles, a safe haven for those who believed in their powers, and who sought refuge from a prejudicial world. For centuries the mages lived in secret, shielding themselves from those who could not accept their abilities and living in sheltered, peaceful harmony, devoting their time to the learned study of magic. But then one day they were betrayed, and the Court of Miracles was overrun by those who feared the mages' power, and who wished to destroy them, one by one."

"The Mage of Power, being the most cunning, and the least trusting of the others, had built a mechanism for escape within the Court, and so he managed to slip from the hands of his would-be captors, surviving to leave an heir who would someday—as legend has it," Harry clarified, and Hermione nodded, "rise up in triumph, to return his magic to this world. But while the Mage of Power had hoped to possess and preserve the magic of the other three, they, fearing his intentions, chose instead to dissolve the Court and scatter their gifts elsewhere, setting their magic loose upon the world so that one day, others of righteous conviction could claim it in times of need."

"Some say the Court still exists," Harry continued, smiling at Hermione's helpless rapture. "That it can be found by those in need, whenever anyone should call to it—"

"But Mum says that because of the Mage of Power's bollocky paranoia, it's heavily protected," Ron chimed in, twisting to look up at Hermione. "By a magical forest full of creatures who'd drink your blood and eat your face—"

"Okay, well, maybe not _that_ ," Harry said quickly, shaking his head as Hermione giggled, giving Ron's face a playful swat. "But some people believe that Hogwarts originally held a passage to the Court of Miracles," he explained, "and some people even believe Hogwarts itself once belonged to the four mages."

"Hogwarts?" Hermione echoed. "You mean Grindelwald's castle?"

"It didn't always belong to him," Ron interjected roughly, pulling himself upright. "My dad always said Grindelwald took it because of the rumors of magic there. To prove there wasn't," he added, making a face. "Even though you'd probably die in _that_ forest, too."

"My mother told me that Grindelwald had secretly hoped to find the Court," Harry agreed. "But when he didn't, he went quite mad with frustration, and now he haunts it like a ghost."

"Like a dictator, more like," Hermione corrected, grimacing. "Nothing magic or haunted about it."

"Yeah, well," Ron shrugged. "It makes for a pretty good story, doesn't it?"

"It does," Hermione agreed, and turned back to Harry. "Tell me again about what your parents left for you," she urged him, pointing to the item that was always in Harry's right hand, if not sitting on his head. " _That_ thing," she sniffed, making a face, and he laughed.

"This hat?" he asked, holding it aloft. "It's just a hat."

"It's quite an unattractive hat," Hermione informed him. "In case that managed to escape your attention."

Harry shrugged. "My father always said things are more than what they seem," Harry replied. "I guess I choose to believe him."

"Besides," Ron added, the word falling out of a loud yawn, "it's not like he has any girls to impress out here."

"Hey," Hermione said, pawing at him. "How _rude_ —"

"You're not a girl," Ron reminded her. "I've never even seen you in a dress, so, if anything, you're like our tiny, chatty brother. And anyway," he added, grinning mercilessly as he ducked another of her mocking swats at his face, "a hat's a hat, isn't it? Seems like it's doing its job if it does nothing but keep the sun out of his face."

"And, if it's all the same to you," Harry contributed, rising to his feet, "I'm rather fond of it. Sometimes it speaks to me," he informed her whimsically, a smile pulling at his lips, "just like the wind speaks to you."

At that, Hermione rolled her eyes. "The wind isn't _speaking_ to me," she informed him. "I just—I have a weird feeling, that's all."

"Mum would say it was the mages whispering to you," Ron told her, slowly dragging himself upright to join Harry. "Though, honestly, I think she just told us that to make us shut up and go to sleep."

"Not a bad idea," Hermione reluctantly agreed, letting out a sigh of resignation and following them back to their tent. "Where to tomorrow, boys?" she asked brightly, standing on tiptoe to ruffle Ron's hair again as he stifled another yawn.

Harry leaned over, smacking a kiss against the top of her head and throwing an arm around her shoulders. "Wherever the wind takes us," he murmured, his gaze drifting through the trees.

* * *

But the wind did not take them very far; or, rather, it very unhelpfully took them directly into the clutches of a gang of Snatchers.

"What do we have here, eh?" one of them asked, crouching to look Ron and Harry in the eye as a couple of the others held them down. Hermione, who had been returning with a fresh supply of water for the day's journey, ducked behind a tree, finding herself hopelessly outnumbered and waiting for the right moment to intervene.

"Administer the serum," the Snatcher who seemed to be in charge snapped to one of the others, and a second Snatcher nodded, stepping forward and using both hands to pry open Harry's jaw, dripping something onto his tongue. "Make sure he takes the full dose," the first Snatcher commanded, and the other tilted Harry's head back, forcing the liquid down his throat.

"Now," the first Snatcher said neutrally, after the second Snatcher had wrenched Harry's jaw open to show that the liquid had been swallowed, "what's your name?"

Harry's face contorted with fury, but the words still slipped from his lips.

"Harry Potter."

"Good," the Snatcher purred nastily, patting the top of his head and then snapping his fingers for someone behind him to check the registry. "And _his_ name?" he asked Harry, gesturing to Ron.

Again, Harry's tongue betrayed him. "Ron Weasley."

"Got them," the Registrar said from behind them, pointing to something on his piece of parchment. "Harry Potter, son of James and Lily Potter, both deceased. Ronald Weasley, son of Arthur and Molly Weasley, both missing. Both men last registered—ah, over seven years ago," he mused, smirking at the two of them. "Been dodging your Summons, have you, boys?"

"There's a third," someone grunted, emerging from their tent, and Hermione's breath rose up in her throat. "They got three piles of beddin' inside."

The first Snatcher yanked Harry's chin up, tutting disappointedly. "Who is the third?" he prompted, and Harry grimaced.

"Granger," he said, still unsuccessfully fighting his traitorous mouth. "Hermione."

"A girl," the second Snatcher noted, making a face. "Army won't want her. Hardly anything worth hunting."

"Not much here worth keepin', neither," the Snatcher in the tent added, cocking his head inside it. "No money or nothin'—just some old worthless junk and a right shit-lookin' hat," he added, shuddering dramatically.

"There's no record of any Grangers on the registry," the Registrar commented, leaning in to mutter to the first Snatcher. "It's just these two that we need. They're both summoned for service in the First Army."

At that, both Harry and Ron looked enraged. "I won't fight for him," Harry snarled, struggling against the Snatchers' hold. "I'd rather _die_ than serve Grindelwald—"

"Well, then you may yet get your wish," the first Snatcher cut in, looking smug. "Definitely First Army," he confirmed for the Registrar, nodding. "They're both tall, young, capable. Fit to stand active duty at once." He smirked. "Precisely as Commander Grindelwald requires, don't you think?" he asked, reaching out to pat Ron's head and then pulling his hand back as Ron snapped at it, baring his teeth.

The Snatcher turned, disgruntled, and Hermione, who sensed an opening at his inattention, began to creep out from behind the tree, freezing in alarm as a branch snapped beneath her feet.

 _Stop,_ she saw Harry mouth at her, giving her a tiny shake of his head. _Take the hat,_ he added, and when she frowned, he mouthed another set of words.

 _Court of Miracles._

She glared at him, but he slowly shook his head.

 _Take the hat,_ he told her, mouthing the words as slowly as possible. _Find the Court of Miracles._

Hermione gritted her teeth, frustrated, as the primary Snatcher motioned for Harry and Ron to be taken away. _Harry,_ she mouthed furiously, motioning, but he tore his gaze away, dropping his chin warningly as she ducked behind another tree to avoid the furrowed, searching stare of the Snatcher who held him.

She waited, counting the Snatchers—at least six of them, plus the Registrar—and knowing, with a sinking feeling, that it was hopeless; but still, she ran out the moment they'd gone, picking up a rock and throwing it at the wooden spoke of the wagon they'd shoved Harry and Ron into.

It was no use, of course, and she had nothing at her disposal, left to stare helplessly at the place where they'd been. At first she tried to track them, following the Snatchers' trail, but when it became clear that they were gone, she clutched Harry's hat in her hands long after she'd lost him, feeling empty; she wished that she'd thought to ask for more than just a silly story, sitting beneath the hooded canopy of trees and turning it over and over in her mind, searching for a hidden clue she might have missed.

Eventually, though, her hope of finding the only family she'd ever known slipped cruelly from her fingers, and when it did, the silence of their absence was as cool and dispassionate as the wind.

* * *

The last time Hermione had been alone, she'd been a girl—a _child_ , too, at that—wandering the streets alone until she'd bumped into Harry and Ron, a fortuitous moment in a dodgy alley amidst a particularly unsavory part of town. To her memory, people had scarcely spared her a glance, and now that she was alone once again, she'd expected something of the same, figuring herself not worth remarking.

She was wrong. Now the men leered at what slight figure she possessed, and the women sniffed with disapproval before they callously turned away.

On a particularly inhospitable night, Hermione made her way into a tavern, seeking warmth; she slid into a seat near the bar, making a swift calculation of what little coin she had to spend as she shifted uncomfortably away from a dark-haired man who sat alone a few seats over, poring blankly over his tankard of ale from beneath a rather menacing cloak.

"What'll you have?" the barkeep asked her, not particularly kindly. Hermione was relieved, at least, that he seemed disinterested enough in her not to give her too much trouble.

"A mead," she asked quietly, counting out a few pennies, "and a cup of stew?"

The barkeep nodded, wiping down the bar. "Best not to linger," he muttered in warning, his gaze flicking disapprovingly over her attire. "Between you and _this_ one"—he nodded unpleasantly at the man a few seats over—"this ain't good for business. Unless, of course, your business is—" he shifted, nudging his chin pointedly at a group of scantily dressed women in a corner of the tavern.

Hermione followed his gaze and then felt her eyes widen, hastily shaking her head. "No, I'm not—I don't do that," she assured him quickly, glancing down as the women unabashedly met her eye, their noses wrinkling distastefully at the sight of her.

"You could," the barkeep offered, shrugging, before flicking a scrutinizing glance her way. "Get you a dress instead of those britches and I'd wager you could make a pretty coin or two, love," he added, giving her a brittle feeling of discomfort even as he gifted her what she assumed was meant to be a compliment.

"I'm just looking for someone," Hermione told him, forcing a hesitant smile in thanks as he slid a mead across the bar to her. "You wouldn't happen to have any idea where I could find the—" she hesitated, grimacing as she lowered her voice. "The Court of Miracles?"

The man a few seats over glanced up sharply, frowning, and the barkeep promptly burst into laughter; first it was a chuckle, paired with a sniff of disdain, and then it gradually evolved to a full, raucous belly laugh, leaving him doubled-over and wiping at the moisture that pooled in the corners of his eyes.

"Ah, yes, the Court of Miracles," the barkeep echoed mockingly, shaking his head as he took the bowl of stew from the kitchen boy and placed it in front of her, licking the bit of it that had sloshed onto his hands from his grievously unsteady handling. "Right— _sure,_ I know where to find it—just follow the leprechauns outside," he wheezed, jerking his head as he collapsed back into laughter. "They'll tell you I'm the King of the Underworld, and then you can sell a handful of magic beans to the dragon I keep out back, and that'll take you right to it—"

"I get it," Hermione cut in grimly, catching the motion of the man in the dark cloak as he suddenly slipped away, tossing a handful of coins onto the bar before heading swiftly for the door.

"Look," the barkeep said, wiping his eyes again and finally quieting to manage a loud, throat-clearing cough, "if you want to get by around these parts, better to keep your mouth shut and your legs open." He shook his head irreverently, leaning towards her over the bar. "Take it from me, love—folks around here catch you talking about the Court of Miracles and they'll pin you for an empty-headed purse for the taking, you hear?"

"Right," Hermione muttered, taking a sip of her mead and forcibly dipping her spoon into the stew, torn between the lurching fear that it might be her last meal for an indeterminable period of time and the inescapable feeling that she'd never wanted to be further away from where she was, warmth and food be damned. "I'll remember that."

"Best that you do," the barkeep warned, picking up the cloaked man's coins and tossing them into his apron. "Court of Miracles," he muttered to himself, dissolving again in laughter as he ducked into the kitchen. " _Ridiculous_ —"

Hermione sighed, taking another bite as the barkeep disappeared. "Thanks, Harry," she murmured to no one, letting the flavor of the broth settle on her tongue before reaching for her mead, scarcely noticing as someone new slipped onto the stool beside hers.

"Evening," the man said, his voice low and steady. She glanced up, startled, to note yet another strangely cloaked man, his face obscured by a thick black hood. "How's the stew?"

Hermione swallowed. "Fine," she supplied uncomfortably, inching slowly away. "The meat's tender enough, and—"

"I'm not here for a review of your food," the man interrupted briskly, turning to look at her. She felt a jolt, registering the particularly piercing blue of his eyes as they met hers beneath the cover of his cloak. "You asked about the Court of Miracles?"

The bite she'd swallowed seem to stick in her throat. "Yes," she admitted, a little unsettled, and the man's shadowed mouth curled in a smile.

"Where'd you get that?" he asked tangentially, gesturing to the hat that she'd strapped to her bag. "Yours?"

"No," she said, looking down at it and fighting the urge to shudder in repulsion at its consummate shabbiness. "A friend's."

"Huh," the man said, nodding as Hermione took another sip of mead. "Well, I'll tell you what," he said definitively, delivering her a disquietingly intent stare. "I'm a reasonable man. I'll tell you how to find the Court of Miracles," he offered, his voice silkily promising, "if you just give me that awful hat of yours."

"What?" Hermione asked, the hand holding her mead freezing midair.

"Did you think the Court of Miracles wasn't real?" the man asked, gesturing to where the laughing barkeep had been. "Ah, well—it's not real for everyone, now is it?"

She frowned. "But—"

"I'm a reasonable man," he said again, interrupting, "but I'm hardly a patient one. What do you say?" he prompted, his gaze flicking somewhat greedily to the hat at her side. "Trade you the hat for information on how to find your friends?"

"My friends?" she asked, startled. "I didn't tell you th- "

"Let's not play games, you and I," the man cut in sharply, the smile on his face stilling somewhat warningly. "I can help you, you know, if you'll just be clever enough to let me," he mused, giving her a particularly chilling smirk.

Hermione forced a swallow, looking longingly at what she knew would have to be her soon-discarded stew before digging the coins out of her pocket, placing them next to her bowl. "I'm so sorry," she lied, nodding apologetically, "but I really must go—my brother will be expecting me—"

"You don't have a brother," the man commented, shaking his head. "You don't even have a _friend_ ," he informed her with a laugh, "so I suggest you rethink my offer."

"I'm so sorry, I must have given you the wrong impression," Hermione said quickly, slipping from the stool and backing away. "I—he's waiting, you see, and I don't wish to keep him, so—"

"You're lying," the man snapped, getting to his feet as she picked up speed, nearly knocking over a chair in her haste to get away. "Sorry," he called to the crowd, catching her arm and removing his hood to smile apologetically—a rather beguiling smile, from an extraordinarily good-looking man—at the people who had begun to stare. "My young wife," he explained, offering a conspiratorial expression of sheepishness; Hermione gaped in disbelief as the other patrons shrugged impassively, turning away in disinterest. "I'm afraid she's rather high-spirited," he lamented sympathetically, leaning over to glare warningly at her, "aren't you, sweetheart?"

"Let go of me," Hermione hissed, yanking her elbow free and darting towards the door, intent on getting out.

"Sweetheart, there's no need to play games," the man drawled, following her as she shoved through the doorway, brusquely nudging a middle-aged couple out of the way. "We'll be home soon enough, darling—"

Hermione dodged a few scattered passersby and slid around a corner, breathing heavily, hearing the man start to whistle faintly behind her as he followed, clearly unconcerned by her haste. "Seen my wife?" she heard him ask someone on the street. "Curly brown hair, devastating smile—terrible sense of mischief, I'm afraid—"

Hermione hastily unfastened the hat from her things and shoved it down on her head, using it to cover her hair as she ducked down a narrow alley.

"Turn left," she heard in her ear, and she jumped, glancing sharply over her shoulder. "No, no," the voice said irritably. " _Left._ "

"Who are you?" she hissed, staring down the alley, and she heard a soft, throat-clearing cough from somewhere above her head.

"Turn left," the voice said again in her ear, "and we can discuss it when you're not being followed."

Hermione grimaced, but after registering that the man's footsteps were growing closer, she opted to obey, slipping through a narrow opening between two buildings.

"Now," the voice continued, "see that brick wall?" She looked around, spying it and nodding. "Tap the third brick from the left, and the fourth from the top—"

She followed the instructions, her heart pounding somewhere in the depths of her throat as the wall suddenly parted, revealing another extended alley lined with shopfronts.

"Keep walking," the voice prompted, giving her an audible nudge as she slowly took a step. "He won't think to follow you here."

"How do you know?" Hermione whispered, glancing over her shoulder as the passage smoothed over, becoming brick and mortar once again. "What if he's—"

"You'll simply have to trust me, Hermione," the voice interrupted. "After all, I do more than keep the sun out of your face."

Hermione stopped suddenly, glancing up with a jolt of surprise. "Am I," she began uncertainly, and instantly faltered. "Are you—"

"Are you talking to a hat? Yes," the voice assured her. "Am I a talking hat? Also yes," it determined. "Should you keep walking?"

She waited.

" _Yes_ ," the hat prompted impatiently.

"Right," Hermione muttered, ducking her chin as someone frowned curiously at her from a storefront window. "Where am I going?" she asked, trying to conceal the motion of her lips moving behind the wide brim of the hat.

"An excellent question," the hat ruled. "A question for your _brain_ , though, not your hat," it suggested snottily, "don't you think?"

"Well, you've taken me this far," Hermione said, grimacing. "I thought you might've had a destination in mind," she added, leaping back as a cart suddenly appeared from between two shops, nearly knocking into her.

"Watch it, boy," the man operating it growled, glaring at Hermione, and she bowed her head apologetically, frowning as she hurried away.

"Boy?" she echoed.

"Well, it's not as if you've so feminine a figure," the hat sniffed. "Your cup hardly overfloweth, and if _those_ are supposed to be child-bearing hips," it began sarcastically, "then I'm a—"

"Talking hat?" Hermione supplied, scowling as she glanced up at the brim. "There's no need to be rude, you know."

"OI," someone shouted, nearly colliding with her in the street. "GET OUT OF THE STREET, BOY, OR LEARN TO WALK—"

"You'll need food, you know," the hat reminded her, tutting as she leapt out of the road. "Terrible idea spending the last of your money in that tavern," it added, as if it felt she might have overlooked that fact.

"Thanks," Hermione muttered glumly. "Any other expert advice?"

"Well, off the top of my head," the hat said, "if you're going to find Harry and Ron, you'll need safe passage."

"Right, I know this, and—"

"Shelter, food, a place to sleep—"

"Seriously? _Not helpful_ —"

"Or, I suppose, you could simply find the First Army," the hat mused, and she paused, turning slowly as she noticed a sign on one of the shopfront doors.

 _DON'T DREAM OF VICTORY_ , she read below a picture of a First Army soldier, _FIGHT FOR IT—_ and in slightly smaller letters, _ARMY RECRUITMENT_ , followed by a date and location— and then a symbol, the poster's message ending on the words _For The Greater Good_.

"Join it, you mean?" Hermione asked, staring at the sign.

"I would never encourage such a dangerous and foolish idea," the hat said snottily. "Though it is a rather effective one, all things considered."

"That's encouragement," Hermione informed it.

The hat made a sound like a scoff. "Potato, potato," it muttered.

* * *

Draco Malfoy paused a moment before entering his father's office, taking a deep, steadying breath and adjusting the lapel of his uniform before knocking on the door, rocking nervously back on his heels until he heard his father's voice beckon.

"Father," Draco said as he entered, inclining his head in greeting. "You sent for me?"

"Ah, Draco, yes," Lucius replied, looking up from his map. "You've met Tom, haven't you?"

"General Riddle," Draco remarked, surprised, as he glanced at the dark-haired man beside his father. "Apologies, I don't mean to interrupt—"

"You're not interrupting," Tom assured him coolly, his startling blue eyes flashing as they met his. "Lucius and I were expecting you."

"Have a seat," Lucius said, gesturing to the chair, and Draco obeyed, trying not to fidget as he waited. "So, Draco," Lucius began, "as you know, Commander Grindelwald has been troubled by a new threat, and the First Army will be shortly disembarking on a defensive campaign to combat the so-called Knights of Walpurgis. The campaign has been masterminded by Tom, of course," Lucius explained unnecessarily, and Tom nodded in confirmation, crossing his arms over his chest as Draco waited. "And seeing as you have recently finished first in your class at the Academy, I thought it fitting that you be awarded a commission." He paused, smiling indulgently. "The timing is perfect, of course, and Tom agrees—so I've submitted your nomination," Lucius concluded, "for you to become an officer in Grindelwald's military."

Draco fought a surge of elation, his pulse skipping as he felt himself finally arrive at the moment he'd so long waited for. "Father, I don't know what to say," he managed eventually, his chest swelling with pride. "I've worked so hard for this moment, and I vow to work tirelessly by your side as—"

"Ah, well, about that," Tom interrupted, prompting Draco to falter. "Actually, Draco, your father and I feel you are best suited for a rather astronomic promotion. Rather than remaining at your father's side as his lieutenant, we would prefer you take up an alternate post. As captain," he clarified, and Draco's brow furrowed.

"Captain?" he repeated uneasily, shifting his gaze to frown questioningly at Lucius, who only gave him a neutral smile.

"Draco Malfoy," Tom offered grandly, "you have been selected and approved by Commander Grindelwald and myself to lead the new recruits in the Second Army reserves." Tom strode over to him, thrusting out a hand. "Congratulations, Captain."

Draco stared at the proffered hand, slowly meeting Tom's grip with his. "I—thank you," he said, blinking back his disappointment as Tom took a step back. "I thought you would have asked me to join you on campaign against the Knights, Father," Draco commented to Lucius, feigning brightness. "Have I displeased you?"

"On the contrary," Tom informed him, cutting Lucius off as he opened his mouth. "You're highly skilled, Draco, in tactics and in combat, and certainly an asset to the Commander's armed forces—and I presume you wish, someday, to obtain the highest rank, don't you?"

Draco bristled, feeling trapped.

"One day, certainly," he confirmed quickly, "but—"

"Then experience will be what gets you there," Tom cut in. "The Second Army begins recruitment as soon as we embark, and I, for one," he said, passing Draco another unsettling smile, "can think of no better man to lead them."

 _You should really fucking try,_ Draco thought bitterly, forcibly biting his tongue.

"I must of course thank you for the honor, General," Draco forced out, glancing back at his father. "But—forgive me—as to the subject of your Lieutenant, Father—"

"I've chosen Nott to join me on campaign against the Knights," Lucius supplied flippantly, prompting Draco's stomach to lurch in misery at the knowledge of being ousted by his best friend. "But let us not lose sight of your accomplishments," he urged, gripping Draco's shoulder again. "Lead the new recruits of the Second Army well, and then perhaps I will send for you and your unit to join me, Draco, when the time to fight against the Knights is right."

Draco hesitated, weighing his crushing disappointment, before finally forcing a smile. He looked at Tom, who still wore his indulgent, too-sharp smile, and then rose slowly to his feet, dropping his chin in a respectful bow.

"I won't let you down, Father," he promised, fighting an innate sense of loss.

* * *

"How do I look?" Hermione asked, brushing her shorn hair back from her ears and frowning at her reflection from the stream.

"A little dirty," the hat replied, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

"I _meant_ ," she said emphatically, "do I look like a boy?"

"Oh, that," the hat drawled. "Do you look like boy? Yes," it confirmed, sounding deeply uninterested as she adjusted the tight binding over her breasts. "Do you look like a man fit for combat? Perhaps less so," it muttered. "Do you even know how to fight?"

"I'm a quick study," Hermione assured the hat, which grunted its disagreement. "And in any case, the Army reserves can hardly afford to be so picky," she reminded it, throwing her belongings over her shoulder and taking off towards the recruitment grounds.

"Are you certain you're ready for this?" the hat asked her, its voice dripping with skepticism. "It's not too late to do something, oh— _entirely different_ , you know."

"Well," Hermione sighed irritably, "as I mentioned, if you would just tell me how to find the Court of Miracles—"

"And as _I_ mentioned, I _can't_ ," the hat cut in. "It's not that kind of place."

"What, the kind of place that exists, you mean?" Hermione asked, glaring up at it as it once again sulkily refused to answer. "You do know you're entirely infuriating right?"

"Well, seeing as I'm pretty sure the army will have you executed if they find out you're a girl," the hat informed her stiffly, "in the grand scheme of things, I could really be worse."

Hermione let out a loud sigh, shoving the hat further up on her head.

"You know, now would be the time for encouragement," she grumbled. "Isn't there something helpful you could say?"

The hat paused, mulling it over.

"Aim for the groin," it suggested, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Thanks," she said, pointing herself at the crowd of men and forcing herself to walk forward.

* * *

"Let's get down to business," Draco announced, looking out over the sea of hapless recruits and trying not to express the discouragement he so thoroughly felt. Unlike his class at the Academy, the young men before him were out of shape, inattentive and unmotivated, with most of them visibly never having done much hard labor in their lives. "If we're going to defeat the Knights, the Army will need the best possible soldiers, and it's my job to make sure that means you."

He paused, parsing his words carefully before continuing on with a grimace, watching a couple of yawns as the men shaded their eyes from the sun. "Despite what you may have heard," Draco went on, "the Second Army is not any easier than the First, nor will I expect any less from you. It only takes a moment to be called up from the reserves, and in the troubling times we face, it could be any of you who makes a difference in the fight against the Knights."

A man in the front scratched dully at his arse, and Draco sighed.

"Break into groups of two," he said, gesturing. "We'll begin with disarming drills."

The men scattered aimlessly, picking over the barrels of practice weapons, before gradually falling into some semblance of order, slowly following his instruction.

"Captain," a sentry called, rushing over with an envelope. "Your father sent this for you, sir."

"Has the First Army left for Diagon?" Draco asked, and the sentry nodded. "Great," Draco muttered under his breath, tearing the envelope open. "Thanks," he added, and the sentry nodded again, permitting a bow before heading back the way he'd come.

 _Draco,_ he read, looking over his father's familiar handwriting, _I wish you the best of luck in training the new recruits. Wear the Malfoy name with pride, son; the General and I are counting on you not to disappoint._

 _Lucius_

Draco forced an uneasy lump from his throat and glanced up, tucking the letter in his pocket and then crossing the field, seeking out his lieutenant as he weaved his way between the sets of new recruits.

"How's it going?" Draco asked, sidling up to him.

"Bad," Blaise replied, curling a hand around his mouth.

"Wonderful," Draco sighed. "Excellent."

"Look at that one," Blaise said, pointing to a blond man with a round face who was struggling to wield a broadsword. "Name's Neville Longbottom. Joined up because 'Gran said it would be good for him,' or so he babbled on about for about twenty minutes, and— _oof_ ," Blaise said, cutting himself off and making a face as Neville took a smack to the abdomen from his opponent. "That'll take some work."

"Who's that one?" Draco asked, pointing to a scrawny, eager-looking man with curly blond hair. "Small, isn't he?"

"Justin Finch-Fletchley," Blaise supplied, grimacing. "A walking disaster. Knocked over an entire line of quivers within five minutes of arriving. But," he added, pointing off to the side, "he's at least bigger than that one."

"Which?" Draco asked, shading his eyes. "The dark-haired one? Looks like a bit of a brute," he added, making a face.

"That's Marcus Belby," Blaise informed him, "and no. I mean the one _behind_ him," he said, shaking his head as Marcus stepped aside, revealing a boy with cropped brown curls that looked to be barely over five feet tall. " _Says_ he's over eighteen, but—"

"Fuck," Draco breathed, watching the recruit struggle to lift the practice sword. "I mean, all of this is a mess, but _that's_ —" he grimaced. "I can't do anything with that. Who is he?"

"No idea," Blaise said. "Been keeping to himself all morning."

Draco shook his head, innately furious. "There's no way I'll ever join my father with recruits like that," he muttered, taking off to stalk towards the boy.

"—that's Captain Malfoy," he heard, catching a whisper as he passed. "Heard his father declined to send for him; sent him here instead—"

"Hey," Draco shouted gruffly, startling the curly-haired boy as the too-heavy sword dropped from his hand. "Not you. Out," he said, gesturing towards the exit. "There's no way I'm letting you endanger the lives of my Army—"

"What do you mean _out_?" the boy demanded bluntly, staring up at Draco. His eyes were a wide, earnest shade of golden brown and his features were so delicate that, for a moment, Draco was fully taken aback. "I'm not going anywhere—"

"I'm your captain," Draco interrupted furiously, regaining his composure, "and if I say you're out, and you most certainly _are_ going somewhere," he snapped, picking up the practice sword and tossing it at the boy, shaking his head as the boy reached out to catch it and instantly stumbled from the weight. "You're entirely unsuited for combat, which should be _obvious_ ," he added emphatically, "so pack up, go home. You're through," he ruled decisively, turning away and wincing as a few feet away, Longbottom took another loud smack to the gut.

"How about a wager?" he heard behind him, and Draco paused, narrowing his eyes.

"A wager?" he prompted dubiously, turning over his shoulder. "Do you really think I would ever enter into one with _you_?"

"What I think is that you're wrong about me," the boy said boldly, taking a step forward. "When does this unit leave for training?"

Draco glared at him, and the boy's mouth tightened.

"When do you leave for training, _Captain_ ," he amended stiffly, and Draco bristled.

"Three days," he said flatly, and the boy lifted his chin, glaring up in defiance.

"Give me three days, then," the boy said. "In three days, let's fight, you and I," he challenged, and it took everything Draco possessed not to let his mouth fall open at the boy's unspeakable audacity. "If you beat me, I'll leave," the boy offered, shrugging, "but if I can get a hit on you, then you agree to train me."

Draco let out a loud scoff. "Do you actually think you can beat me? You can't even lift that," he muttered, pointing to the training sword in the boy's hand.

"It doesn't cost you anything to let me try," the boy retorted. "Unless you're afraid, that is," he added, and Draco felt his own eyes narrow, glancing at the practice sword and quietly contemplating running the boy through where he stood before realizing that the other recruits had stopped to watch them.

"Listen," Draco said flatly, shaking his head and taking a step towards the boy, "if you're interested in humiliating yourself—"

"I'm interested in being taken seriously, Captain," the boy interrupted, not backing down. "If you give me a chance, I swear to you," he added, a glimpse of sincerity flashing in his eye, "I will serve you well and loyally."

Draco paused, surprised by the offer.

Part of him knew it was a terrible proposition, and that the boy stood no chance, but he found himself unnaturally swayed by the boy's flaming defiance, determining he had nothing to lose.

"Fine," Draco said sharply, turning around to glare at the rest of the recruits who'd been staring at them. "Get back to work," he snapped, and they turned, sheepishly eyeing their feet as he strutted impatiently away.

* * *

"Well, this was a stupid idea," the hat informed her, letting out an indignant _tsk_ -ing sound in her ear. "What on earth possessed you to challenge your would-be Captain to a duel?"

"I have to get to Harry and Ron," Hermione reminded it firmly, struggling to raise the practice sword over her head and nearly toppling over from the weight of it. "If I can't find this Court of Miracles," she reminded it, pausing to wipe sweat from her brow, "then I can at least find _them_."

"This is an imbecilic display," the hat told her.

"Well, if imbecility is the cost of saving them, then so be it," Hermione retorted, and was instantly admonished with a loud thunk at the top of her head. " _Ouch,_ " she said, wincing, and reached up, gripping something thin and metallic that appeared to have fallen out of the hat. "What's this?"

"Hell if I know," the hat muttered stiffly. "Get it out of me, you wretch."

Hermione sighed, taking the hat in her hands and then blinking as she caught the ruby-studded hilt of a silver sword, slimmer and finer than the one she had been just been struggling to wield.

"Oh," she said, pulling it from the hat. "Is this—"

"Ah, figures," the hat commented, groaning as she unsheathed it. "Godric would certainly approve of you, though I'd caution you against finding that much of a compliment."

"Godric?" Hermione echoed.

"Yes, Godric Gryffindor," the hat supplied. "The Mage of Valour."

"That's not real," Hermione said dully, eyeing the sword.

"Said the cross-dressing girl to the talking hat," the hat drawled. "Look at the blade, you little minx."

She rolled her eyes, obliging. "Gryffindor," she read, running her finger over the name on the blade of the sword and then hefting it in her hand, tossing it from left to right and marvelling at the ease. "Huh. This feels like it was made for me."

"It wasn't," the hat informed her. "It was made for Godric Gryffindor, though he seems to think you should have it."

"Well, I can certainly make use of it in three days," she said, giving it a testing swing. "Oh," she exclaimed, feeling a tug of sorts as the sword nudged her arm, guiding the motion of its arc. "I think it's actually _helping_ me—"

"And here you said I wasn't helpful," the hat yawned, tutting pointedly as she parried mid-air.

* * *

Hermione avoided the others for most of the day of her agreed-upon wager, though it wasn't all that difficult; nobody had attempted to speak to her yet, despite eyeing her disdainfully for much of the time since she'd arrived. By the time Captain Malfoy had emerged from his tent, the others had already formed a circle around her, waiting expectantly—like vultures _,_ she thought with a shudder, shaking herself of her misgivings—as the Captain approached, the midday sun glinting against his pale blond hair.

"Alright," he said flatly, tearing his shirt off and tossing it aside. His torso was perfectly carved and smooth except for a series of scars—one which ran raggedly across his chest and dipped into the line of his abdomen—and as he twisted to draw his sword from the scabbard draped low across his hips, she caught a glimpse of a tattoo across his back; his family crest, with the Army seal beside it. "You ready, then?"

Hermione swallowed hard, her mouth suddenly dry as she tore her gaze back to his face. "The terms, Captain?" she asked, summoning her nerve.

"If you get a hit anywhere on me, you'll be permitted to join Army training with the rest of the recruits," Malfoy began, and she cut him off.

"No," she interrupted, shaking her head. "If I get a hit on you, I train with _you,_ " she corrected emphatically, trying to ignore the startled whispers. " _That_ was the agreement."

 _Why?_ the hat had asked when she'd told him her plan. _Surely you find him unpleasant. I certainly do,_ it sniffed.

 _I do too,_ she assured him. _But the closer I get to him, the sooner I'll find out where Harry and Ron are._

 _Suit yourself, you little demon,_ the hat had replied drily. _Best of luck._

Captain Malfoy's mouth twisted skeptically. "Fine," he ruled, clearly confident that she wouldn't manage. "And if—" he paused, smirking. " _When_ I disarm you," he amended, "you leave here, and we all pretend I never deigned to participate in your foolish little wager. Deal?" he prompted, eyeing her expectantly.

"Fair enough," Hermione replied, raising her sword. "I'll keep my shirt on, if you don't mind," she added irreverently, and Malfoy gave her a withering glance.

"Zabini," he called to his lieutenant. "You'll start us off?"

Blaise stepped between them, shaking his head. "Ready?" he asked, eyeing both sides, and Hermione nodded as Malfoy's mouth twitched upwards, his chin dropping once.

The moment Blaise nodded, stepping back with a motion to begin, Malfoy took an impossibly quick lunge forward, crossing his blade with hers and then twisting, reaching out for the hilt of her sword with his left hand. She grimaced and leapt back, drawing him forward and then aiming the flat of her blade at the side of his ribs. He made a face, cutting her off with a circular arc, and shook his head.

"Inelegant," he remarked, taking a step back.

"Elegance wasn't a factor of the terms," she reminded him, circling him once before trying the same move again, stumbling back as he parried her blow with an effortless one-handed thrust.

"You're relentless, I'll give you that," he commented, extending an arm to meet her blade in a maneuver that would have knocked her entirely off-balance if the sword had not somehow righted her, moving for her to meet Malfoy's advance in an adjustment so unerringly sharp there was a collective intake of breath from the other recruits.

"You're better than you look," he conceded, his teeth flashing as he gave her a grimacing smile, "but you're not better than me."

"I don't have to be better than you," she reminded him breathlessly, sweat beginning to drip from her forehead as she lunged forward again. "I just have to get in one good hit, and then—"

He met her jab and rolled, shaking his head. "And then?" he prompted, sparing a moment to mock her with a smile.

She and the sword had a moment of perfect unity, taking advantage of his pause to aim forward and down, striking near his feet; he blocked her, stepping to the side, and in the moment his arm crossed his body she brought her sword up, smacking his ribs with the flat of Gryffindor's sword and leaving behind a thin line of blood, a drop of it slipping down the pale expanse of his skin.

For a moment Malfoy only stared at her, his brow furrowing in disbelief as the rest of the recruits and Blaise held their breaths; and then, just as she might have questioned whether to continue, he abruptly lunged forward, aiming high and forcing her to meet his blow with her sword above her head, raising a foot to kick her firmly below the chest and knocking the sword from her hand as she collapsed backward, gasping.

She lay still for a moment, taking in the impact of the sword thudding to the ground beside her as she struggled to breathe, and then blinked, gradually processing the sight of his pale blond hair materializing in front of her face.

"You're small," Malfoy informed her, his head cocked as he waited for her to lift her head, thrusting a hand in her face. "People will take advantage of that."

She blinked, accepting his proffered hand and letting herself be pulled to her feet. "You disarmed me," she commented experimentally, picking her sword up from the ground and dusting herself off.

"You needed to be taken down a peg," Malfoy offered flatly in explanation. "But you got me," he conceded, gesturing to the thin cut on his ribs with what appeared to be equal parts bewilderment and annoyance. "I stand by my agreements, however ill-founded they may be." He eyed her for a moment, considering something, before passing her a curt nod, seeming to have come to an impasse with himself. "What's your name?"

"It's, er—James," Hermione said, recalling Harry's stories.

"Last name?" Malfoy asked.

"Yes," she replied, and he frowned.

"Your last name is James?"

"Er, no—I mean, yes," she amended, blinking.

His frown deepened. "And your first name?" he prompted.

"Arthur," she replied, Ron's father's name leaping to mind.

"Your name is Arthur James?" Malfoy asked, confused. "Why does your sword say Godric Gryffindor?"

"Gryffindor?" she echoed vaguely, glancing down at the blade and registering his point with a jolt. "Oh, um—that's my nickname," she offered hastily, tucking it behind her back.

Malfoy crossed his arms over his chest. "Your nickname?"

"Yeah, it's—that's what my friends call me," Hermione explained hurriedly, and Malfoy grimaced.

"I know what a nickname is," he told her gruffly, but he cut her off as she opened her mouth to explain herself, apparently losing patience with her inability to articulate herself. "How did you manage to get your shit together in three days?" he demanded, looking genuinely curious.

Hermione shrugged. "Necessity," she replied evasively, and Malfoy considered her for a moment, pursing his lips.

"Fine," he said, snapping his fingers at Marcus Belby and motioning for where his shirt had been discarded on the ground. "We leave in one hour," he announced to the rest of the recruits, barking at the circle that had formed around them as Marcus handed him the garment and he threw it on over his head. "If all of you work as hard as Gryffin-whatever," he said, shaking his head and ambiguously referencing her, "maybe you twats'll be allowed into the First Army by the time their campaign is up. Understood?" he demanded, and the others nodded. "Good."

Hermione felt a thrill of satisfaction, suppressing a smile as she turned to follow the others when Malfoy suddenly reached out, gripping her arm.

"Don't think this little stunt you pulled comes without consequences," he said, his voice low. "You may have managed quite a show today," he permitted with a grimace, "but if you're going to train with me, you'll need to learn some respect."

She fought the urge to glower at him.

"Will you earn it?" she asked.

His eyes narrowed. "You know, you walk a very fine line between brave and insubordinate," he warned. "Be comfortably certain that I won't take kindly to the latter, Gryff."

It was a firm statement, direct but not tyrannical; she found herself oddly swayed by it, intrigued by his attitude towards her.

"I meant what I said, Captain," she told him, and she was surprised to find herself quite genuine in the offering. "Train me, and I'll serve you well and loyally."

His brow furrowed momentarily, as if responding to a shift in her gaze, and then he nodded.

"You'd better," he muttered, releasing her arm and turning away.

* * *

At first, training was awful.

No, not awful -

 _Nightmarish._

The training exercises were grueling, particularly for Hermione, who was undersized and undertrained to begin with. She went to bed each night with sore muscles and a pulsing ache that crept into her bones—the days of sleeplessness with Harry and Ron regrettably behind her—and she seemed to be constantly hungry and thirsty and sunburnt, her entire body crying out for relief.

And then there was her captain, who was a man of unusual tactics, to say the least.

"In the Army, there are two main tenets to success," Malfoy announced, his tattoo starkly visible in the early morning sun as he addressed the unit, pacing before their ordered formation. "The first is strength, which few of you possess," he began, "and the second is discipline, which even fewer of you appear to have heard of."

"He forgot nepotism and shirtlessness," Marcus Belby whispered to Neville Longbottom, who gave him an impatient, silencing shove.

"Belby," Malfoy snapped sharply, catching Marcus' sidelong comment. "Perhaps you'd care to offer a demonstration."

"With pleasure," Marcus confirmed, stepping forward. Malfoy's eyes traveled slowly across the unit, landing on Hermione's.

"Gryff," he said, gesturing, and she joined him at the front, glancing uneasily at Marcus' anticipatory smirk. "Now," Malfoy continued, addressing the unit, "strength is what delivers the blow. Belby," he barked, and Marcus nodded, "hit Gryff as hard as you can."

Hermione blinked. "Wait, but—"

She was cut off, managing to dodge Marcus' shot just successfully enough to take the blow of his fist against her left arm, instantly cradling it as he stepped back with unadulterated glee. She fought a scowl, the impact of the punch throbbing through the entirety of her limb.

"Strength," Malfoy declared flatly, gesturing to where Hermione shook the pain out, flinching. "Strength is what _makes_ the impact, but discipline is what _determines_ the hit. Discipline," he clarified, "is what directs it; and when you've aimed the same blow a thousand times perfectly from every given angle and scenario, discipline is what determines your success. Gryff," Malfoy called, gesturing to her, and she inched towards him, stiffening apprehensively.

Malfoy ducked his head, dropping his voice to speak in her ear. "There's a sweet spot below his chest, above his stomach," he murmured, and she glanced up at Marcus, frowning. "Don't look," Malfoy warned, admonishing her with a glare. "If he braces at all, it won't be effective. Swift shot, at an upward angle," he instructed at a low mutter, concealing a small demonstration and checking her face for comprehension.

She gave him a quick nod, resuming her place across from Marcus as her pulse stuttered in preparation.

"Discipline," Malfoy continued, addressing the unit again as Hermione re-joined Marcus, "determines whether you walk away from a fight, _or_ —Gryff," he prompted, and she aimed a sharp jab just under Marcus' sternum, stepping backwards as the other man abruptly doubled over, slowly falling forward to his hands and knees.

"Or," Draco continued smugly, watching Marcus gasp for breath on the ground, "whether you need to be carried away."

"Shit," Justin whispered loudly, staring at Marcus, and Hermione shook out her hand, mildly amazed.

Malfoy sidled up next to her, dropping his voice again. "Hit a little harder next time and he might lose consciousness," Malfoy muttered in her ear, patting her shoulder once before nudging her back towards the unit, leaving her to stumble dazedly to her spot beside Neville.

"Another lesson you would all do well to note," Malfoy continued, addressing the unit as Marcus slowly dragged himself back to his knees, "is that antagonizing your captain will not bode well for you. Are we clear?" he asked loudly, arching a brow, and everyone slowly nodded, Marcus shrinking away as Malfoy reached out to clap him on the shoulder.

"Good," Malfoy said firmly, gesturing for Blaise. "Now—let's do that again, but with weapons this time," he beckoned expressionlessly, and Hermione fought an inward groan, rubbing at her still-sore arm.

* * *

"I'm not cut out for this," Neville muttered, rolling over as Hermione returned from her early morning bath, which she took in the nearby stream long before anyone else was awake, each time luxuriating in the freeing of her perpetually sore breasts. "I don't care if he punches me in the face this time, I'm not getting out of bed."

"Oh, cheer up," Hermione told him, stepping over a groaning Justin. "All this stuff he's having us do could save our lives someday, you know."

"Not that this is much of a life worth saving, you monster," Marcus mumbled, just as Malfoy's head poked into their tent, jolting them all upright.

"Town over attacked by Knights," he barked, blandly informational. "We're moving camp."

"Why?" Hermione asked him, frowning. "You think the Knights will come here?"

"Don't ask questions," Malfoy snapped briskly, shutting the tent flap and disappearing.

"Okay then," Hermione sighed, shaking her head as he went.

"Malfoy's not worried about the Knights," Marcus informed her, falling back against his bedroll and holding a pillow over his head. "He just wants to join up with the First Army."

"So what if he does?" Justin asked. "I wouldn't mind, either. First Army's where the action is, isn't it?"

"I don't need action," Neville muttered. "I need _sleep—_ "

"Malfoy's just trying to impress his father," Marcus said in answer, scoffing. "I heard he got passed over for his father's lieutenant," he added snidely, "and all this working us to death and chasing the Knights is meant to get him into General Riddle's good graces."

Hermione glanced up, eyeing the tent flap where Malfoy's head had been. "You should really lay off him, Belby," she warned, grimacing. "You're asking for trouble, you know."

"Gonna fight me over it, Gryff?" Marcus asked, smirking.

"I'll knock you flat on your knees," she promised, and he chuckled, thoroughly entertained.

"You know, you're not half bad, Gryff," he muttered, and Hermione shook her head, putting on Harry's hat and bending to pack her things.

 _Boys,_ she thought. _They're so weird._

"Animals, the lot of them," the hat agreed, sniffing with contempt.

* * *

"Captain," Hermione said, slipping into his tent and pausing as he stood with his back to her, poring over something on his makeshift desk. "You sent for me?"

Malfoy turned over his shoulder, hefting his sword in his right hand. "Hat off," he said, pointing to it with the tip of his sword, and she obeyed, setting it down near the tent's entrance. "Disarm me," he invited flatly, and she blinked, her hand moving reflexively to the scabbard at her hips.

"Now?" she asked. "But—"

"What are my weaknesses?" he asked, and she frowned, stammering.

"I—I don't know if I should—"

"You've been training with me for nearly a month," Malfoy reminded her, arching a brow impatiently. "I'll consider myself insulted if you haven't come up with something you can use against me."

"Well," Hermione said hesitantly, "it's just—I really don't—"

"Gryff," Malfoy said firmly, suddenly feinting towards her left shoulder as she quickly drew her sword up in a circle parry, "what the fuck are my weaknesses?"

"You're weaker on your left side than your right," she blurted out, hardly processing that the words had left her mouth. "Presumably from whatever it was that gave you that scar," she added, gesturing to where she knew it to be beneath his shirt and then forcing herself not to blush.

"Good," he said, lowering his sword to pace around her in a circle. "And?" he asked, lunging in a downward strike that she deflected and then met, forcing him to throw his weight forward with his left shoulder.

"Arrogance," she replied, unthinking, and his face contorted with indignation.

"Excuse me?" he asked, sweeping upward with his blade and forcing her to counter with a parry that left her torso exposed; a mistake she'd made before, but which she rectified now by pulling out of the block early, forcing him to adjust his balance and shift his stance before he could attack again.

"Your counterattacks are quick, but your defensive motions are slow," Hermione clarified. "Not because you can't be faster," she added, feinting to the right, "and not because you don't have the skill, but because—" she paused, panting as she struck to draw him forward. "Because you don't believe anyone else is fast enough to catch your little openings, so you leave a moment while your opponent is in range, and _that's_ —"

She struck again, hitting the flat of her blade against his right shoulder and then, as he arched up with his right elbow, slamming the hilt of her sword against his right wrist, prompting his grip to falter.

"Arrogance," she finished, breathing hard as his sword clattered to the ground below him.

He stared, first at the sword at his feet, and then at her.

"Good," he said eventually, picking up the sword and then sheathing it, nodding once. "You know your own weaknesses, I presume?"

Not for the first time, his conversational shift was so startling she scarcely knew how to react.

"I'm small," she said, half smiling. "I'm weak."

He let out something that might have been a chuckle.

"Get some rest, Gryff," he told her, waving his hand. "You're dismissed."

She nodded, sheathing the sword of Gryffindor and picking up Harry's hat from the floor, nudging the tent flap open.

"Oh, and Gryff," Malfoy called after her, and she turned, setting the hat back on her head.

"Yes, Captain?"

"Good work," he told her. "You know," he added. "For someone small and weak."

She shook her head, furiously fighting the smile that was slipping across her lips as she ducked out of his tent, feeling an unexpected rush of pleasure.

"You like him," the hat commented, tutting snidely. "That would almost be sweet if it didn't make for a total cockswallopy mess."

"I do not," Hermione retorted, muttering to it. "He's my Captain."

" _He's my Captain_ ," the hat mimicked, and she assumed by the sound of its voice that if it could have rolled its eyes, it would have. "You little monster."

"You know, you're supremely unhelpful," she told it. "Maybe I'll just drown you in the river."

"You wouldn't," the hat retorted.

"I would," she replied. "What do you say to that?"

"What do I say?" the hat sniffed. "Dishonor on you," it declared, "dishonor on your family, dishonor on your sword—"

"Fine, fine," Hermione muttered, shaking her head. "I won't, then."

"I knew it," the hat said smugly, and Hermione let out a quiet groan, heading back to her tent.

* * *

"Hands up," Draco said, pausing to adjust Gryff's elbows. "Protect that pretty face of yours, Gryff, or you won't have much for your mother to cry over when you come home. Again," he said, gesturing to Neville, who repeated his left hook. "Good," Draco said, nodding approvingly as Gryff adjusted his hand position. "Better block, Gryff. Muscle memory," he added, and Gryff nodded, resuming his defensive position. "Good. Longbottom, don't twist so much when you get tired," he warned, demonstrating. "Leaves your torso exposed—"

"Draco," Blaise called, gesturing to him, and Draco turned over his shoulder, acknowledging him before turning back to his soldiers.

"Again," he instructed Gryff and Neville. "Run it until it hurts, and then thirty more after that." Neville chuckled; Draco glared at him. "I'm not joking," he warned, watching the smile fade from Neville's face as Gryff smothered a laugh at his expense, and then he turned, gesturing for Blaise to follow into the tent.

"What is it?" he asked once they'd entered, crossing his arms over his chest. "News from my father?"

Blaise shook his head. "Knights," he supplied grimly. "There was a raid last night in Knockturn."

"Fuck," Draco exhaled. "They're getting closer to Hogwarts, aren't they?"

"Looks that way," Blaise agreed, shrugging as he met Draco's eye. "What do you want to do?"

"They still haven't sent for us?" Draco asked, pointedly not mentioning Lucius. "Not General Riddle, even?"

"The Second Army's only been training about two months," Blaise reminded him. "I doubt they think you're ready."

"Maybe not," Draco agreed, tapping his fingers irritably on his arm. "But it can't hurt to be closer, can it? Just in case they need reinforcements," he mused, glancing innocently at Blaise.

Blaise gave him a slow smile. "Shall I tell them to pack?"

"We can train on the road," Draco confirmed, promptly turning to shove his things into his bag.

* * *

"What's with the hat?" Neville asked, and Hermione turned.

"Keeps the sun out of my eyes," she replied, and Neville shrugged, looking skeptical.

"That hat looks older than my Gran, and that's saying something," he commented.

"Say that to my face, you limp noodle," the hat muttered fiercely in Hermione's ear.

"I like it," Justin said, joining them as they walked. "Sort of emphasizes how much smaller you are than me, which is always appreciated."

"Thanks," Hermione told him, rolling her eyes.

"Not that his size matters much," Marcus cut in, catching their conversation and jogging to catch them. "Pretty nice being the Captain's favorite, I bet."

Neville groaned. "Not _this_ again—"

"I'm not Malfoy's favorite," Hermione protested for the umpteenth time. "I'm just—"

"Gryff," Malfoy interrupted, pulling up alongside her and calling down from his horse. "I don't believe today's training was meant to be a lesson in mindless chatter, was it?"

"Timely," the hat chuckled darkly, and Hermione sighed.

"See?" she muttered to Marcus, who snickered. "What can I do for you, Captain?" she called back to Malfoy, falsely bright, and he smirked at her, leaping down from his horse and thrusting the reins into Blaise's hands as he took off on foot.

"Keep up," he told her, darting past her to set the pace at a brisk run. "Come on," he shouted over his shoulder, glaring impatiently at the rest of the unit, and Hermione sighed amidst the collective groans, struggling to catch Malfoy as Marcus and Colin dragged their feet behind her.

"Here's some training for you," Malfoy mused casually, glancing over at her as she started to wheeze slightly. "Do you know how wolves travel?" She shook her head, already panting, and he grinned. "The weak set the pace," he explained, turning around to jog backwards, "pushed by the strongest; then the rest of the pack follows, and they're closed out by the leader, who keeps everyone on the path. Now, obviously I'm the leader," he continued, "so my question is this, Gryff—" he paused, slowing down to match her pace. "Which wolf are you?"

She grimaced, shaking her head in resignation before forcibly resuming the faster pace he had set.

"Good choice," he said smugly, clapping her on the back as he circled around to run to the back of the unit. "I'll make a man out of you yet, Gryff," he shouted over his shoulder.

"Doubtful," the hat muttered in her ear, and Hermione grunted her reluctant agreement, certain she would be requiring yet another thorough ice bath by the time the day was through.

* * *

"Good," Malfoy said, correcting the angle of her elbow and then beckoning for her to strike again. "Now, if you're going to aim for the neck," he said, gesturing to his own, "you want to strike here, right at the side. There's a nerve here," he explained, pointing to it, "so if you hit it, you can cut off reception from the brain, even if it's just temporary."

Hermione nodded, looking at it. "It'd be an easy hit if I got them to bend over," she commented, grimacing. "Can't reach it otherwise."

"Easy enough," Malfoy replied, reaching out to give her an unexpected hard tap toward the back of her ribs, chuckling a little as she instantly folded over. "Got it?"

"Yeah," she panted, thrusting her elbow up and nearly catching him in the nose as he darted back, blocking her shot and laughing.

"You're getting dangerous, Gryff," Malfoy remarked, sounding pleased. "Clearly I'm an exceptionally talented teacher."

"And so humble, too," Hermione joked, making a face at him. "It's a wonder you manage to stand under the staggering weight of your many limitless virtues—"

"You have to admit, I made a marvel out of you," he interrupted, shaking his head as he looked at her. "I have no idea what possessed you to even join the Army." He paused, picking up his shirt to wipe the sweat from his brow, and frowned at her. "Why _did_ you join the Army?" he asked, and she, startled by the question, simply gaped at him for a moment.

"Oh," she began, clearing her throat. "I mean, I guess I just—"

He lifted a brow, waiting, and she sighed.

"The truth is I'm looking for someone," she confessed. "Two someones, actually. My friends," she explained. "They're like brothers to me, and they were summoned to the First Army."

"So you joined the Army to come find them?" Malfoy asked. "That's quite a witless plan, Gryff."

"I've done dumber things," she said, and he chuckled.

"I don't doubt it," he agreed, shaking his head. "My father would have had you quietly removed from your tent while you slept and tossed in a ditch by the side of the road, and that's just for the stuff I've _seen_ —"

"I suppose I'm lucky then," she said, wiping sweat from her face with the back of her forearm. "Having you as a Captain, I mean," she clarified, and instantly felt sheepish, ducking her head and clearing her throat. "Lucky I'm not in a ditch, that is."

Malfoy laughed, seeming not to notice the heat that rose in her cheeks. "You could call it luck," he agreed. "But maybe we should call it a night." He rolled his neck out, throwing himself down on his cot and tossing his shirt aside. "Good work, Gryff. Keep it up and maybe we'll find your friends."

"Thanks, Captain," she said, turning to leave, but paused as she reached the tent flap. "Captain," she ventured slowly, turning over her shoulder. "Have you heard of the Court of Miracles?"

He looked thoughtful for a moment, drifting away on something she couldn't quite see or read, and then seemed to slowly return, his grey eyes settling on hers from afar.

"My mother used to tell stories about the Court of Miracles," he finally said, propping himself up on his elbows. "She always said something about a lord. A 'once and future' lord," he recalled, "an heir who would return to bring magic back to the world."

He paused, frowning. "I haven't heard that story in quite some time," he murmured, more to himself than to her. "Not since she told it to me as a child."

"Your mother?" Hermione asked, and Malfoy blinked, shaking himself of the memory.

"Yes," he said, nodding. "She died when I was quite young. And my father's an Army officer, and he wasn't particularly paternal to begin with, so it was off to boarding school, and then the Academy, and then—" he shook his head, grimacing. "I don't really know why I'm telling you this," he said, looking puzzled. "I guess I just—"

He trailed off, and she stepped towards him.

"I don't have a family," Hermione offered, recognizing the need for reciprocation. "My friends, Harry and Ron," she explained, "they've been my only family since I was eleven."

Malfoy looked up, his gaze softening slightly. "You're an orphan?"

"We all were," Hermione confirmed. "Well, they _had_ families," she amended. "Which is how they knew about the Court of Miracles. Children's tales, like the one your mother told you."

He paused, mulling over her admission.

"I suppose if I were in your shoes, I'd try to find them as well," Malfoy commented. "I imagine that's why it matters so much to me to finally join my father. Well, that, and to prove to him I'm not a waste of his time," he said glumly. "That I'm worth carrying on his legacy, I suppose."

Malfoy had been playing with his hands as he spoke, and something about the insecurity of the motion caught her eye.

"Captain," she began, and he stopped, his fingers stilling at the sound of her voice as he looked up. "I just—I wanted to say that I think you're a great Captain," she told him. "And I don't know your father, but I think he's a god-awful fool if he isn't proud of what you've done with your Army," she added, making him laugh.

"Maybe we should just go after the Knights ourselves, then," he suggested mockingly. "Make our way to Hogwarts on our own without waiting for a summons—"

He stopped, and she froze.

There was a chance, she could tell, that the statement had been intended as a wild hypothetical, but the moment the words left his mouth they both seemed to hold their breaths, staring experimentally at the other.

"Maybe we should," she said, careful that he could see she wasn't joking.

He stared at her, his brow furrowing.

"Get some sleep, Gryff," he said slowly, curling a hand around his mouth in thought as she turned obediently to leave. "We'll find your friends," he added. "I'll get us there, I promise."

She nodded over her shoulder, passing him a grateful smile before heading back for her tent.

For the first time in a long while, Hermione tossed and turned that night, unable to stop thinking about Malfoy's version of Harry's story.

"Is magic real?" she asked the hat. "Or am I losing my mind?"

The hat sighed.

"Go to sleep," it instructed firmly; and then, softer, "said the talking hat to the cross-dressing girl who wonders if the world has magic," it added, murmuring in scolding lamentation.

* * *

"Well, Malfoy's lost it," Marcus announced as they packed their things again. "Honestly, I think he's just chasing the Knights now."

"Why shouldn't he?" Hermione asked. "We're Army. We're trained. There's no reason for us to keep running drills in the woods—"

"I'm with Gryff," Justin contributed firmly. "Besides," he added, " _this_ way we get to go through town. Don't know about you all, but I could use a break from you prick-studded wonders."

"Looking to show off your new biceps?" Neville joked, grinning at him.

"Yes, as a matter of fact," Justin retorted. "I bet even Gryff'll get a lady," he added, throwing an arm around Hermione's shoulders and ruffling her hair as she dragged herself out of his reach.

"No thanks," Hermione said, scowling. "I'll leave the ladies to you three, I think."

"So generous," Neville noted with a smile, as Marcus rolled his eyes.

"Well, I doubt you'll have Captain Pretty Boy to conspire with tonight," Marcus warned her. "I'd be willing to bet Captain Shirtless has his hands full with something that _isn't_ practice drills for once—"

"To women," Justin cut in pompously, nudging Marcus and raising an imaginary glass, "and to the wars we fight for them."

"Hear, hear," Marcus agreed, taking an imaginary pull from the invisible cup as Hermione struggled to swallow a burdensome lump in her throat, wondering why the thought of Malfoy with a woman was suddenly so horribly inconceivable.

"It's because," the hat reminded her rudely, "you have an inadvisable crush on him."

"Shut up," she whispered to it, ducking her head and sighing aloud as Neville and Justin broke out in an old tavern song about large-bosomed women and frothy beers, leaving her with a heady sense of dread.

It wasn't until she watched Malfoy shake his head politely at a pretty barmaid that her intestines seemed to slowly relax, uncoiling tentatively in her stomach.

"You liiiiiiike him," the hat sang, and Hermione shoved it in her pocket, heading towards the bar.

* * *

"Why's it so damn busy?" a man at the bar asked, prompting Draco to glance up.

"Second Army's in town," a second man huffed dubiously. "Though with all these misfits it looks more like a traveling circus, if you ask me."

"That Captain Malfoy's as green as they come," the first man replied, shrugging. "No service record to speak of—and his _own father_ took another lieutenant," he added laughingly. "What else'd you expect from his troops?"

Draco's fingers tightened stiffly around the handle of his tankard.

"About time you give us a night off," Blaise interrupted, taking a seat beside Draco at the bar and sighing as he motioned to the barkeep. "Even if I can _fully tell_ that this is just a plot to chase down the Knights," he warned, admonishing him with a finger.

"Don't know what you're talking about," Draco said innocently, though at the sound of another mutter of his name he growled into his tankard, willing himself to ignore the surrounding gossip.

"I almost guarantee this goes badly," Draco muttered, glancing over his shoulder. "I will admit, though, that the more deviant part of me is inhumanly fascinated to see what these goons'll look like with a little alcohol in their system," he conceded, glancing at where some of the recruits stood near the bar.

"You did a good job with them," Blaise informed him, motioning for a tankard of ale. "Frankly, I _still_ can't believe you actually made something out of the little one," he added, jutting his chin out at Gryff. "Though I'm not sure I really understand why you paid him so much attention."

"Hey," they heard over their shoulders, both turning towards the insistent voice. "That's my Captain you're talking about," Gryff warned from near the door, and Draco grimaced, recognizing that he was speaking to the two men had been staring at him. "Care to take it up with me?"

"What's he doing?" Blaise asked, frowning. "Those men are twice his size."

 _True,_ Draco acknowledged internally, though he was admittedly less worried about Gryff's safety than he was unhealthily curious about the result. "Oh, come on, Blaise," he said, casually taking a sip of his ale as he watched. "Don't you know size doesn't matter?"

"That," Blaise pronounced drily, "is an argument for far lesser specimens, and one that I have never had to use."

Draco chuckled, turning his attention back to Gryff and the men at the bar.

"You?" one of the men scoffed, glaring down at Gryff. "You couldn't hurt a fly."

"Lucky I didn't come for flies," Gryff retorted, brandishing his signature defiance. "Last I checked, I was talking to the two sad sacks who had a problem with my commanding officer."

"Excuse me?" the man demanded, rising to his feet. "Better watch your mouth, boy," he growled, stepping forward, and at Gryff's narrowed gaze, Draco fought a sense of preemptive satisfaction, watching his soldier's eyes travel calculatedly across the man's torso.

The stranger wound up, preparing to throw a punch, and Gryff quickly spun, throwing the blade of his hand in a rapid side jab to the man's kidney and then, as the man went down, striking downward on his neck, rendering him unconscious with breathtaking precision; evidence, Draco knew, of thousands of carefully practiced blows, filling him with an inordinate sense of pride that he fought instantly to smother.

Gryff stepped back, surveying the damage on the floor, and then smiled up at the second man, beckoning.

"What was that about flies?" Gryff prompted, and the man opened his mouth, gaping. "Better not," Gryff warned, stepping over the first man's crumpled form. "They're dropping like mad," he lamented falsely, winking across the bar at Draco before making his way toward a booth with Justin and Neville.

"That," Draco told Blaise, leaning towards him and gesturing as the crowd parted soundlessly for Gryff to pass. " _That's_ why I spent time with him."

Blaise let out a low whistle. "Forget I said anything," he conceded, shaking his head in disbelief.

* * *

"God, this is so much worse with a hangover," Marcus muttered, rubbing his temple and squinting. "I think I'm being murdered by the sun."

"He's not wrong," the hat said in her ear. "I notice nobody has any unclever mockery for me today," it added smugly, preening slightly atop her head.

"Hush," Hermione murmured, turning over her shoulder to look for Malfoy. "Captain," she called nervously, sidling up to him. "Shouldn't we have run into the First Army by now?"

Malfoy nodded grimly. "We've already passed into the outskirts of Hogsmeade," he confirmed. "They should have been here to—"

"Captain," Blaise interrupted, doubling back on horseback. "You need to see this."

Malfoy frowned. "What is it?"

Blaise shook his head. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, gesturing to an ominous cloud of smoke that hung over the rooftops of Hogsmeade ahead, and Malfoy froze for a moment, blinking, before suddenly taking off at a run, Hermione following after him.

They turned the corner to find that part of Hogsmeade had been nearly razed to the ground, the sky black and thick with an inhospitable cloud of dust above a series of ashy, charred buildings, little more than remnants where shops and homes and livelihoods had stood. There was a stale sense of fear in the air, of dread and death and vacancy, and Hermione felt she swallowed misery and breathed in anguish, suffering under a fog of despair.

They walked solemnly through the village, looking for survivors; they found none, though Hermione was selfishly relieved to find that neither Harry nor Ron was among them.

"What the fuck," Marcus breathed, bending his head in a rare portrait of sympathy, and behind him Hermione caught the motion of Draco kneeling beside one of the bodies that bore the First Army seal, his hand curled around his mouth in grief.

"Captain," she exhaled, joining him, and he shook his head.

"My best friend," he murmured, swallowing heavily as he sank down beside the body. "My father's lieutenant."

"Captain," she repeated, a breath rising up fearfully in her lungs. "I—I'm so sorry—is your father—" she broke off, unable to voice the question. "Is he—"

The implication was clear enough; no one had survived this. She broke off, forcing the words back down her throat, and Malfoy looked up, his grey eyes hardened with anger.

"They're heading for Hogwarts," he said miserably, his mouth sealing in a thin, tight line. "We have to stop them before they get there."

* * *

"Draco," Blaise insisted, chasing after him. "You have to think this through—you have to be _rational_ —"

"They're obviously coming for Grindelwald," Draco reminded him, not slowing down. "Where else would they go but Hogwarts?"

"Still," Blaise urged. "We have no strategy, no plan of attack—we have no idea how many Knights there are, or whether they're armed—"

"Of course they're fucking _armed_ , Blaise, but we didn't come here for nothing," Draco snapped furiously. "What have we been training for if not for this?"

"I just don't think—"

Blaise stopped suddenly, coming to a halt, and Draco groaned.

"Don't think _what_?" he shouted impatiently, pivoting, but Blaise's eyes had abruptly grown large, staring at something in the distance.

"I don't think we can stop them," Blaise whispered. "I think they're already here."

* * *

"Holy shit," Marcus breathed. "What kind of doomsday scenario is this?"

The figures seemed to appear one by one from the heavy smoke-filled air, black cloaks materializing from the fog as if the fog itself had crafted them. Hermione coughed, choking on something that felt and tasted like sickness and despondency, struggling to reach Malfoy as he took several steps back, his face pale as he looked out over the army of shadowed figures.

The air seemed to grow thicker, more unstable with each step, a horrifying taste of misery on her tongue as her lungs filled with terror and ash, the cloaked figures edging closer and closer as she reached out, blindly seeking out Malfoy.

"Keep both hands on the sword," the hat told her, alarmingly unsarcastic, and she hurriedly obeyed, unsheathing it and then nearly dropping it from her hands as a blinding light seemed to shine from it, clearing a path as the hooded figures shrank away. "What do you see?"

The moment Hermione managed to put both hands on the hilt of Gryffindor's sword, the number of cloaked figures seemed to cut by half; there were a few standing with their feet planted, lining the path to the castle that loomed in the distance, but the others seemed to hover mid-air, shrinking from the light of her blade.

"They're not all human," Hermione said hoarsely. "What are they?"

"Creatures," the hat told her. "They feed on despair."

She frowned, the entire concept seeming impossible. "But—"

"I really don't have time for a reality check," the hat informed her impatiently, and she turned, watching as a hooded figure begin to descend near Malfoy.

"HEY," she yelled, slashing at what might have been its face to force it cowering away from her sword, half leaping back. "STAY AWAY FROM HIM—"

She took another step, and then another, and looked down in awe as the motion of her blade seemed to keep the hooded figures at bay, as though they couldn't stand its presence. She brandished the sword, growing bold, and then she felt a wrench, realizing someone's hand had wrapped around her wrist.

She worked herself free, slashing through the air with the sword and slamming her elbow into the chest of something that was decidedly _not_ a mere phantom of despair.

"Some of them are human," she panted to the hat, trying to see through the thickening fog. "Which are which?"

"The ones with feet," the hat said unhelpfully, as Hermione thrust her sword up, knocking an opponent away as the hooded figures scattered backwards from the gleam of her blade. "Of course, the further one gets from the dementors—"

"What?" Hermione shouted, stabbing gracelessly as a figure began to hover over Justin's head.

"The soul-sucking despair creatures," the hat supplied. "The further you get from those, the easier time you'll have fighting the human ones—though, ideally, if you could rid yourself of both at once—"

"Soul-sucking," Hermione echoed, absurdly thinking that it sounded like something Ron would say about the forest; _the forest_ , she thought again, the one with the _face-eating, blood-drinking_ —

"The forest," she gasped, a mad impulse driven by a fanciful children's tale that seemed suddenly no less strange than anything else, and took off running; she held the sword aloft, instantly feeling the change in the air as she drew the creatures into the woods, the sound of footsteps following in her wake serving to indicate that the men, whichever ones they were, had followed too.

She slashed a clearing into the thick of the woods and thrust the sword down, plunging it into the earth; the moment the blade had touched the forest floor the entire mass of uninterrupted woodlands seemed to fill with light, so bright she brought a hand to her eyes, blinded momentarily. The hooded creatures let out inhuman screams, as repelled by the light as they had been by the blade of her sword, and they vanished into air, leaving behind only the few scattered men who were cloaked.

Hermione was dizzied, disoriented from the effort, but processed the triumphant sound of footsteps coming from behind her, the Second Army descending upon the remaining Knights at the forest edge.

"Gryff," she heard behind her, stumbling as Malfoy gripped her shoulder, pulling her back from the line of trees. He tucked her under one arm, half dragging her, and threw up a left-handed block, slamming a Knight into an opposite tree trunk as she struggled to gain her footing at his side.

They reached the edge of the forest and paused, gasping for breath, as the few Knights that remained were pummeled back by the Second Army, forced out of range.

"They're retreating," Malfoy said, turning to head towards where Blaise had run a Knight through with a dagger. "Come on—"

She turned over her shoulder, following him, and a flash of something from afar caught her eye; a knife, she realized, thin and silver, with the point of it aimed at Malfoy's back. "NO," she shouted, leaping forward, processing the sting of something that dug into her side and then collapsing, struggling to conjure breath as she felt Malfoy drop beside her.

"Gryff," she heard Malfoy say, squinting up at where the pale sheen of his hair caught her eye. "Gryff, it's Draco, focus on my face—it's going to be fine," he told her, and she wanted to laugh. "You're going to be alright, just hold on—"

"Gryff," she heard him say, his face swimming behind closed eyes, "just _hold on_ —"

* * *

Hermione woke slowly, groggily peering through laboriously slitted eyes as she caught a strangely familiar face staring down at her, like a vision from a dream.

Not a dream.

A _nightmare._

"You," she muttered, barely able to make out the features of a face she only partially remembered, a hooded figure in an unwelcoming pub. "I know you—"

"Don't strain yourself," the man said, his voice low and clipped. "You'll want to save your strength."

Hermione's stomach flipped apprehensively. "For what?"

"Ah, for certain death, of course," she heard, another voice, and turned her head weakly to catch a flicker of startling blue eyes, a gasp slipping between her lips as she recognized the man who'd chased her from the tavern. "Hello," he said, flashing her a ruthless smile. "You've certainly had a run of things, haven't you?"

"No," Hermione spat, struggling to sit up until the other man forced her back down. "No, I—where's Malfoy—where's my Captain—"

"You know, the thing about being being stabbed is that medical treatment requires a certain level of . . . revelation," the man said, and Hermione glanced down in a panic, realizing that the binding around her breasts had been removed, a bandage fastened to the side of her waist where the errant blade had struck. "Funny," the man said. "I don't believe women are permitted in the Army, are they, Severus?"

"No," the other man confirmed, shaking his head. "They are not, My Lord."

The handsome so-called Lord tapped his mouth facetiously. "Punishable by death, isn't it?"

"Quite," the man called Severus agreed, dully uninterested.

"Pity," the Lord lamented, his lips slipping into a taunting grin. "Don't you wish you had simply given me the hat when you had the chance?" he asked Hermione, and she shrank back as he took a step towards the cot she'd been lain on, setting a hand on Severus' shoulder for him to move aside.

"I see you procured a sword," the Lord commented, gesturing to it in the corner. "And quite a valuable one, too. What a talented little minx you are," he tutted softly, pursing his lips in mocking disdain. "A liar _and_ a thief."

"That sword isn't stolen," Hermione informed him. "It's mine."

"Oh?" the Lord asked dubiously. "And how does an orphan girl masquerading as a soldier come to possess such a priceless artifact? The silver alone costs more than you're worth," he remarked, picking it up and looking over it. "And when you factor in the rubies, well—"

"I didn't steal it," Hermione insisted flatly, and the Lord laughed.

"How did you come by it, then?" the Lord taunted. "Pulled it out of a hat, did you?" he added, laughing. "Such a pity no one will believe you."

"Get Malfoy," Hermione said instantly. "He'll know I'm not a thief—"

"Do you really think he'll believe you when he finds out you've deceived him?" the Lord prompted, seeming to bristle with impatience. "You're a fool, then, whoever you are, and I pity you your insipid trust in your Captain's mercy." He looked down, eyeing the sword in his hands. "I think I'll hold onto this," he murmured, "and the hat as well. You may have delayed the inevitable, but destiny has a way of working out. Besides, _surely_ they wouldn't kill you," he added with a chuckle. "Do you think they will, Severus?"

Severus gave a grim, unsettling smirk that filled Hermione with an unspeakable dread.

"Ah, well, what a magnificent gamble," the Lord mused. "In any case, I thank you, my dear, for saving your Captain's life," he added, heading for the tent's exit. "I find it will be quite helpful for my purposes," he murmured, and Hermione blinked, catching a glimpse of something as his black cloak shifted; a flash of emerald green.

The color of the First Army.

"Where's Harry?" she demanded suddenly, forcing herself upright. "Harry and Ron, where are they?"

The Lord glanced over his shoulder, darkly amused.

"Wouldn't you like to know," he murmured, disappearing through the tent's exit without another word.

* * *

"General Riddle," Draco exhaled, looking up as Tom exited the infirmary tent and striding quickly over to meet him. "How is he?"

Tom grimaced, shifting his black cloak aside and shaking his head with a solemn misery. "I'm sorry to tell you this, Captain Malfoy, but we've been fooled," he remarked quietly, and Draco frowned. "The soldier in there is not who you think he is. Apologies—that soldier is not," Tom amended, calling for pause, "who you think _she_ is."

"She?" Draco echoed, bewildered. "What do you—"

"The soldier who has been impersonating the man called Gryff is, in fact, a woman," Tom informed him. "The sword she's been using is a stolen artifact. She is, in reality, little more than a common thief, who has made a mockery of Commander Grindelwald's forces with her shameless deception."

It was entirely too implausible to be real.

"That's—that can't be," Draco stammered, blinking through his confusion. "I know him—I _trust_ him—"

"Well, then let us both be glad your father isn't present to see this," Tom cut in harshly, his blue eyes turning sharp beneath his furrowed brow. "I would not wish to disappoint him with the knowledge that his son was so poor a judge of character."

Draco swallowed a painful lump of misery, still unable to process what he was hearing.

"Who is she?" he asked, forcing moisture to his throat, and Tom shrugged.

"Does it matter?" he countered. "You know the law, Captain Malfoy."

Draco's entire body stiffened.

"Yes," he forced out slowly, "but—"

"Get rid of her," Tom commanded, just as his associate slipped from the infirmary tent with Gryff's sword and hat in hand. "Are we clear, Captain?"

Draco blinked, staring at the sword, and then turned to face the General, seeing no other option.

"Yes, sir," he conceded, and Tom nodded stonily, gripping Draco's shoulder.

"You've done well today," Tom said. "Clearly Commander Grindelwald will be needing you and your Army by his side, and he owes you a great deal for the protection you've already provided. I'll be expecting you at Hogwarts for commendation."

"Thank you, General," Draco said numbly, and Tom nodded again, beckoning for the man he'd called Severus to follow.

"Do not disappoint me," Tom warned. "Your legacy hangs in the balance, Captain Malfoy."

Draco watched him go, feeling inexplicably bereft.

"Draco," Blaise said, stepping up to him. "Is Gryff okay?"

Draco's mouth tightened as he stared at the tent, tortured by the knowledge of the stranger who waited inside.

"Don't let anyone interrupt us," Draco said, gritting his teeth as he shoved the tent flap aside.

* * *

Hermione's hair had grown longer in the months they'd been training; long enough that she'd begun tying it back out of her eyes in recent weeks, and now that it had grown, she wondered what Malfoy was seeing when he stared at her, his grey eyes turning cold with what looked to be either fury or betrayal—or, perhaps, both.

"Captain," she said quietly, and his mouth tightened. "Please, you have to believe me," she pleaded, "this isn't what you think—"

"Who are you?" he demanded, taking a few steps to where she sat up in the infirmary cot, flinching through the pain of her wound.

"You know who I am," she told him, forcing herself not to drop her gaze. "My name is Hermione Granger, but everything else you know about me is true—"

"How can you say that?" he retorted gruffly, the line of his mouth contorting with anger. "You lied to me," he accused her. "You _lied_."

The bitterness in his tone was so palpable she felt struck by it, the very bones of her made brittle by the impact.

"I wasn't lying when I nearly died for you," she reminded him, the wound at her side still throbbing. "Isn't that the only truth that matters, Captain?"

"Don't," he growled, shaking his head. He stared at her, his gaze hardening, before it suddenly seemed he could no longer look at her; as though the truth of her had sickened him, and he could no longer stomach the sight. "I'm not your Captain," he told her gruffly, turning to leave.

"No," she corrected him, bristling with frustration as he went. "No. _You're_ the one turning your back on _me_." He paused, and she forced herself to her feet. "You're still my Captain," she said emphatically, watching the tension manifest in his spine at the words. "You're the man who trained me, and that hasn't changed. Nothing has changed unless you _let it_ ," she told him furiously, "but Captain, this isn't over. There's an enemy that's still out there, and you and I both know you're not equipped to do this alone—"

He spun on his heel, color rising in his cheeks.

"You know the law, Gry- _Hermione_ ," he told her, shaking his head at the correction. "You know what I have to do."

She swallowed, wondering for the first time if he would do it.

"I'm still the same person who chose to fight for you," she reminded him. "And you know that too, Captain, I _know_ you know that—"

"Don't tell me what I know," Malfoy snapped. "You impersonated a soldier, you deceived me at every turn—"

"Not every turn," she retorted, half-snarling at him. "When I gave you my loyalty, I meant it. When I said I would fight with you— _for_ you—I meant it," she repeated, staring at him. "If I lied about my name, it was only by necessity—and if there wasn't a part of you that already knew that, you wouldn't have come here," she added, watching his brow furrow helplessly as she voiced what they both knew was true. "You could have had someone else kill me—you could have just left me to die. But you're here because you know," she pressed, swallowing her anguish and forcing him to meet her eye. "You _know_ I would stand by you if the tables were turned."

His grey eyes flickered with something like shame.

"My hands are tied," he told her, taking a step closer. "I don't have a choice."

She let out a bitter scoff of laughter. "You think this isn't a choice?"

He took another step, and another, until he was even with her, staring down at her as he'd always done.

"Why'd you do it?" he asked, and she bit her lip, avoiding his eye. "Hermione," he said, swallowing. " _Why_?"

"I told you. I had to find my friends," she insisted, aware of the stubbornness that filled her voice. "This was the only way to find them. It was the _only way_ ," she repeated painfully, lifting her chin, "but I—I never thought it would go this far," she added, her eyes meeting his as she forced a heavy swallow. "I didn't think—"

"That I'd find out?" he prompted miserably. "That one day you'd be revealed? Surely you knew you couldn't do this forever—"

"I don't know what I thought," she admitted. "But it was necessary, and I wouldn't have deceived you if I didn't have to. Please," she begged, taking a step towards him with difficulty. "Please, Captain, you have to believe me—"

She faltered, reaching helplessly towards him, and he paused where he stood.

He shut his eyes for a moment, struggling internally, and when they opened again, the grey settled on hers with a sort of longing she knew must have been in her imagination; a dream, or a wish, or something she so desperately hoped were true that she must have conjured it herself.

"Go," he said, and her breath rose up to choke her. "Just—get out of here. A life for a life," he offered, part of him looking as though he wanted to laugh; to unravel to nothing in a comedy of errors as he took a step back, gesturing toward the tent's exit. "My debt is repaid."

He dropped his gaze, not meeting hers; she took a step, defeated, and made to exit before stopping, turning slowly to look at him.

"I would have served you if you'd let me," she said, figuring it was her last chance to say as much. "I would have been proud to fight for you, Draco Malfoy. Not because of your father," she added brusquely. "Not because of your name. But because of who you _are_."

"Don't," he forced out, shaking his head, but she took another step closer.

"Could you have loved me like you loved Gryff?" she asked him, half-pleading. "Was it only ever because I was a man that you believed in me?"

"This isn't about me," he said, swallowing hard. "This isn't about _us_ —"

"Isn't it?" she asked him. "Am I the person you trained or not? Am I the person you _trust_ ," she asked painfully, "or not?"

He stared at her, shaking his head, and she realized they were nearly chest to chest, her lungs filling somehow with his breath.

"Don't make me do this," he said quietly, but she shook her head.

"I have no secrets now," she told him. "You see me for what I am." She paused, swallowing, and then met his eye. "So my question is this," she murmured, "what kind of man are you, Captain?"

He closed the distance between them with a low growl, a sound that tore from his throat and buried itself in her mouth, sharing the breath of devastation between them.

"I thought so," she whispered against his lips.

* * *

Draco kissed her fully, firmly, fitting himself against her and wondering how he could possibly not have known, not have imagined the feel of her in his arms, the pressure of her lips against his as she snaked her arms around his neck, the warmth of her body flush against his.

She slid her hands down his chest, her fingers lingering at the spot she'd first drawn blood from the side of his ribs, and he slipped his hand under the loose fabric of her shirt, drawing it slowly up the bandage at her side to trace over the badge of her loyalty. He felt her breath stutter, the motion of her lungs filling unevenly between his palms, and slid the shirt over her head, looking down at her with wordless veneration.

His eye caught first on her shoulders; on the scars left from practice, and the muscle that had carved itself there, the mark of her dedication. He slid his hands up, drawing his thumbs over her clavicle, and then bent to press his lips to the side of her neck; to the nerve he'd once taught her to use as a weapon, feeling her shudder beneath his touch.

She inhaled sharply as his hands found her breasts, moaning a little as he drew his thumbs over the curves of them; he let his mouth travel slowly down, lower, walking her back as he bent his head and then laid her carefully on the cot, climbing over her to slowly trace his tongue over a nipple, first one, then the other; the parts of her she'd kept hidden to stay alive. She gasped, arching her hips up to meet his, and he felt her fingers pulling at the fabric of his shirt until he let her tear it from his back, both of them freeing captive breaths as skin met skin.

He had thought he wanted women soft and pliant, fragile and delicate, but he'd been wrong; feeling _her_ —running his hands over cuts and scars and bruises, muscle and bone lined with consequence, shaped by strength and speed and discipline—he found himself spellbound by the sharpened angles of her beneath him, knowing that what he held between his fingers was the measure of a person who amounted to vastly more than prettiness alone. She was his soldier; every inch of her bore evidence of that, and he paid her back with worship, with adoration, taking lips and tongue and teeth to every part of her he could reach until he arrived at the fabric of her trousers, pausing as her breath caught in her lungs.

"Please," she whispered, and he peeled the fabric back, his heart thudding raucously in his throat as she lifted her hips to let him slowly pull the garment from her, slipping one leg free and then the other until she lay bare before him, her pulse wild below his touch.

She reached down, fumbling for his trousers, and he stood up, stepping out of them before rejoining her, positioning himself above her on the cot. They were breathing hard, staring at each other, and for a moment, neither of them moved.

"Captain," she said softly, and he caught her hand, pressing his lips to the inside of her wrist as he shook his head slowly.

"No," he murmured to her skin, and she swallowed heavily.

"Draco," she amended, her fingers tracing over his lips, and as her hips rose to meet his he slid himself inside her, both of them inhaling sharply as he filled her.

He drew his hand down her torso, feeling the crevices of her abdomen pebble enticingly under his fingers as she dragged his lips down to hers; he met her kiss with the fervor that he restrained from the motion of his hips, his thrusts slow and careful as he caressed the wound on her waist. She whimpered, digging her nails into his back, and together they gradually built to something more; something neither hard nor fast but painstakingly measured, desperate, each of them clinging to the motion as though the inevitable parting would ruin them both.

She muffled a cry in the crook of his shoulder, biting down on the muscle of his neck; he shuddered shortly after, stifling a groan and lowering himself carefully against her as he blinked a flash of gold back from behind his lids, an echo of the brilliant spark in her eyes.

They lay intertwined for a moment, coming down from a dizzying height, when reality seemed to settle cruelly on his shoulders.

"I can't," he began, and she cut him off with a small shake of her head.

"I know," she said. "I'll go. Just—" she brought his lips to hers, kissing him softly, and then her hands dropped to his chest, bearing down against him. "Be safe, Captain," she whispered. "I think things are more dangerous than you believe."

He shivered, playing host to a chill of dread, and brushed a kiss against her hand before forcing himself to his feet, dressing with a bitter carelessness and then turning over his shoulder, watching her flinch as she raised her arms to pull her shirt over her head.

"Your friends," he murmured, reaching out to help her. "I hope you find them."

She grimaced as he drew his hands away, meeting his eye with the full, terrible blow of their impending loss.

"Go," she said, and he nodded, meeting her kiss one last time.

He bit down on her lip, drawing blood, and then tore himself away with the last taste of her.

"Get everyone ready," he shouted to Blaise, storming away from the tent without looking back, fighting to ignore the hollow ache in his stomach. "We're going to Hogwarts."

"What about Gryff?" Neville asked, frowning.

Draco shook his head. "Gryff's dead," he said flatly, and didn't stay to watch their faces fall.

* * *

Hermione was alone again.

She slipped out of the tent while the others were heading back on the road, disappearing amid the trees; from afar she watched Marcus, watched Justin and Neville, and saw them frown in confusion at the message that _she was a woman, she was a liar this whole time, the man you trusted is gone_ until they followed, wearied and wary, as Malfoy led them to the castle in a celebrated procession of incongruous defeat.

Hermione held her breath, feeling the breeze fill the space between her fingers and considering where to run; it was a moment, a stillness, and then she was somehow intangibly certain that wherever the Second Army was going, she would be wise to follow.

It was odd, traveling without Harry's talking hat; she found she missed its disgruntled presence. Her thoughts collected wildly in her brain—all this terrible loss; the hat, the mage, the Court of Miracles, followed by a haunting chorus of _Harry Ron Draco, come back come back come back_ —without an outlet for release, and she focused instead on being invisible as she watched the Second Army's arrival at the castle.

She concealed herself up high, fighting an audible gasp when she saw who had come out to greet them.

"Ah, Captain Malfoy," the Lord said, bearing the insignia of the First Army General. "Congratulations again on your victory against the Knights. Come," he beckoned, gesturing. "Commander Grindelwald is awaiting an audience."

"Thank you, General Riddle," Malfoy replied, nodding his head. Hermione noted he looked particularly drawn, his expression hauntingly somber. "I trust that you'll see to it that my soldiers are fed and given temporary quarters for our stay?"

"Of course," the Lord replied silkily, throwing an arm around Malfoy's shoulders to usher him inside. "They'll be well taken care of," he promised, disappearing with him inside the castle.

The moment the Lord had gone, Blaise stepped forward, but he was cut off with a sword to his throat from one of the castle guards.

"Excuse me," Blaise began, but the guard was followed by a cloaked figure; one that Hermione recognized as one of the creatures who'd fought with the Knights, prompting her to gasp.

"Take them inside," the guard said, removing his helmet to reveal a man who looked startlingly like Malfoy, his pale blond hair tied back from his face. "All of them."

Blaise's brow furrowed furiously. "But—"

"All of them," the blond man repeated gruffly, and Hermione, watching the cloaked creatures hover menacingly beside Neville, quickly leapt down from her perch, slipping inside the castle just before the heavy doors fell shut.

* * *

"Commander Grindelwald," Draco said, dropping to one knee as the old man stared down at him from his throne-like seat. "You sent for me?"

Grindelwald looked up at Tom, frowning. "Did I?" he asked, and Draco blinked, confused, as Tom shrugged, sealing the door shut behind him.

"Not exactly," Tom said, his teeth flashing against his lips as he smiled. "Seeing as you were supposed to be dead by now, Commander, I didn't think you'd be much inconvenienced."

"Tom," Grindelwald said, panic showing on his aged face as his eyes darted toward the barricaded doors. "What's the meaning of this?"

"Well, this isn't how I planned it," Tom lamented, raising a hand, "but you're an old man now, Gellert. Too old," he added, sighing falsely, "don't you think?"

"Tom!" Grindelwald shouted, struggling to his feet and storming towards him. "What are you—"

There was a flash of green light, and Draco leapt back onto his feet, his blood rushing in his ears as he watched Grindelwald collapse to the floor, falling limply as if the strings from his limbs had somehow been cut.

"Now," Tom said, a glow pulsing above his palm as he turned expectantly to Draco. "Are you going to cooperate, or will I have to do things the hard way?"

Draco staggered back, reaching for his sword and then stumbling forward as Tom seemed to magically vanish it from his hand, Draco's fingers closing around empty air.

"Ah, rats," Tom murmured. "I had so hoped you'd be as much fun as your father."

* * *

Hermione ducked behind one of the castle suits of armor, trying to follow the blond man who had led them away; he had split off from the others, glancing over his shoulder, and met up with the man Hermione recognized as Severus.

"Have you figured it out?" the blond man asked. "His Lordship is growing impatient."

"As far as I can tell, the hat is simply a hat," Severus retorted darkly, and Hermione felt her eyes widen as she noticed him holding it in his hands. "No magical properties to it."

"The Dark Lord says the girl pulled the sword from it," the blond man informed him, and Severus shrugged.

"The sword is marked with the name of the Mage of Valour, but doesn't appear to have any other qualities," Severus replied, a comment which the blond man did not take well.

"Perhaps the items simply don't work for _you_ ," the blond man snapped disdainfully. "The girl used it against the dementors, after all, so—" he cut off, groaning. "Where's the sword now?"

"Safe," Severus supplied bluntly. "And as for the hat, I already took it to the Potter boy in the dungeons," he added monotonously, and Hermione's heart leapt alarmingly at the reference. "His Summons show that he's a Peverell descendent, after all—I thought he might be able to force it to show some of its properties, if it possessed any—"

"Well, see that the Dark Lord gets it immediately," the blond man cut in, turning on his heel and striding away. "No more disappointment, Severus," he warned, and Hermione snuck out from behind the suit of armor as the blond man disappeared, keeping her footfall silent as she snuck up on Severus.

The moment she reached his back, she tapped him on the shoulder. "Excuse me," she said sweetly, and as he turned, she threw a quick jab to his throat, loosening the hat from his hold and then striking again as he lost his balance, aiming a hard punch behind his ear and knocking him out cold.

"Nothing personal," she muttered as he collapsed on the ground, shoving the hat on her head and wandering down the corridor.

"You again," the hat said, still managing to sound disappointed. "About time, you little hellion."

"He said Harry's in the dungeons," Hermione murmured to it, breathing hard as she picked up the pace. "Where do I go?"

"Down," the hat judged flatly, and Hermione glanced over, spying a flight of stairs.

She flew down the many looming staircases, searching for the dungeons and abruptly concealing herself behind the statue of a one-eyed crone as a cloaked figure floated by, leaving her to shiver before it even crossed her path.

"These again," the hat remarked unhappily. "Insufferable monsters."

Hermione paused, holding her breath, and the creature stopped, seeming to sniff out her presence; she closed her eyes, fighting the wash of despair and thinking of Harry, of Ron, of finding her family once again—and the creature, seemingly repulsed, gave a brisk shudder and kept moving, leaving her to sneak into a darkened corridor.

"This looks dungeon-y," the hat ruled, and Hermione nodded her agreement, sprinting forward.

"Harry," she whispered, running through a hallway lined with semi-concealed doors. "Harry, are you here?"

"Hermione?"

She came to an abrupt halt, turning to her left and finding a slim opening from which she could see his face peering behind a set of iron bars.

"Harry," she sighed with a mix of dread and relief, slipping one hand through the bars to take hold of his fingers. "Where's Ron?"

"Here," Ron's voice said from behind Harry, sounding vaguely awed. "Mione, no offense, but what the bloody hell are you doing here?"

"A fair assessment," the hat judged.

"You have to get out," Harry told her, his voice sharply anxious. "Something's about to go down between Grindelwald and the Dark Lord, and—"

"I'm not leaving," Hermione whispered back. "That Lord, whatever he is—he's got a friend of mine, and—"

"A friend?" Ron echoed. "Since when do you have other friends?"

"Gryff?" she heard over her shoulder, and turned to find Marcus looking at her through an opposite cell. "I'd know that awful hat anywhere," he muttered, and she took a step towards him, caught between the two cells. "What are you doing?"

"I'm—" she began, uncertain how he would react to her presence. "I'm just—I wish I had my sword," she muttered, eyeing the locks on the door.

"You and your sword," the hat commented disapprovingly. "Bet you think it makes you so manly and tough, don't you—"

"Hermione, that Lord you're talking about," Harry told her urgently. "Lord Voldemort—he's a mage, and a powerful one. You have to get out of here, Hermione, _right now—_ "

"Oh god," Hermione whispered, realizing now who must be controlling the dementors. "It's a trap—I have to get to Malfoy," she gritted out, searching around for a key or a weapon and finding nothing. "Can you give me the sword back?" she asked the hat, desperately seeking a last resort. "You made it appear once—"

"Well, that depends," the hat cut in. "Are you planning to do something stupid?"

"Yes, most likely," Hermione confirmed urgently.

"Then yes," the hat told her. "Gryffindor's a cunt like that."

"Gryff, what's the plan here?" Hermione heard over her shoulder, catching Neville's face behind the bars. "You breaking us out?"

"Yes, I have to—have to break you out, and then go get Malfoy, and then—"

She stopped as something landed on her head with a loud thunk, nearly dizzying her.

"Wish there was an easier way than that," she muttered, pulling it out and slamming the blade against the locks on both Harry and Ron's cell and the cell containing the members of the Second Army.

"So you're a girl now, huh?" Marcus asked, shaking his head as he stared down at her. "I guess weirder things have happened."

"Like getting locked in a dungeon? Yeah, I'd say so," Ron snorted gracelessly, as Harry gave him a pointed nudge.

"We have to get out of here. Lord Voldemort," Harry explained, rushing through what information he had to share. "He's the heir of Slytherin, the Mage of Power—"

"He's trying to use the hat to find the Court of Miracles," Ron contributed. "He thought the hat would tell him where to find it—"

"Which I couldn't, of course," the hat muttered in her ear. "Because as I keep saying, it's not that kind of place. Not that anyone listens," it grumbled unhappily.

"It's not any kind of _real_ place, you mean," Hermione sniffed, irritated, and then froze. "It's not a place at all," she realized, coming to a sudden halt. "OF COURSE," she shouted, forcibly quieting herself as she let out a sharp gasp of inspiration. "It's not a place _at all—_ Marcus, put this on," she said, shoving the hat at him as he frowned. "The sword gave me something from the Mage of Valour, so then it might give you—"

"Ouch," Marcus said, rubbing his head as a small silver crown fell out of the hat. "This hat is real fuckin' rude, Gryff—"

"Gryff?" Ron echoed, making a face, and Hermione ignored him, grabbing the crown from Marcus.

" _Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure_ ," she read, and Harry's eyes widened.

"The Mage of Wisdom," he exclaimed, and Hermione grabbed the hat from Marcus, thrusting it in Justin's hands.

"Now you—"

"Holy balls," Justin said, rubbing his head as he pulled a decorative two-handled cup from the inside of the hat. "There's got to be a better way to do this—"

"Badger," Harry exclaimed victoriously, pointing to the etching on the cup. "The symbol of the Mage of Virtue—"

"They distributed their magics after they were betrayed," Ron said, thinking back through the story. "So does that mean possessing these artifacts is enough to bring back the Court?"

"We still need _all four,_ " Hermione reminded him, frowning as Neville's possession of the hat came up empty. "We need one from the Mage of Power, too—"

"But this Lord thing's supposed to be Slytherin's heir," Neville said, his brow furrowed in confusion. "So wouldn't he be the fourth?"

"No," Harry cut in. "Hermione's right—legend is that the original four all gave their magics in equal parts to _create_ the Court. There has to be something Lord Voldemort is missing," he murmured thoughtfully, "something a fourth person could conceivably pull from the hat—"

"Who's someone with power?" Hermione asked. "Someone with cunning?"

She paused, glancing around at the expectant faces as Blaise took a step forward, holding a hand out for the hat.

"May I?" he asked, and she held it out to him, holding her breath. They waited a moment, none of them speaking, and then Blaise let the hat fall back into his hands, reaching in and producing a locket of heavy gold that was branded with a serpentine _S._

"Let's go get our Captain," he said firmly, and Hermione broke out in a triumphant smile.

* * *

"What did you do to my father?" Draco demanded, circling Tom. "Did he know about your assassination plan for Grindelwald? Is that why you had the Knights kill him?"

"Oh, Draco, you misunderstand," Tom crooned, a glow still hovering above his palm. "I assume you mean the dementors? _Those_ aren't the Knights," he explained with a chuckle. "No, Draco, _we_ are the Knights—"

He stepped back, waving a hand for the doors to open, and behind him, Lucius stepped into view, followed by a dozen other cloaked figures.

"Father," Draco gasped, taking a step towards him and then forcing himself to stop. "What is this?"

"This," Tom said, stepping in front of him, "is a revolution. Though, in fairness, now that I'm taking my rightful place as heir, I really have been thinking we need a better name—I'm leaning towards Death Eaters," he mused. "Has a certain aura of mortality and consumption that speaks to me on a deeply personal level."

"Taking your rightful place?" Draco echoed, taking a step back. "You're—you're _mad—_ "

"Well, you know the story, don't you?" Tom pressed. "The heir of Slytherin, the Mage of Power—the Lord who would bring back the magics—"

"That's just a story," Draco sputtered. "Nobody actually believes those mages ever existed—"

"Well, in my experience, people are idiots," Tom informed him. "You included, by the way," he added slyly. "Your father tried to save you, you know—tried to keep you away from me while I used the Knights to destroy the First Army and leave Grindelwald defenseless from attack. But then you had to go and run around with the little girl-boy with the hat and kill off half my Knights," he sighed dramatically, tossing the glowing green flame in the air and catching it pointedly as he took a step towards Draco, "and _now_ look what's happened—"

"Get away from him," a voice cut in sharply, and Tom frowned, turning towards the sound of the intrusion.

Draco blinked, startled, as Hermione and two men he'd never seen before stood in the doorway, her ruby-studded sword gleaming from where she held it in her hand. She caught his eye, giving him a hesitant half smile, and Lucius and the other Knights shifted towards her, providing a barricade between where she stood and where Tom and Draco remained.

"Ah," Tom said, tilting his head over his shoulder to glance warily at her and then turning back to Draco. "I see you weren't able to conjure up the stones to get rid of her, then," he murmured to Draco. "No matter," he determined brusquely, stalking towards her and waving Lucius and the others away. "I'll take care of this."

Tom leaned closer to Hermione's face, taunting her, and Draco's stomach lurched as he took a helpless step towards her.

"You don't actually think you can beat me, do you?" Tom said nastily.

Draco watched her mouth curl up in a smile.

"I don't have to beat you," she retorted sweetly, her grip tightening around her sword. "I just have to get in one good hit."

"NOW," the dark-haired man beside her shouted, and then the Second Army burst through the remaining doors, squaring off against the Knights as Draco took off at a run, taking hold of Tom's shoulder and aiming a blow at his jaw.

Tom countered with a snarl, drawing another jolt of magic to his palms as Draco darted aside, just missing a spell that blasted a hole in the marble floor. He burst forward, aiming for Tom's ear this time, but was forced aside again, lunging to the floor as he narrowly avoided another of Tom's curses.

"You're far more trouble that you're worth, Draco," Tom spat, conjuring another green glow to his palm and aiming it at Draco as he frantically scattered back on the floor. "I've had about enough, I'm afraid—"

He was cut off, ducking as Hermione drew her sword down behind him. "I thought I told you to stay away from him," she warned grimly, backing away as Tom spun to face her.

"Bad call, little thief," Tom taunted Hermione, toying with the glow of his hands. "You brought swords to a mage fight."

"Actually, _I_ brought a sword," Hermione said, using the sword to parry the magic he threw at her, "but _they_ brought a locket, a diadem, and a cup," she finished, the blade catching the spell and seeming to send it rippling through the air, carrying on the edge of the sword as behind her, Draco caught Blaise using magic to restrain one of the Knights against the wall. Draco blinked, staring, as Neville used magic to knock a Knight unconscious, and Justin drew some kind of protective shield around himself, avoiding the blow of a sword.

"Some trinkets," Tom sniffed, his eyes darting around to take in the spectacle of his Knights' battle with a dubious scoff. "Why should that matter?"

"Because this is the Court of Miracles," Hermione told him. "You know the story, don't you?"

"I _am_ the story," Tom declared viciously. "I'm the heir," Tom said, hurling another spell at her, "destined to return—"

Behind them, one of the men she'd brought with her brought down a pillar, trapping a Knight beneath it; Draco held up a hand, blocking his face from shards of rubble, and was astonished to see the motion had frozen the bits of marble in place, suspended like magic that had somehow been borne from the blood in his veins.

He stumbled to his feet, making his way towards Hermione; he caught her eye, gesturing, and she nodded once, a slow smile spreading over her lips.

"Oh, but that's only a piece of it," she informed Tom, the spell crashing into her blade this time and appearing to melt into the silver, permeating the metal with a green glow as if infusing it with venom. "They set their magic loose upon the world so that one day, others of righteous conviction could claim it in times of need, and _that_ day—"

Draco threw a wild burst of magic, knocking Tom aside; as Tom shifted, adjusting his stance, Hermione lunged, smacking him in the side of the ribs and catching him, as she had once caught Draco, to leave a thin sliver of blood where the blade had been.

"—that day is today," she said fiercely, and Tom stared at her, freezing in place.

He touched his hand to the place where she'd nicked him, staring down in confusion as blood slipped from his finger; he looked up, meeting her eye, and opened his mouth to laugh.

"You missed," he snarled, collecting another glow of magic in his palm, and she smiled, holding up her sword.

"Did I?" she asked, and his face drained of color as he realized the sword, too, had returned to gleaming silver.

Tom staggered, falling to the side as his own curse sank into his bloodstream; he reached out, swaying as he tried to aim another blow at her, but merely collapsed at her feet, falling with a loud thud that echoed through the hall until only silence remained.

* * *

After the Dark Lord had fallen, Hermione could hardly manage to do more than stare. She swayed slightly, half-disbelieving, as Harry and Ron staggered towards her, wrapping their arms around her as she let her sword slip from her hand to clatter to the ground.

"That," Ron said, "was the coolest thing you've ever done."

"I know," she muttered, and Harry laughed, kissing her cheek.

"Looks like you have a few things to tell us," he said. "Like where you learned to do that," he said, gesturing to where Lord Voldemort lay on the ground, "and who, exactly, _that_ is," he said, pointing to where Malfoy was staring at her from afar.

"It might be a long story," she admitted, her lips curling up in a smile as she forced herself to look away from him. "I hope you've got lots of time."

Harry and Ron exchanged a glance, sharing a conspiratorial smile.

"Nothing but time," they promised, taking a step back to join the others as they began rounding up the remaining Knights.

Hermione turned, moving to follow, when she heard a soft throat-clearing sound behind her.

"So," Malfoy ventured, and she swallowed, unexpectedly nervous as she turned to meet his eye. "You challenged me with a mage's sword," he began bluntly, crossing his arms as he stared down at her, "and you directly disobeyed orders; you impersonated a soldier, deceived your commanding officer, dishonored the Commander's Army, nearly destroyed a castle, _and_ —"

She flinched, waiting apprehensively for the drop.

"—you saved us all," he concluded evenly, and she looked up with surprise, meeting his cool grey eyes. "Though, one of these days, you'll really have to stop rescuing me," he warned her. "It's starting to reflect badly on my reputation."

"I promise to stop rescuing you if you promise stop being in distress," she offered, and he smirked at her, shaking his head.

"You're incorrigible," he remarked. "How do you sleep at night?"

"Sore, usually," she said. "So not all that well."

He reached out, his thumb lingering on her cheek. "I could help with that," he murmured, and she smiled.

"Looks like you made a man out of me after all, Captain," she told him, and he stepped in close, pressing his forehead to hers.

"Best you not leave yet, then," he murmured, leaning down to brush his lips against hers. "I have a feeling I'll be needing you."

* * *

"Told you," the hat said.

"Told me what?" Hermione asked, glaring up at it.

"Everything," it sniffed. "All of it."

"Lovely," Hermione sighed. "And you're not pleased with me at all?"

"So self-congratulatory," the hat told her. "You little hussy."

"Thank goodness I kept you," she drawled. "Can you imagine if I had to live out the rest of my life with hats that actually knew when to be quiet?"

"Oh, _fine_ ," the hat muttered. "You did alright."

"Oh, _marvelous,_ thank you—"

"—so valiant and unflinching—"

"—yes, okay, I get it—"

"My little baby, off to destroy people—"

"—okay, that's _enough_ —"

"You started it," the hat reminded her, and Hermione sighed.

"Said the magic hat to the Mage of Valour," she remarked, and the hat chuckled in a rare show of amusement.

"Indeed," it said fondly, tutting with affection. "Indeed."

* * *

 **a/n:** Dedicated to Dr Sally, whom I adore and could not do without. Next is a sequel to _Reunion;_ hope you have enjoyed these Disney one shots!


	73. Reunion, Part IV

**Reunion, Part IV**

 _Pairing:_ Pottgood (Harry x Luna), Blinny (Blaise x Ginny), Dramione (Draco x Hermione), Nottgrass (Theo x Daphne), Ronsy (Ron x Pansy), various (non-canon) next gen pairings

 _Universe:_ Post-Hogwarts, EWE (a continuation of _Reunion_ , Chapters 21, 24, and 25)

 _Rating:_ M for language

 _Summary:_ All is well with Hogwarts' Class of 1998, but their children have quite another set of shenanigans in mind.

A guide to the _Reunion_ next generation:

 _Born 2005_ : Arthur Henry Weasley (Gryffindor), Milo Draconius Nott (Ravenclaw), Alessia Hermione Nott (Slytherin)  
 _Born 2006_ : Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy (Slytherin), James Lysander Potter (Slytherin)  
 _Born 2007:_ Blaise Theodora Weasley (Hufflepuff)  
 _Born 2008:_ Narcissa Rose Malfoy (Ravenclaw)  
 _Born 2020_ : Esme Ginevra Zabini

* * *

 _ **Seven years later  
**_ _12 Grimmauld Place  
_ _June 1, 2010_

* * *

"Oh, _blech_ , don't look," Pansy said, making an incoherent grumble of disgust and nudging Daphne. "Weasley's here."

"Pans," Daphne sighed. "You've been married to him for six years."

"I know," Pansy replied, looking smugly pleased with herself. "But old habits, you know."

"Pansy, can you take your daughter, please?" Ron muttered, struggling to maintain his hold on a wiggling red-haired toddler. "She's asking for you."

"Hello, sweetheart," Pansy cooed, holding her arms out. "Come here and sit with Mummy, Blaise—"

"I _still_ ," Blaise announced resentfully, "cannot believe you did that to me. Blaise _Weasley_ ," he said, making a face. "You're a demon."

"Blaise _Theodora_ Weasley," Pansy added, waggling a finger at Theo as she pulled her daughter onto her lap. "Don't forget that."

"I can't," Theo assured her, shuddering. "It haunts my dreams."

"It's my fault," Ron assured them, shaking his head. "I should have known she was up to something when she let me name Arthur."

"I told you I'd get to choose the next one," Pansy replied. "And it's my masterpiece," she added, tapping Blaise Theodora's nose. "Aren't you, sweetheart? You're Mummy's prettiest revenge, aren't you?"

"Where is Arthur, by the way?" Daphne asked. "Is he still playing with Alessia and Milo?"

"He's with Alessia," Harry said, walking into the kitchen. "I believe they're dressing Kreacher up. Last I saw he was wearing lipstick, which is quite frankly an improvement," he added, giving Daphne a congratulatory nod. "Alessia's very talented."

"Well, I have to say," Pansy remarked, looking up at Daphne and Theo, "I'm so relieved that you had twins. That way when Arthur inevitably seduces one of your children, he can have his pick of genders."

"Oh, _Pansy_ ," Hermione sighed, wandering in behind Harry with Rose on her hip. "Are you plotting already? They're five years old!"

"This is the difference between you and me, Granger," Pansy sniffed. "I have _foresight_."

"Says the woman who eloped after six months," Theo drawled. "Foresight indeed."

"Punch him," Pansy instructed her husband, who obliged with a jab to Theo's abdomen.

"Sorry, mate," Ron said, as Theo doubled over with an incoherent ' _oof_ ' of displeasure. "Wife says so. You know how it is."

"Careful," Theo warned. "You know how much I'm worth as an author now, don't you?"

"Still not as much as me," Draco reminded him, striding in to kiss his wife's cheek and carefully taking the baby from her arms. "Hello, my little Narcissa Rose," he told his daughter. "How's the most beautiful little girl in the world doing, hm?"

"Fine," Theo said. "Thanks for finally asking."

"Have some decency, Draco," Pansy added, glaring at him. "We _all_ have daughters—"

"Not all of us," Blaise reminded them, shuddering. "And thank god, too."

"You didn't have sex in our house again, did you?" Harry demanded. "Tell Ginny I've had Kreacher keep her out of all the bathrooms. She can hold it."

"Are you still not having children?" Daphne asked, turning to Blaise. "I'm shocked, honestly. I thought for sure you'd be the first to insist your genes not go to waste."

"Yes, well, as it turns out, I rather prefer being able to fu- " He paused, sighing, as Pansy made a face, and Draco pointedly covered his daughter's ears. "I prefer being able to have _congress_ ," he amended emphatically, "whenever I'd like to, thanks."

"We have congress," Theo assured him, gesturing to his wife. "Daphne and I had congress on the kitchen counter this morning."

"The shower," Draco agreed, nodding, as Hermione smacked his arm. "What? _You_ asked for it, you little deviant—"

"We did it in Potter's bathroom an hour ago," Pansy contributed, and Harry groaned.

"This is a somewhat important day, you idiots," he reminded them, just as Milo wandered into the kitchen and threw himself at Daphne's feet.

"MUM," he announced. "I'M BORED."

"Milo," Daphne sighed, suppressing a laugh as she crouched down to speak to him. "Weren't you playing with Scorp and James?"

"YES," he replied. "AND THEY'RE BORING."

"It astounds me that my son is so taken with yours," Draco told Harry, shaking his head. "They're fucking inseparable."

"FUCKING INSEPARABLE," Milo wailed, and Daphne groaned.

"Don't bother telling him not to swear," Theo said. "If he's anything like me—"

"He's yelling on the kitchen floor, Theo, he's exactly like you," Daphne said.

"—then it won't internalize anyway," Theo finished loudly, and Draco nodded his agreement.

"Milo, sweetheart, where's Scorpius?" Hermione asked him. "He's not excluding you, is he?"

"This again," Ron groaned, rolling his eyes. "Why is everything Spew, Mione?"

"Ronald, if I need to remind you that it's S.P.E.W.—"

"I'm here, Mother," Scorpius said, entering the room with James at his heels. "Auntie Ginny sent us to tell you that James's mum's nearly ready."

"Luna looks beautiful," James informed them gravely. "You will _die_."

"Look at these two weirdos," Pansy said with delight, leaning over to smack a kiss on James' stoically pensive forehead. "God, I can't get enough."

"Why does he call you Mother?" Daphne asked Hermione, amused. "Seems oddly pureblooded of you."

"Oh, I don't know why he does it," Hermione sighed, bending to kiss his cheek. "I was Mum for a while, but he seems to prefer Mother."

"I'm affording my mother a modicum of deference," Scorpius supplied in explanation, obviously quoting Hermione. "Also 'cause she's a princess."

"She is," Draco said, bouncing Rose on his hip. "That's true."

"That's very sweet of you, darling," Hermione said, giving Scorpius a squeeze.

"I call my mother by her name," James remarked, looking up at Harry beneath a furrowed brow. "Is that wrong?"

"Not at all," Harry told him, patting his head. "That's what she likes to be called."

"I don't think she would like being a princess," James added, nodding studiously. "I think she would prefer to be a nargle."

"What she _is_ is a total loon," Pansy said, turning to Harry. "She really just woke up this morning and decided she wanted to get married?"

"Yep," Harry confirmed, shrugging. "I asked her what she felt like doing today and she said she wanted to have 'a little wedding, if I wouldn't mind'—so, you know, here we are—"

"I THINK IT'S ABOUT TIME," Milo declared.

"I agree with Theo's spawn," Blaise commented, as Theo picked Milo up and threw him over one shoulder. "After all, you've been together seven years now, Potter. You have a _son_ , for one thing," he added, gesturing to James, "and for Salazar's sake, even Ginny and I are married—"

"We just never thought it was important," Harry said, shrugging. "You know. Until this morning, I guess."

"And it isn't," Hermione said firmly, turning to Scorpius. "Marriage is a choice, sweetheart, just like any other institution."

"Yes, Mother," he agreed, reaching up for her hand.

"Is Teddy here?" Ron asked, looking around. "Thought I saw him earlier."

"I believe he's upstairs writing Victoire some poetry," Harry confirmed. "He asked my advice on rhymes, so naturally I sent him to Malfoy."

"Those two," Daphne sighed contentedly. "I just love it. I want that for Arthur and Alessia," she added, nudging Pansy. "Can you imagine the wedding?"

"Yes, provided Theo has absolutely no role in it," she agreed, stroking Blaise Theodora's red curls. "It'll be stunning. _And_ stunningly expensive."

"Ha," Ron said, nudging Theo. "You're paying."

"Christ," Theo muttered. "You can take the Weasley out of the Burrow, but you can't take the utter unwillingness to pay for shit out of the Weasley—"

"SHIT," Milo said, and Theo growled, flipping him upside down.

"You're going to have to pay for that one," he told his son. "What do you think? A kiss for Rosie?" he prompted, playfully swinging him towards where Draco held his daughter.

"GROSS," wailed Milo, covering his eyes.

"Oi, there will be no kissing of my daughter, _ever_ , and certainly not by your little tyrant of a son," Draco warned Theo. "Right, Rose?" he murmured to her. "You're daddy's perfect little princess, aren't you?"

"Well, _that_ is sure to be problematic," Hermione remarked under her breath, and beside her, Daphne nodded her reluctant agreement.

"Harry?" came a voice at the door, and they all turned.

Luna stood beside Ginny, her turquoise gown clashing magnificently with the red of Ginny's beside her. Both women wore their hair loose down their backs, elf-made flower crowns gracing their heads while they each sported radiant twin smiles.

"James said he preferred this color to white," Luna told Harry hesitantly, offering him a slow rotation to appreciate the gown. "Do you like it?"

He swallowed heavily, staring.

"That means yes," Scorpius told Luna. "Father does that when he looks at Mother, and then they go upstairs and—"

"Hush, darling, not the time," Hermione urged quietly, her cheeks flushed scarlet.

"Told you," Draco said, elbowing Blaise. "The congress is ongoing."

"Shall we?" Luna asked, and Harry nodded quickly, leaping to take her arm. "I've asked Kreacher to bring the others outside."

"Odd to think of anyone _asking_ Kreacher to do anything," Ron commented. "But I suppose if he's going to love anyone, it's going to be Luna."

"Stop babbling," Pansy said. "I love you, but shush."

"Fair enough," Ron agreed, kissing her cheek, and they made their way outside.

Blaise hung back, waiting to take his wife's arm.

"Pretty as that dress looks on you, Ginevra, I think I'd prefer to see it on the floor," he whispered in her ear. "Broom cupboard later?"

"The _minute_ the ceremony's over," she whispered back, and he slyly kissed her neck, leading her out to the garden.

* * *

 _ **Fifteen years after that  
**_ _Malfoy Manor  
_ _July 1, 2025  
_ _8:30 p.m._

The Granger-Malfoys were known for their annual galas benefitting Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, supporting research by faculty in addition to facility improvements and scholarships for wizarding students in need of financial aid. The annual parties were initially spearheaded by Hermione Granger-Malfoy, head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, around the time that her husband, Draco Malfoy, took over his father's business ventures, incorporating them under the umbrella of his own highly philanthropic venture capitalist firm that later came to include his son, Scorpius Malfoy, upon completion of his exams.

Over the past seven years, the Granger-Malfoy galas had come to be known as the most remarkable affairs of the social season. They were exercises in refinement and charitable efforts, and _this_ particular gala, which featured the additional facet of celebrating their daughter Narcissa Rose's exemplary performance on her N.E.W.T.s, was no exception.

As always, the guest list included Harry Potter, Head Auror at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, his wife, Luna Lovegood-Potter, notable magical journalist and owner of the publication _The Quibbler_ , and their son, James Potter, who had recently taken a position as a clerk in the DIMC upon completing his N.E.W.T.s the year prior. Theodore Nott, celebrated novelist, and his wife, highly sought-after design consultant Daphne Nott, were joined by their children, Daily Prophet correspondent Alessia and newly minted Auror Milo Nott. Weasley's Wizard Wheezes co-owner Ronald Weasley was joined by his wife, Pansy Weasley, his son Arthur Weasley, a rising star in the DMLE, and daughter Blaise Weasley, Healer-in-Training at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies. Famous Chaser-turned-Coach Ginny Weasley also attended, joined by her husband, Public Relations specialist Blaise Zabini, and their five year old daughter, Esme. Several Hogwarts faculty, including Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor Edward Lupin and Herbology Professor Neville Longbottom, were also in attendance, alongside Headmistress Minerva McGonagall.

The seventh annual Hogwarts Gala was a veritable who's-who of the Wizarding World, as always, from academicians to politicians to professionals; and so, it was particularly surprising when around halfway through the evening, there was a rather violent outburst.

At first it had begun in whispers; _did you hear that?_

 _Was that yelling I heard? Dear me, obscenities?_

"Familial squabbles, I'm sure," Minister Shacklebolt assured the crowd, toasting them with his usual perfunctory nonchalance. "Nothing to worry about—"

But when, in addition to shouts of alarm, there came the unmistakable warlike sound of punches being thrown, it soon became obvious that all was _not_ , in fact, well.

"Well," remarked Headmistress McGonagall, chuckling into her glass of wine as she turned to her companion, television personality Lee Jordan. " _Now_ it's a party."

* * *

 _ **Two hours earlier  
**_ _6:30 pm_

It never failed to be strange to walk into Malfoy Manor, no matter how many times they'd all been there in the past. True, it was unrecognizable; Hermione had essentially had the house gutted— _I considered razing it to the ground and forcing Draco to live elsewhere,_ she'd admitted on one occasion, _but it has quite a lovely set of gardens_ —but there was still the strange sensation of worlds colliding.

Harry made these visits to the Granger-Malfoy household quite often, and he'd certainly played host to the family a fair amount at Grimmauld Place (which was, similarly, a house that he had once intended to sell out of deference to Sirius' need to burn it to the ground, until he discovered that Kreacher and the rest of the house had fallen head over heels for Luna) but there was always something especially odd about Draco and Hermione's galas.

Particularly _this_ one, which was filled with far more animosity than the last time they'd all been together.

"What's _she_ doing here?" Pansy said flatly, her dark eyes narrowing, and Hermione groaned, grabbing hold of Pansy's arm and yanking her towards where Harry stood in the corner, quietly sipping a glass of Ogden's and wondering where his wife had gotten off to.

"Come on, Pansy," Hermione urged, her voice a harsh whisper as she snatched Harry's drink from between his fingers and shoved it into Pansy's hand. "This party is for _Rose_. I couldn't very well not invite her godmother, could I?"

Harry, noting that Hermione's cheeks looked particularly heated with temper, decided it would be best to keep quiet. When Pansy raised his drink to her lips and took a sip, he wisely opted not to protest.

"Well, then you shouldn't have invited _me_ ," Pansy snapped at Hermione, still glowering across the room. "I thought I made this clear that I was not to be anywhere near her," she added, draining the glass and shoving it back into Harry's hand.

"Another?" Harry asked Pansy, gesturing to the empty glass and taking a step, indicating his fervent wish to escape. Hermione gave him a warning glance.

"Don't you move," she hissed to him, and then turned back to Pansy. "I don't understand this," she continued, venturing into a mode that Harry had long ago learned not to challenge. "You know Rose would be devastated if you and Ron weren't here, Pansy. She admires you so much, and—"

"Yes, and on Rose's behalf, I will decline to make a scene," Pansy agreed, scowling. "But you should know I'm not happy about this, Granger."

"She's your best friend, Pansy," Hermione reminded her, as Harry looked down at the empty glass and wondered, momentarily, if it were worth it to summon Kreacher. "Can't you two just get over this?"

"She _was_ my best friend. _You're_ my best friend now, Granger," Pansy sniffed, and shrugged. "You're welcome, by the way."

"Well, I can't be your best friend right now, Pansy," Hermione sighed impatiently, "as I have to go find my daughter. Here," she added, giving the other woman a shove towards Harry. "Be Harry's best friend."

Harry grimaced, catching the murderous flash in Pansy's eye as she looked across the room. "Hermione," he ventured unhappily, "I really wish you wouldn't—"

"Just—distract her, okay?" Hermione told him. "At least until Ginny gets here, or—" She stopped. "Oh, balls. Where did I put the—"

She trailed off, suddenly wandering away, and Pansy and Harry exchanged glances.

"So," he said, gesturing to where Daphne and Alessia were standing with Draco. "You two are still fighting, then?"

"God, Potter," Pansy muttered, rolling her eyes. "You're going to call that woman's spoiled princess of a daughter breaking off her engagement to _my son_ without a word of explanation or apology a 'fight'? A _fight_ was the time she borrowed a dress and took two months to return it," she muttered. " _This_ ," she clarified emphatically, "is utter fucking betrayal."

Harry sighed. "Is there any use saying that—"

"No, there isn't," Pansy barked, and then she took off, storming off to the refreshments table just as Blaise and Ginny walked through the Floo.

"Oh, Harry, thank god," Ginny sighed, and Harry looked down to see her clutching her daughter's hand. "Can you watch Esme for a few minutes?"

"Oh," Harry said, locking eyes with the little girl. "Um—"

"Thanks so much," Ginny breathed in relief, kissing the top of Esme's head. "Be back soon, okay, sweetheart? Mummy and Daddy just have to do something—"

"Each other," Blaise muttered to Harry. "Believe me. It's dire."

"Well, better Malfoy's house than mine," Harry permitted.

"—so Uncle Harry's going to play with you for a bit, okay?" Ginny finished, brushing her thumb across Esme's cheek. "Be back shortly, darling, I promise."

Esme nodded solemnly, and Blaise kissed the top of his daughter's head.

"Thanks, Potter," he said, saluting him. "Believe me, if it weren't completely, apocalyptically necessary, I would never—"

"Shut up," Ginny said. "Let's go."

"Right, bye," Blaise agreed, hurrying with her up the stairs.

Harry watched them go, sighing, and then glanced down at Esme, who was her father's miniature (down to the refinement of her nose and cheeks) in all but her mother's expression of mischief. She had something of a combative stance that screamed of Ginny Weasley, and for a moment it made him smile.

"Where's Mummy going?" Esme asked, glancing up at him.

Harry chewed the thought for a moment.

"Mummy and Daddy need to have some grown-up time," he told her. "But you'll be okay with me, won't you?"

"I don't know," Esme replied, her brow furrowing. "Will I?"

"I—" Harry stopped, frowning. "I think so. I hope so."

Esme sighed, dubious.

"Well, come on now," Harry told her, patting her shoulder. "I haven't done this in a while, but—"

"Done what?" Esme interrupted.

"Er. Play with children, I guess," Harry explained. "My son's all grown now. And before you, Rose was the youngest," he added, "but she's just finished with her N.E.W.T.s, so I suppose she's all grown now, too."

"What are newts?" Esme asked.

"A pun," Harry replied.

"What's a pun?" pressed Esme.

"Dad," James interrupted, suddenly materializing beside Harry and causing him to jump. "Do you have a minute?"

It was interesting, Harry thought, to look at his son as an adult. As a child, James had looked remarkably like Luna, carrying with him everything of hers save for the eyes, which were Lily's. But as James had aged he'd lost the dirty blond tint of his hair, and now he looked quite like a very pensive version of Harry; albeit slightly wider-eyed, and far more prone to fidgeting.

"Um. Depends, I suppose," Harry told him, gesturing pointedly to Esme. "Will it entertain a five year old?"

"I don't think it will," James said, chewing his lip. "Do you know where Luna is?"

"I don't, actually," Harry replied, once again wishing he did; she had a far better way with children than he did. Similar senses of wonder, he supposed. "I'm sure she's around, though. Is everything okay?" he asked, nudging his glasses up his nose. "Something bothering you?"

"Nothing that can't wait," James assured him. "But, um. If you see Scorp, just tell him I'm having a nagging bout of wrackspurts, would you?"

"Sure," Harry said.

"What are wrackspurts?" Esme asked.

"A bit like nargles, only smaller," Harry told her.

"What are nargles?"

"They're—well, hold on a minute, please. James, I—" Harry stopped, turning to find that his son had disappeared. "Well, that was. Hm." He glanced down, sighing, and resumed his conversation with the little girl at his side. "Care for a beverage, I suppose?"

"What kind?" Esme asked.

"Well, let's see, shall we?" Harry said, offering her his hand. She took it, with all the sophistication of a Zabini heiress, and he led her past the champagne flutes and towards the kitchen, wandering down the hall and past the hired house elves who were levitating trays into the ballroom.

"Why do house elves not wear clothes?" Esme asked.

"Oh boy," Harry sighed. " _That_ 's a question for Aunt Hermione."

"Scorpius, I'm serious," Harry heard, and paused, hearing distress. "I really need your help, Scorp, _please—_ "

"And I'd love to help you, Rose, just not right now," he heard Scorpius reply. "Listen, Mum's going to want this to be perfect and I've already got some problems with the caterer—I'll tell you one thing," he added, seeming to rapidly go off track, "that's the last time I hire a goblin to design a celebratory cake, and fuck all if florists in Diagon aren't charging me the value of my left nut just for white tulips—"

"Why are they upset?" Esme asked Harry, and he glanced down.

"I don't know," he admitted. "But it's rude to eavesdrop, so perhaps we shouldn't."

"Eavesdrop?" Esme asked.

"Listen to other people when they don't know we're here," Harry explained, and Esme nodded solemnly.

"Look, Rose, I'll help you as soon as this is over, okay?" Scorpius called over his shoulder, nearly bumping into Harry as he left the room. "Oh, Uncle Harry, I'm so sorry—"

"Not to worry, Scorp," Harry assured him. "Know anywhere I can get some pumpkin juice?"

"Oh, sure," Scorpius said, waving down a passing elf. "Pumpkin juice, please," he instructed, looking increasingly like his father as he gave orders, though the slightly frazzled look of distress on his face belonged entirely to his mother. "Thank you—oh, and have you seen James?" he asked. "We're supposed to talk about something, but—"

"Wrackspurts," Harry supplied, and Scorpius made a face.

"Oh for heaven's sake, as if I won't know that means he's avoiding me," he grumbled, taking off down the corridor just as Rose emerged, her blonde hair set in loose ringlets down the back of a pretty gown that Harry realized, with an odd clang of recognition, was the same color as the one Hermione had worn to the Yule Ball.

"Oh, Uncle Harry," Rose said, wholly startled. "I just—um." She bit her lip, glancing around. "Have you seen my mother?"

"She's looking for you," Harry told her. "Upstairs, maybe?"

"Oh, right, Dad wanted an entrance," Rose sighed, shaking her head. "Thanks," she called over her shoulder, and went off in search of Hermione just as an elf snapped into being beside them, offering a glass of pumpkin juice to Esme with a low, reverent bow.

"Say thank you," Harry said, and Esme obliged, adding in a little curtsy that made the elf's cheeks flush pink with pleasure. "Good girl. Is it good?" he asked, as she took a sip.

Esme paused, considering it.

"Where do pumpkins get juice from?" she asked, after a moment.

Harry sighed.

It was sure to be an interesting night.

* * *

"Mum," Alessia whispered, nudging Daphne. "You don't think her looks can _actually_ kill, can they?"

Daphne grimaced, looking up to watch Pansy scowl at her from across the room.

"No, they can't," Daphne assured her daughter. "If they could, we'd all be dead several times over, I'm sure."

"That's true," Draco confirmed, shaking his head. "I think we're safe." He took a sip of champagne, parsing his words out carefully. "Feud's still going, then?"

Daphne's mouth stiffened.

"You could say that," she confirmed, exchanging glares with Pansy across the room.

The whole thing was entirely Pansy's fault, regardless of what she'd been telling people behind Daphne's back. When Alessia had broken off her engagement with Arthur, there had been no need to villainize anyone, and yet Pansy had been the one to send that awful howler to Daphne's home, hadn't she? Daphne shuddered just thinking of it; of the horror in her daughter's eyes at learning just what her favorite aunt thought of the situation.

"— _MY SON IS DEVASTATED—DEVASTATED!—AND I WANT AN EXPLANATION FOR WHY YOUR DAUGHTER WOULD ABANDON HIM LIKE THIS WITHOUT SO MUCH AS A WORD AS TO WHY! THAT DAUGHTER OF YOURS IS SELFISH, DAPHNE GREENGRASS, SELFISH AND SPOILED, JUST LIKE Y-_ "

"Hush, darling," Daphne had whispered to a sobbing Alessia, who had overheard from upstairs. "She doesn't mean it, sweetheart, she's just upset for Arthur—"

But she could not forget the look of utter tragedy on her daughter's beautiful face, and she'd shown up the next day ready to be sure Pansy knew the extent of the damage she'd caused. Still, despite her best efforts, she'd gotten little more than a door slammed in her face—that, and a sheepish, unsatisfying "I'm so sorry" from Ron—and then Daphne Nott had looked at her moping daughter and decided that if it was a war Pansy Weasley wanted, a war was what she would damn well get.

Several months later, very little had changed.

"Why don't I take you to find Rose," Draco suggested to Alessia, taking a pointed step to block her from Pansy's view. "Or Blaise, even—"

"She's not speaking to me either," Alessia sighed. "Blaise, I mean. You know how she is. Taking her mum's side—not that I blame her," she added hastily. "But—you know." She looked around, toying with a wave of her hair. "Maybe I'll go find Arthur," she murmured, glancing around for him, and Daphne grimaced.

"Oh, darling, I don't know about that," she said gently. "Don't you think you might be making things a little difficult for him?"

Alessia shrugged. "He's my best friend, Mum," she told Daphne, unfazed. "He understands, even if his mother doesn't."

"I'm not so sure that's true," Daphne ventured tentatively. "I mean, you haven't actually told anyone why you broke it off, and I'm not sure it's worth antagon- "

"I'm just going to get a drink, then," Alessia sighed grumpily, cutting her mother off and turning away to head for the table of champagne flutes.

"Well," Draco noted, watching her go. "That went well."

"It's been a bit of a difficult balance," Daphne said, glancing around. "I mean, I'm as much at a loss as anyone, and you know how fond Theo and I are of Arthur, so—"

"I know," Draco said, patting her shoulder. "And I'm sure things will get better soon."

Daphne, who knew Pansy's unparalleled ability to hold a grudge better than anyone, privately doubted it, but offered him a genial shrug in response.

"I should find Hermione," she suggested, glancing around. "I'm sure she must be up to her ears in details."

Hermione, too, was another delicate balance. They'd gotten especially close over the years, and with Hermione trying not to take sides, their friendship had suffered a bit. For one thing, Daphne knew it had been particularly difficult on Hermione to be the go-between; she was Alessia's godmother and namesake but she had a special fondness for Arthur, who was much like she'd been in school. As the only Gryffindor and the first of their clan to be named Head Boy, Arthur had often come to Hermione for career counseling, and she'd taken him under her wing.

In truth, they'd certainly all suffered Arthur's disappointment at the engagement's abrupt end, and Daphne was no exception to that. But still, that was hardly cause for name-calling, and despite Daphne's own pain (and insuppressible curiosity), Alessia simply refused to give a reason, and Daphne resolved to stand by her daughter (something her own mother had not done), regardless of the ripple of dissatisfaction.

"Astoundingly, my perfectionist monster of a wife actually relinquished some control this time," Draco remarked fondly, drawing Daphne back to the conversation. "She gave Scorpius the reins for the evening, but I'm sure she'd like to see you regardless. Ah," he acknowledged vacantly, looking up as Minerva McGonagall walked in, accompanied by Teddy Lupin, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Lee Jordan. "Apologies, Daph, but—"

"Go ahead," Daphne assured him, aiming herself toward the stairs and looking for Hermione.

* * *

Luna quite enjoyed parties. She found they were excellent ecosystems for observation, which contributed to some of her more brilliant articles. Her latest—a piece on the mating rituals between bowtruckles in the southern hemisphere—had been based on some rather unfortunate methods of copulatory attempts that she'd had the great pleasure to witness the last time she and Harry had gone to a pub.

Though, speaking of Harry, she should really find him. He rather hated parties; for some reason, he didn't always share Luna's natural inclination towards human observation.

Probably an ill-effect of all the fighting Voldemort, she thought, stepping towards the stairs.

"Hi, Aunt Luna," someone said, interrupting her progress, and Luna turned, offering Blaise Theodora a small smile.

"Hello, Blaise," she offered warmly. "You look—"

She paused, considering it.

Blaise Theodora Weasley very much resembled her father, despite her obvious efforts to hide it. As a child she had possessed the most darling of ginger curls, her cheeks dusted with freckles, and she, rather tall for a girl, wore her father's lanky frame with a similar sense of gangling. Unlike her brother, who bore more of Pansy's coloring, Blaise Theodora was a Weasley through and through, and she fit right in amongst the clan of Weasley cousins.

Unfortunately, resembling a Weasley did not seem to be her goal. Since finishing school, Blaise had taken to dyeing her hair, wearing it in glossy black waves. She was taller than her mother but had taken efforts to hide it, slouching slightly, and unless Luna was very much mistaken, she had begun wearing Pansy's perfume as well.

She was, not surprisingly, utterly infested with wrackspurts.

"You look exactly like your mother," Luna finished, and Blaise preened triumphantly.

"Thank you," she said, and Luna nodded politely. "What are you doing up here?"

"Oh, Rose asked for my help with her gown," Luna replied. "She wanted the color to be just right, it seems. And then I suppose I got distracted," she murmured, glancing down below. "The view from here is rather nice."

"Not sure I agree," commented Blaise, glancing down at something. "Alessia's flirting with Arthur again. That bitch," she muttered under her breath, and Luna turned, surprised.

"You think they're flirting?" Luna asked, blinking, before glancing down again. "No, I don't think that's what that is."

"Isn't it?" Blaise countered brashly. "She's always just stringing him along, don't you think?"

"Oh, I don't think that's true," Luna murmured. "They've always been very close, you know. Since they were children."

"Yes," Blaise sighed, "I _know_. I'm a bit tired of the stories, really."

Luna gave Blaise another glance, recognizing another surge of something unpleasant.

Perhaps her humors were imbalanced.

"Besides," Luna offered brightly, attempting to cheer her up, "I don't believe that's who Alessia's flirting with tonight." She looked down, eyeing a covert glance from below as Alessia sipped her champagne, her gaze flicking across the room. "Of course, I might be mistaken," she said quickly. "I'm told I often read people incorrectly. Do you see it?"

Blaise looked down, frowning, and then inhaled sharply.

"Oh my god," she gasped, her hand floating up to her mouth. "Oh my _god—_ "

"What is it?" Luna asked, frowning. "It's only—"

"I have to run," Blaise sputtered hurriedly, gripping her arm. "Thanks so much, Aunt Luna, you're the best!"

"I—" Luna frowned. "I'm not—"

But then she was alone, and she suffered the distinct feeling that perhaps she had failed to notice something after all.

* * *

It was a lovely, lovely party.

Made lovelier, of course, by the fact that for once, Hermione had barely had to lift a finger.

"Darling," she told her son, reaching out to take Scorpius' arm as he made to blindly whiz past her. "Sweetheart, this is absolutely magnificent. I've never seen the house in such impeccable order."

"Oh, you're just saying that, Mother," he returned breathlessly, though the flush of pleasure in his cheeks said otherwise. "It's hardly up to your standards."

"Scorpius, believe me," Hermione assured him, "every gala we've ever thrown, I've been putting out fires behind the scenes. This is magnificent, darling," she said again, chucking his chin up fondly. "Be proud of what you've done."

He smiled hesitantly. "I'm just trying to get everything right," he told her. "I know you and Dad are counting on me, and I want everything to be perfect for Rose, and—"

"And it _is_ , Scorp," Hermione assured him, frowning as a shadow of worry creased between his brows. "What's wrong, sweetheart?"

"Nothing," he assured her hastily, ducking his head and skirting her gaze. "I just—busy, you know. Just—details, and—"

"Scorpius," she sighed, shaking her head. "I'm your mother, and this isn't my first day. Is it James?" she pressed. "He didn't look quite himself when he arrived. Have you two had a disagreement?"

"It's—yeah," Scorpius admitted. "Sort of. I mean—yes."

He grimaced, and Hermione sighed.

"Tell me," she beckoned firmly, and he looked down, his grey eyes—so very like his father's—fixing mournfully on his shoes.

Scorpius and James, practically inseparable since their respective births, had been living together for about two months. It had been difficult for Hermione, despite her fondness for James, to let her eldest out of her sight; granted, he'd been away at Hogwarts before then, but despite being practiced with distance, _that_ arrangement had somehow felt very distinct. Knowing her son was in London was quite a new difficulty, especially since Scorpius saw Draco quite a lot more than he saw her. Since Lucius had passed his control of the Malfoy business enterprises over to Draco, Scorpius had been working for his father, even turning down an offer from Harry's department in the Ministry.

Which was a decision Hermione understood and supported, of course. It was a rather uninteresting clerkship, and she hadn't thought he would like it, having been accustomed to a certain level of autonomy as Prefect and Head Boy while at Hogwarts. Working for Draco permitted him far more access to interesting projects, and so Hermione had wholeheartedly agreed with his decision.

She was supremely proud of her son, without a doubt. She just wished he didn't look so stressed every time she saw him.

"James got an owl this morning," he confessed. "And I, um. I read it."

"I see," Hermione said slowly, carefully reserving judgment.

"It's—he got an offer," Scorpius said. "From Gringotts. They have an opening in their curse-breaking department, but he never—" he grimaced. "He never even told me he applied."

"Curse-breaking?" Hermione echoed, surprised. At the moment, James was working in her department, and she'd pegged him for a lifelong Ministry career. "Really?"

At that, Scorpius' eyes flared brilliantly, lifting his chin.

" _Yes_ , right?" he said emphatically. "Isn't that the sort of thing you tell the person that you love? And since then he's been avoiding me, and I think he's going to take it, Mum," he continued frantically, "and I just—I don't know if he's just planning to leave, or—"

"Well," Hermione said, recognizing the growing panic in her son's face that, unfortunately, she was quite certain he had inherited from her. "I'm sure he's planning to discuss it with you, darling. He's rather, um." She paused, considering how to phrase it. "Private, I suppose. Maybe he's just trying to organize his thoughts first."

"He's never been 'private' with _me_ before," Scorpius muttered. "We've always told each other everything, and—" he paused, looking up. "And you and Dad tell each other everything, don't you?"

It was difficult not to laugh outright, but she managed it.

"Well, darling, your father and I have been married quite a long time," Hermione reminded him. "But at first we had a difficult time being honest with each other. I once abandoned him in the Astronomy Tower after I kissed him for the first time," she added. "So there was certainly quite a lot of room for improvement."

Scorpius merely wrung his hands, trapped amidst his thoughts.

"What if he doesn't ask me to come?" Scorpius asked nervously. "Or what if he _does_ , Mum? Am I supposed to go with him?"

"I don't know," Hermione said, not wanting to admit the lurch in her chest at the thought of him leaving; to Egypt, where Bill had gone, or somewhere else entirely. "Would you want to?"

"I couldn't leave you," Scorpius insisted. "Not with the campaign next year—"

At that, Hermione felt an unexpected lurch, startled.

"Campaign," she echoed. "What?"

He shifted, looking sheepish.

"I heard Dad telling Uncle Harry at the office last week that you're running for Minister of Magic next year," Scorpius confessed guiltily. "I—that's why I want this party to be perfect, really," he admitted. "I want to make sure I do everything possible to help you, and—"

"Oh sweetheart," Hermione said, melting a little. "Darling, one party does not a campaign make—or _break_ , for that matter. I thought you were putting a bit too much pressure on yourself," she confessed, shaking her head. "I suppose I should have just discussed it with you, hm?"

He shrugged, feigning antipathy. "You could have," he offered stiffly, and she smiled, seeing a bit of Draco in his obvious avoidance.

"I suppose I forget how grown up you've gotten," she said fondly, and his lips quirked up. "Well," she pronounced. "This is a conversation for you to have with James, but promise me that whenever you do have to decide, you'll do whatever's right for you, love. I'm rather a celebrated war hero," she reminded him, tapping his nose. "I think your father and your Uncle Harry and I can manage to scrape something together, even if you have to run off somewhere else in the world."

He smiled weakly. "Thanks Mother," he said. "I guess I forgot you don't actually need me to take care of you."

"Frankly, I don't know where that impulse came from," she assured him. "It's like you came out of my womb with a ten year plan."

He shrugged. "Hazards of being the Malfoy heir, I expect," he said. "And the son of a Granger, too."

"Poor thing," she chuckled, kissing his cheek.

"I think Rose is ready for you, by the way," Scorpius added, suddenly remembering. "She wanted to talk to you, I think, but—"

"Right, of course," Hermione agreed, glancing down the hall. "Oh, sweetheart?" she asked, pausing Scorpius before he left. "I'm proud of you."

He grinned. "Stop it, Mum."

She chucked his chin. "Never."

* * *

"Oh, I think her chances are very good indeed," Kingsley said to Draco in a low voice, and beside them, Minerva nodded her agreement. "Hermione's a bit socially liberal, perhaps, but I'm sure you can temper that with regard to her image."

"You're welcome to come on my show during the campaign if you'd like," Lee invited, grinning, and Minerva groaned loudly.

"What abominable tross have you offered up for consumption now, Jordan?" she demanded. "Is it still drunk histories you're doing, or that horrible harem show?"

Lee took a loud sip of wine, shaking his head. "Nope," he said. "It's a documentary series called 'Quidbitches: The Real Housewives of Quidditch,' and it's really quite humanizing, so—"

"If there is a polite way to say 'fuck off,' presume I said it," Draco informed him, turning as he felt a tap on his shoulder. "Oh, hello Teddy," he said, taking a step to widen the circle of conversation. "How are you?"

"Could I have a moment, Draco?" Teddy asked, and Draco looked up, noting his hair was fluctuating between its usual violent turquoise and a darker shade of teal that looked oddly familiar. "Just for a second," he offered, as Minerva nodded, shooing them away.

"Of course," Draco said, stepping aside to speak privately. "Is this about the grants for your N.E.W.T. students? Because I promise, Teddy, I'm working on it, but there's a bit of a snag with regard to the subject matter—anything involving creatures, you know, it's a big mess, which I'm sure Hermione will have a thing or two to say ab- "

"No, no, actually it's, um," Teddy swallowed, fidgeting. "Sort of personal."

"Ah, is it about Victoire?" Draco asked. "Because I don't believe she's coming tonight. Fortunately," he added, "as I think I can only stand so many broken relationships in a room, really—"

"Aha," Teddy said, laughing awkwardly. "Yes, true."

"Listen, it's been over a year," Draco said, gripping his shoulder. "And I think your reasons for ending it were valid, Teddy. You know this."

"Yes," Teddy agreed, his gaze flicking elsewhere. "But still, I wondered—"

"Hide the knives," Theo announced, materializing to throw an arm around Draco's shoulder. "Pansy's out for blood, by the look of it. Oh, Teddy," he said, nodding to him. "I always forget you're a proper adult now.

"I don't know about that," Teddy offered uncomfortably, and Theo chuckled.

"True, I was hardly a proper adult myself at twenty-seven," he acknowledged, and Draco rolled his eyes.

"You still aren't," he assured him, and turned back to Teddy. "Sorry, I guess I kept interrupting you. What was it you were—"

"No girl this time?" Theo asked Teddy, teasing. "I feel like I've grown quite accustomed to seeing you with a new one every week."

"Well," Teddy said, clearing his throat. "Yes, I suppose I—"

"Oi, Malfoy," Harry interrupted, stooped slightly to accommodate holding the hand of Blaise and Ginny's daughter Esme. "Something's wrong with your son."

"Faulty genes," Theo agreed firmly. "Minus Hermione's."

"As ever, your input is hugely useful and important to me," Draco sniffed to Theo before arching a brow at Harry, shaking his head. "What's wrong with him?"

"He looks bothered," Harry said, as Esme glanced up.

"What does that mean?" she asked, and Harry paused, contemplating it.

"It means," he explained, "that something is making Scorpius upset, but I don't know what it is."

"Why not?" demanded Esme, and Harry sighed.

"Well, he hasn't _told_ me, so—"

"He never tells me anything either," Draco grumbled, shaking his head. "He always tells Hermione first. Or you, even," he said, turning to Theo. "I still can't believe he came out to you before me."

"What does that mean?" Esme asked, and Harry quickly ushered her away, shaking his head warningly at Draco and scurrying off in the opposite direction.

"You shouldn't take it personally," Theo said, laughing into his champagne flute. "I mean, we weren't exactly thrilled to tell our fathers anything either, were we?"

"Sorry," Teddy said, nudging Draco and gesturing aside. "I have to—we'll talk later," he said hastily, and Draco nodded, watching him go before turning back to Theo.

"I hope you aren't suggesting we're like our fathers," he pointed out, "because I can't say that would be much a point of pride."

"Of course not," Theo scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous. You could never pull off Lucius' ponytail."

Draco snorted at that, shaking his head. "I just don't understand," he sighed, "why my children are so reluctant to come to me when they have problems."

"Well, you don't take change very well," Theo began, and then stopped, seeming to catch Draco's genuine frustration. "Hey," Theo said quickly, nudging him. "You're just thinking about it wrong, mate."

"I'm _thinking_ wrong?" Draco echoed skeptically, and Theo shook his head, pursing his lips with impatience.

"Remember how we had no one, Draco?" he prompted. "No one but each other. But _our_ kids have _us,_ " he said emphatically, gesturing. " _All_ of us. We gave them that." He brought his drink to his lips, pausing before sipping it. "You brought your children into a world full of people they can trust," he said pointedly. "That's an accomplishment in itself, isn't it?"

Draco sighed.

"Still," he muttered. "I wish I wasn't always the last to know when my children have problems."

Theo shrugged. "You're his father," he said. "Scorp will come to you eventually. He always does."

"Does Milo come to you?" Draco asked, arching a brow, and Theo waved a hand.

"My son is very different from yours," he said pointedly. "You know. Vastly irresponsible. Sort of a general cad."

"Sounds familiar," Draco commented, and Theo sniffed his opposition.

"Don't know what you're talking about," he replied sing-songily, waving across the room to Kennilworthy Whisp. "Outsold him three to one last quarter," he murmured to Draco out of the side of his mouth, winking.

"You," Draco said to Theo, lifting his glass to toast him, "will always be the original cad."

* * *

Blaise Zabini loved his daughter.

He loved the way she smelled after a bath, and the way she asked a thousand questions a day, and he especially loved the way she liked to climb into his lap at every opportunity, just to sit in his arms and pretend to read alongside him.

He even loved being a father, despite how long he'd put it off. The reality, though, was simply that his life had unfolded _vastly_ differently than he'd planned it, and though he loved his daughter, he _desperately_ needed to make love to his wife.

"In here," Ginny hissed, yanking Blaise after her into one of the Malfoy guest rooms. "Don't you dare spend too much time on foreplay, either, or Hermione will kill us both—"

"As ever, I am your slave, darling," Blaise said, shoving her back onto the bed and dropping to his knees as she shimmied back on the mattress, hiking her dress up over her hips as he kissed the inside of her thigh.

They others had laughed when he'd told them Ginny was pregnant.

They'd _laughed_.

Though, to be fair, it _was_ surprising.

Blaise's experience with fatherhood was distinctly different from that of his friends, who had all become fathers together. He remembered how he'd been silently amused when Ron had stumbled around like an Inferus until Arthur was sleeping through the night, or how Draco had once put his wand in the oven during the week Scorpius had had a terrible fever. He recalled Harry chasing James throughout the house, or Theo fretting about how, exactly, to plait Alessia's hair, but now that he was a father himself, he remembered more than everything the nights the young fathers had all sat together, exhausted, once all the children had finally been put to bed. There had been a collective weariness there, but a contentedness, too; and Blaise, foolishly, had mistaken it for mundanity, and insisted he would never make the same mistake.

Now, of course, his friends' children were fully grown, and they themselves had reverted back to parties, to social events, to going out for drinks and wearing clothes that weren't tampered with glitter or peanut butter, and Blaise was having to experience fatherhood alone.

Esme had been an accident, naturally. What man _opts_ to be a father when he's pushing forty? But they'd agreed that perhaps it was worth a try, and they'd always made it work before, and _sure_ , Ginny traveled a lot with the team (she was a coach and consultant now, having grown tired of breaking bones) and over the years, Blaise had gathered quite a retinue of international clients; but still, he had always managed to join her before, and they were certain they could manage it now.

They'd forgotten five-year-olds were not quite so transportable, and so they were often apart, or occupied with their daughter when they were together.

"Mm, yes, Blaise, _there_ ," Ginny whimpered, as Blaise flicked his tongue over her clit. "Fuck, I've missed you—"

"BLAISE," they heard outside the door, and promptly froze. "Can you not be a bitch right now, please?"

"Keep going," Ginny whispered, and Blaise nodded, adjusting his shoulders and returning his attention to the devastatingly arousing taste of his wife's pretty cunt.

"I'm not being a bitch," snapped Pansy's daughter. "I'm just saying that if she's going to have the nerve to show up here, she shouldn't be here at the same time as _him—_ "

"That's—shut _up_ , Blaise," returned a male voice that Blaise presumed to be Arthur, Blaise Theodora's elder brother. "You have no idea what you're talking about, and anyway can you just not say anything? I don't even know how you found out—"

"You have to tell Mum. You _have_ to."

"BLAISE, for fuck's sake—"

"Fuck," Blaise growled, as Ginny let out a sigh. "Is it just me, or—"

"No, it's distracting," Ginny agreed. "The name thing. Pansy's such a twat."

" _Yes_ , right?"

"Look," they heard Blaise Theodora continue, her voice snottily false. "I know you're trying to pretend you're still friends with Alessia, but she's a prissy little cunt, Art, and you _know_ it—"

"She's not a—" Arthur stammered, careening to a halt. "Don't call her that, Blaise!"

"I can't believe she would show her face here," Blaise Theodora continued stubbornly. "I really can't. It's—it's totally incomprehensible to me."

Internally, Blaise marveled that anyone could sound so similar to Pansy, and then paused for a moment to wonder in advance just how much Esme would turn out like Ginny. It was certainly evident already.

"You've always hated Alessia," Arthur sighed, sounding miserable. "And I don't know _why_ , Blaise—"

"I wish he would stop saying her name," Blaise muttered, and Ginny propped herself up on her elbows, nodding her agreement.

"I think what's more confusing is why _you've_ always loved her," Blaise Theodora informed her brother. "You're like a slave to her, Art! No matter what she does you're always following her around like her little house elf, bending over backwards to make her happy—"

"Just don't tell Mum, okay?" he cut in sharply. "You know things are bad enough already."

"Hey," Ginny said, snapping her fingers in Blaise's face. "Can we get back to sex, please? Just—" she sat up, tugging the clasp of his trousers apart. "There, okay?"

"My god, the romance," Blaise drawled, but obligingly shoved her back on the bed, half-shimmying out of his trousers. "You're such a lure, my crimson-haired siren—"

"Fine, I won't tell Mum," they heard Blaise Theodora say.

"Don't tell _anyone_!" Arthur protested. "You're not going to, are you?"

"Maybe," she replied wickedly. "Maybe not."

"BLAISE—"

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Blaise growled, sitting upright. "Can we try a different venue?"

"They have a wine cellar," Ginny said. "Pretty sure it's soundproof."

"Perfect," Blaise said, yanking her to her feet and re-zipping his trousers. "Then off to the wine cellar we go, my love."

"At some point," she reminded him, pulling her knickers back on, "we're going to have to talk."

He grimaced.

"Of course, my angel," he said, and she gave his arse a slap for emphasis, half-shoving him out the door.

* * *

"Look," Ron said, nudging Pansy. "Did you see Blaise and Ginny just run for the wine cellar?"

"God, they're so obvious," Pansy said, shaking her head. "As if we haven't all done it in there before."

"Could do it now, if you want," Ron offered, glancing at her, but knew she wasn't listening. His wife had her arms crossed tightly, her fingers tapping on her arms as she surveyed the party. "Look," he coaxed her gently, "both Daphne and Alessia have left the room. You can stop trying to pick their bones, you lovely vulture."

"You don't get it," Pansy snapped, not looking at him. "You're not his mother."

"No, strangely enough, but I'm his father," Ron assured her. "And it bothers me just as much as it bothers you."

Though he considered for a moment that perhaps that wasn't quite true.

He'd thought for a while that things weren't going to work out between Arthur and Alessia, truth be told; though he'd never admit that to his wife, and certainly hadn't. The reality of the situation was that he started to see things in Arthur that he'd once seen in himself when he'd been in a relationship that wasn't working, and was privately rather relieved when the engagement had ended.

They were both too young, anyway.

Unfortunately, he figured there had been far more destruction from Pansy's view of it; _her_ dreams were shattered, too, and she was as disappointed as Arthur, though Ron knew she would never admit it.

"Look," Ron said, pulling a very rigid Pansy under his arm, "I'm not trying to downplay the situation. I just think you'd be happier, love," he murmured, kissing the side of her neck, "if you could find a way to let it go."

He expected a snappy retort, but instead Pansy stiffened, tension settling in her spine.

It was never just about Arthur, Ron knew, and he felt again a sadness for his wife that he wasn't sure what to do with.

"She's—she wasn't even _upset_ ," Pansy forced out after a moment, and Ron wondered whether she meant Daphne or Alessia. "You know?"

"I know, Pans," he told her, giving her a squeeze. "I know."

She sighed.

"Well, this turned hormonal," she announced, shaking her head. "I'm going to find Luna. Or someone else chaotically neutral."

"Off you go, then," Ron agreed. "No murders, okay?"

"You take the fun out of everything," Pansy sniffed, but she kissed his cheek, passing her thumb over it fondly. "Bye, Weasley."

He grinned. "Bye, Weasley," he called after her, and she shook her head, disappearing around the corner just as his son appeared from the other side of the room. "Art," he called, waving him over. "You doing okay?"

"As well as to be expected, I suppose," Arthur replied, his gaze flicking into the corner. "Alessia tells me Mum's been stalking her prey again."

"You spoke to Alessia?" Ron asked, surprised, and Arthur shrugged.

"She's my best friend, Dad," he said. "I'll take talking to her over any of these stuffy what's-its."

"You're not—" Ron cleared his throat. "You're not still carrying a torch for her, are you?"

Arthur sighed, turning to face him. "Not everyone's you and Mum, you know," he said. "Some of us have to take what we can get."

"What does that mean?" Ron asked, and Arthur shrugged.

"Forget it—"

"No, tell me," Ron insisted, gripping his son's arm. "If this is bothering you—"

"Look," Arthur said. "She doesn't want me, okay? She's not—we didn't work together," he said, not entirely looking like he believed it, "but I still want to be friends. I'll get over her," he added. "Someday, I _will_ , but—" Arthur paused. "I can't just lose her altogether, you know?"

Ron sighed.

"Did you know I thought I would end up with your Aunt Hermione?" he asked, and Arthur made a face.

"Impossible," he said. "You two? You'd—you'd have to have fought, like—"

"All the time," Ron confirmed, and Arthur made a face. "And we did. But for a while, I couldn't have pictured my life without her," he said, the first time he was saying it out loud since he'd confessed it to Pansy the first night they'd spent together. "She was so important to me that I think I was willing to take anything I could get."

He glanced aside, seeing if the words resonated with his son.

They seemed to.

"So," Arthur said, his dark eyes pensive. "What happened?"

Ron shrugged. "Life," he said. "We weren't really good together, and we found people who made us better. We were still a bit older than you," he added. "We _both_ decided we wanted to be friends," he clarified. "But I think if I hadn't been ready, she would have understood. Do you know what I'm saying?" he pressed, and Arthur nodded slowly.

"But," he said, clearing his throat as his gaze darted nervously. "What if I lose her, Dad?"

"Oh, Arthur," Ron sighed. "You've been best friends since you were infants. I don't think she's going anywhere."

"Guess not," Arthur said, glancing at his hands, and they stood together for a few moments of silence, glancing around the room.

"Hey Dad?" Arthur asked, and Ron turned to look at him, nodding. "Can you not tell Mum we had this conversation?"

"Oh, not to worry," Ron assured him. "I'll be sure to keep your mother in her happy place."

Arthur fidgeted some more, taking a deep breath.

"Could you also," Arthur said hesitantly, "not let Blaise talk to her?"

Ron stared at him.

"Why not?" he asked.

Arthur swallowed. "It's—complicated," he said, and Ron frowned, quite certain he wasn't going to enjoy the end of that thought.

* * *

"Rose," Daphne heard; an imploring voice from behind a door. "Please. Just—five minutes?"

 _Oh no,_ she thought, recognizing a troubling sense of intimacy, in addition to a familiar voice; a voice she knew in its every iteration, having heard it every day of her life for the last nineteen years.

It was her _son's_ voice.

"Milo," she heard Rose say, a girlish whisper of longing. "Now's really not the time."

"Then when _is_ the time?" he demanded, with all of his father's brusque impatience. "If I can't tell you now that I want to be with you, then when can I?"

"I don't know," Rose said, with _her_ father's indignation. "In about three hours? Mum and Dad will go right to bed anyway, if you just stay behind for a bit—"

 _Oh no_ , Daphne thought.

Why was it always her children?

"I'm tired of hiding, Rose," Milo said. "Aren't you? I don't see why—"

"Oh _hell_ ," Daphne erupted, shoving the door open and striding into the room to find her son with his dark head bent, holding adoringly to the fingertips of the little Malfoy darling. "Milo Draconius Nott, have you lost your godforsaken mind?"

Her son jumped slightly but hid the motion, tucking it within his slender limbs; Rose, for her part, turned deeply scarlet, the lovely flush in her cheeks blazing against the pastel of her gown.

"It's not what you think," Rose squeaked, pulling her hands free and locking them behind her back. "It's—we're not—"

Daphne arched a brow, expectantly dubious.

"Please don't tell my father," Rose finally exhaled, cringing, as Milo stepped in front of her.

"Hello, Mother," he opened grandly. "Might I say you look rather fetch- "

"Don't," she warned, pursing her lips. "This," she barked, flapping a hand to gesture wildly between them. "How long has this been going on?"

"I hardly think that's anyone's concern but ours," Milo retorted, just as Rose whimpered, "six months."

"Six—" Daphne paused, feeling her eyes widen. "Six months? Six _months_ , Milo Nott?"

"Mother, unless you're going to send me to my room without dinner, I hardly see why this is at all necess- "

"Sweetheart, have you met that girl's father?" Daphne pressed. "Milo, I'm thrilled, you know I love Rose," she added, sparing a reassuring nod to her and smiling adoringly. "But Draco is going to skin you _alive_ , my darling. When are you planning on telling him?"

"I," Rose began. "I, um—"

"I'll tell him right now," Milo announced, taking a bold stride forward, and Daphne shifted to block his path.

"Now? At the gala in his daughter's honor? I'd sooner kill you myself just to spare you," Daphne admonished him. "No, Rose, you'll have to tell your mother," she said, glancing over her son's shoulder to address her. "Hermione is quite literally the only person that Draco won't curse right through the walls."

"I—I was trying to," Rose agreed, wringing her hands. "But I just—"

"Today," Daphne added firmly, as Rose blanched. "Unless it's not serious—in which case perhaps you should just end it, all things conside-"

"No," Milo said flatly. "I love her, Mum, end of story."

"Milo!" Rose gasped.

Daphne, blissfully relieved that her son was _finally_ capable of loving a girl who was not another in a long parade of snotty brats he'd liked before, let out a jubilant crow of disbelief.

"Milo," she said, reaching up to take her son's face in her hands. "I couldn't be happier for you, sweetheart—I mean, you're going to die," she lamented seriously. "Draco will almost certainly kill you, but I'm thrilled, darling. Absolutely _ecstatic_. I'll miss you, of course, rest in peace, and I'm sure Draco will murder your father as well, but that was really a long time coming and I still have my looks, so—"

"Mum," Milo interrupted stiffly. "Oddly, this isn't helping."

"Oh, come here," Daphne wailed, yanking him and Rose into a tight embrace. "I don't know how this happened but it _thrills_ me, truly, down to my bones—"

"Oh," she heard from behind her, and they all turned, finding James in the doorway. "I suppose none of you have seen my mother, have you?"

"Er," Milo said, as Daphne refused to release him. "No?"

"Everything okay, Jamie?" Rose asked him, and he shrugged.

"You all look a bit busy," he said. "I'll just, um. Go elsewhere. You look nice, Rosie," he added, and Rose beamed, smiling at him.

" _He_ 's not dead," Milo noted, jutting his chin out as James slipped out of the room. "Uncle Draco didn't kill _him_ —"

"Well, _he_ is not bespoiling Draco's little princess," Daphne reminded him, rolling her eyes as Rose's face turned pale.

"Oh, but it's not—we aren't—"

"Rose, everyone's waiting for you downstairs, so— _oh_ ," Hermione said, appearing in the doorway and blinking with confusion. "What's this?"

"Everybody," Milo announced, "just _stay calm_."

Hermione Granger-Malfoy let out a loud, exhausted sigh.

"Oh, _no_ ," she murmured, and in the same moment, Daphne smiled.

* * *

Hermione hadn't exactly been expecting to find Daphne and Milo in her daughter's bedroom; but then, she supposed she shouldn't have been surprised.

"So this is who you've been writing to," Hermione noted, tapping her mouth as she looked from her daughter to Milo. "My goodness, Milo," she lamented, shaking her head. "Draco's going to kill you."

"That's what I said," Daphne agreed, striding over to stand beside Hermione. "I was hoping you might intervene."

"Well," Hermione said, thinking it over. "Do you think a dinner, perhaps?"

"Dinner could work," Daphne said, nodding. "Though do you think alcohol would make it better or worse?"

"I'll hide the knives, of course," Hermione assured her. "Steal his wand, too—"

"We can do Tuesday?" Daphne suggested. "Perhaps the six of us?"

"No, no, maybe not," Hermione countered. "Let's do the adults first, and then—"

"No," Milo said flatly, shaking his head. "I want to tell him tonight."

Hermione paused, staring at him.

And then she promptly burst into laughter.

"No, Milo, sweetheart," she said, shaking her head. "Draco's been coming apart at the seams for weeks, darling, tonight's really not the time—"

"This party is for Rose, isn't it?" Milo demanded. "I want to dance with her. I want to _hold_ her," he added, glancing at her. "And I want to stand beside her."

At Milo's declaration, Hermione watched her daughter's brown eyes light up, her mouth twisting up in a slow, tender smile that lit her face radiantly from the flush of her cheeks to the golden glow of her blonde hair.

 _Rats,_ Hermione thought fondly, catching the tell-tale signs of a girl who harbored far more than a little crush.

"It can wait," Rose told Milo softly, though Hermione watched her lean closer, clearly offering two entirely different intentions. "Can't it?"

"It could," Milo permitted, with all of Theo's gruffness. "But why? Is it so strange that I would fall in love with you?" he asked her, taking her hands in his. "Is that really such a crime that we have to _hide_ it?"

"That's sort of sweet," Daphne whispered to Hermione, and she nodded.

"He inherited some of Theo's poeticism, it seems," she murmured back.

"I just—" Rose glanced nervously at her mother. "Daddy's clients are here, and—"

At that, Hermione threw up her hands, groaning. "How on _earth_ ," she lamented, "did I manage to raise two children who worry so much about their parents?"

"If you discover it, please share," Daphne told her. "Clearly my children are mostly interested in throwing a wrench into the workings of the universe."

Rose, for her part, still looked tormented. "Mum, I just—"

"Rose, your father is a grown man," Hermione informed her. "A difficult one, certainly," she permitted with a grimace, watching her daughter fidget, "but if this is serious between you and Milo, then—"

"Mum, can I talk to you?" Rose interrupted, wincing. "Alone?"

Beside her, Milo looked startled. "Rose," he said. "You aren't—are you having second thoughts? Or—"

"No, no," she assured him, shaking her head. "Nothing like that. I just—" she took a step closer, reaching out for him. "I just need to talk to my mother," she said, pleading slightly. "Okay?"

Hermione watched the motion of her daughter's fingers as they floated above Milo's chest; she watched, too, the way Milo's breathing seemed to stutter beneath Rose's hand; and _then_ she took note of the way they leaned towards each other, but conspicuously didn't touch.

"Okay," he said, and looked up, nodding to his mother. "Should we go find Alessia?" he asked, clearing his throat of excess emotion. "I suppose it's been awhile since I've antagonized my sister, honestly."

"Come on, you welp," Daphne sighed, shaking her head. "Let me know when you want to talk to Draco," she murmured to Hermione, who nodded, and then Daphne and Milo slipped out the door, closing it behind them.

"So," Hermione began, taking a seat on her daughter's bed. "You and Milo."

"It's not what you think," Rose exhaled deeply, floating down beside Hermione. She cautiously slid her hand against the fabric of her gown, careful not to wrinkle it. "He's—I—we haven't—"

"You're not sleeping together," Hermione noted, and Rose instantly averted her gaze. "And you've been away at Hogwarts," she realized, frowning. "So how did you—"

"Christmas," Rose said hesitantly. "He, um. We kissed, and he—" she looked down, furiously toying with her fingers. "He wrote me letters. _We_ wrote letters, I mean," she clarified, still avoiding Hermione's eye. "Every day, and—" she blinked, and Hermione saw tears in her daughter's eyes, wondering how she'd managed to miss it. "I've been in love with him for such a long time," Rose sniffed, dabbing at the corners of her eyes. "He's—he was a Prefect, you know, and he was dating this girl two years above me—"

"I remember," Hermione murmured. Daphne had hated the girl; she couldn't remember her name.

"—and I never thought he would notice me," Rose continued, "but then—he just—"

She sniffled, burying a whimper in her hand, and Hermione sighed.

"Did I ever tell you," she said gently, "about how it happened with your father and me?"

Rose looked up, making a face. "You and Dad are perfect," she said. "Everything about you is perfect."

"Oh, _far_ from it," Hermione said, unable to contain a scoff. "When I met your father, he was a prejudiced little tyrant. I slapped him once," she added, and Rose looked appropriately taken aback. "Third year. He deserved it."

"Really?"

"Really," Hermione confirmed. "But after the war, as he's told you many times, everything changed. But even then, I still felt like it would never work," she said. "And I was with someone else at the time—"

"No," Rose gasped. "Really?"

"Well, we'd just broken up," Hermione clarified. "But I was _positive_ that your father hadn't noticed me at all, and then—" she shrugged. "Sometimes things just happen."

"So," Rose said tentatively. "How did you know it was right?"

"I think I just knew," Hermione said. "Granted, I was a bit older than you, and a bit more—" she felt her cheeks burn, and cleared her throat. " _Experienced_ , I suppose—"

"Milo, um." Rose shifted uncomfortably. "He's experienced too, I think."

"Are you nervous?" Hermione asked her. "Is that what this is about?"

"Sort of," she admitted. "I mean, I knew once I told Dad it would be real, and I figured he would assume we were sleeping together anyway," she added guiltily, "and then I—well, I wouldn't really have an excuse—"

"Is he pressuring you?" Hermione asked, and Rose's eyes widened.

"No, no, not at all," she said. "The opposite, really. We just talk, mostly, and he says he's never been as comfortable with anyone as he is with me, and I just—I wanted to keep it a secret, because while it's secret, it's still just _ours_." She grimaced. "Does that make sense?"

"Well, sure," Hermione permitted. "But it's still yours even if other people know, sweetheart. And you don't need an excuse not to have sex," she added. "If you're not ready, then that's reason enough not to, don't you think? Milo's a good boy." She smiled. "He's like his father— _loud_. But he's kind, and patient, and loyal to the people he loves, and I'm sure he just wants to be with you." She reached out, tucking a lock of Rose's hair behind her ear. "Whatever parts of yourself you want to give him, let that be your decision and nobody else's."

Rose hesitantly permitted a smile, biting her lip.

"I love him," she said. "I love him, and I want—I want Daddy to _know_ that I love him," she finished, and Hermione sighed, resting her cheek against her daughter's blonde hair.

"Then I'll tell him," she said firmly, "so that the two of you can have your night."

"Thanks, Mum," Rose whispered, and Hermione leaned back, eyeing her gown.

"Did you know," she offered, feeling nostalgic, "that this is the exact color of the dress I wore to the Yule Ball when I was at Hogwarts?"

"I know," Rose said sheepishly. "I asked Aunt Luna to pick the shade."

Hermione paused, finding a lump in her throat at that.

"That's really very—" she paused, feeling sentimental. "It's very sweet, darling."

Rose smiled.

"Dad said he always remembered you in it," she said, and Hermione threw an arm around her, leading her to the door.

"Did I ever tell you," she said, "that your father went to the Yule Ball with Aunt Pansy?"

"Oh my _god_ ," said Rose, and Hermione laughed.

"Yes," she confirmed, shaking her head. "Yes, I completely agree."

* * *

Listen, if Ginny Weasley wanted an orgasm, she'd have one. The physical aspect of the whole charade really wasn't the issue, despite how badly she was trying to fuck her husband in a very narrow wine cellar (you'd think, given the money, Draco and Hermione might have built a bigger one), and the fact that the arch of her foot was beginning to cramp. You might _think_ it was about sex, but it wasn't.

The truth is she just wanted to be close to him, because she needed to tell him something rather important.

"There, yeah," she breathed encouragingly, though in all honesty, she was starting to go a little numb. She was distracted, too, hoping that Harry wasn't doing too badly with Esme. Obviously Harry had a son of his own, but James was a little oddball, and Esme could be very persistent when she set her mind to something—not unlike both her parents. "Mm, Blaise, yes—"

He shifted, adjusting his footing, and Ginny promptly let out a hiss of pain, a bottle digging into her spine.

" _Ouch—_ "

"Sorry, sorry," he said hastily, and promptly bumped his forehead against hers.

They'd been a little out of rhythm lately, to say the least. Sex had always been the most natural thing between them and now it seemed like they needed a bit more practice, which they almost never had time for. They were just slightly out of sync.

"Just, um—" she shifted slightly in his arms, sending more of her weight backwards and pulling his hips towards her. "Like this?"

He paused, swallowing. "Yeah, uh—" He put his hand behind her head, one hand still holding her. "Right, so—"

"Fuck," Ginny sighed, shaking her head. "I don't think this is working."

"Oh thank god," Blaise muttered, letting out an exhausted sigh and letting his head fall against her shoulder. "I can't—it isn't—"

"I need to talk to you," she interrupted, and he looked up, swallowing.

"I should probably pull out, then," he said tentatively, and she permitted a peal of nervous laughter, her fingers tight around his shoulders.

"It's—it's not what you think," she said. "Or maybe it isn't, I don't know—"

"Ginevra," he sighed, brushing his lips against her cheek. "You've been acting strange since you got home. And this," he said, gesturing between them, "as much as I love your enthusiasm, feels a bit—" he hesitated. "Desperate? No." He shook his head. "Forced, I think."

"Forced," she agreed, slowly disentangling from him and lowering her feet to the ground. "I, um. I think I just needed to start with a distraction."

"Distractions aplenty," he said, buttoning his trousers as she adjusted her underwear. He paused for a moment, watching her, and then shook his head, reaching out to stroke the edge of her cheek with his thumb. "Listen," he offered quietly. "I know things have been hard lately."

She watched him, letting him continue.

"I promise I'll get the hang of it," he whispered to her, and when he met her eye, she realized he was pleading. "I know it seems like we don't work together anymore, but—"

"Blaise, do you think I'm leaving you?" she asked, astounded. "Have you lost your mind?"

He grimaced. "Well—"

"You idiot," she sighed, shaking her head and wrapping her arms around his neck. "Nothing like that, you goon. I just wanted to tell you I got a job offer."

"I—" he frowned. "What?"

"Kingsley told me that London's won the bid for the next World Cup," Ginny explained. "He asked me to be head of player relations, which would mean being based here for the next two years, if not more. With very little travel," she added. "I made a point to ask about that, and he promised."

"That's great," Blaise said, blinking in confusion. "I mean, if that's what you w- "

"As my husband, I want you to stay," she cut in, needing to continue without interruption. "With me. Stay with me. I want you to delegate to your underlings for a couple of years," she clarified with a sigh, "and take fewer international assignments so that we can be together with our daughter. I want us to move out of our flat and get a house with a garden, and I want to spend Saturdays in it drinking tea with you and having parties with our friends. But as the man who fell in love with the person I used to be," she continued, glancing away, "I want you to tell me that this doesn't mean that I'm giving up. That I'm settling down and getting boring," she sighed. "And I want you to tell me that you'll still want me—even if the things I want have become mundane."

She looked down, casting her eyes at her feet, and caught the motion of him shaking his head.

"Oh, Ginevra," he sighed, stepping forward to take her face in his hands. "Do you really think life with you could ever be _mundane_? You and Esme are my favorite adventure," he promised. "The best thing I've ever done."

She closed her eyes, breathing out a helpless sigh of relief, and he kissed her forehead.

"I've seen the world," he promised, his lips brushing fondly down her nose, "and out of all of it, I choose you."

"You promise?" she asked. "We always said we didn't want to be anchored in one place, so if this means you're giving up the life you love, then—"

"We _also_ said we were never having kids," he reminded her, interrupting. "And anyway, you felt you needed to fuck me during a rather formal gala just to tell me _good_ news," he added, "so I can only dream of what you'll do to preempt any future _bad_ news. Ginevra," he sighed, kissing her lips this time, "honestly. How could life with you possibly be boring?"

"I just don't want you to give anything up for me," she murmured, and he shook his head.

"First of all, I'd gladly give _everything_ up for you," he said, turning to open the cellar door, "and for another, if I'd known you were considering a job like that, I'd have encourag- "

"Oh, hello," said James, startling both Blaise and Ginny as he paused by the cellar door. "I don't suppose you two are available to chat, are you?"

Ginny frowned, adjusting her hair and flashing Blaise a questioning glance before turning back to the young man who reminded her so thoroughly of everything she loved about both Harry and Luna.

"Everything okay, James?"

"I just wondered if you had a moment to lend some advice. Were you choosing a bottle of wine?" he asked tangentially, looking over her shoulder. "Scorp took quite a long time with the selections for the evening, you know. I'm sure there's something better upstairs. Unless this is congress," he realized, and frowned. "Is this congress?"

"James," Ginny sighed, as Blaise smothered a laugh. "What's wrong?"

"Well," he began, and then promptly cut himself off as the sound of shouting came from above them. "What was that?"

"Don't know," Blaise said, frowning as the shouting grew louder. "Come on, let's find Esme," he said, grabbing Ginny's hand. "Just give us a minute, James, and then we'll—"

"I—okay," he said, as Blaise and Ginny took off in search of their daughter.

* * *

It never failed to amaze Pansy how she'd managed to become so invested in a group of people she'd detested so thoroughly for so much of her life. To think that she was approaching Loony Lovegood—after receiving counsel from Weasley, _and_ begging Granger to be her best friend—and that she was resolutely not speaking to Daphne was nearly unimaginable, a true stroke of irony; though, in fairness, she'd learned long ago not to cling too firmly to the past.

"Hey," she said, finding Luna in the crowd. "Finally, someone sane."

The corners of Luna's mouth quirked up. "You're teasing," she guessed, and Pansy gave her something of a smirk.

"Only a little," she said. "But you're at least better than my alternatives."

And it was true, really. Pansy had grown rather fond of Luna over the years; she had a softness to her that was comforting, but at the same time, she was far more like what Pansy pretended to be than Pansy herself actually was. Luna was always so confident, so self-assured, that by contrast, it made Pansy feel like somewhat of a fraud.

After all, Pansy hadn't felt secure enough to just admit she'd been heartbroken about her son's broken engagement. Instead she'd drudged up a war, doing what she did best.

Surely Luna would never have done that, she sighed, as Luna turned to face her.

"Hey Pansy," Luna murmured, looking oddly distressed. "You know how I sometimes say the wrong thing?"

"No," Pansy drawled sarcastically. "You?"

"Yes, me," Luna confirmed gravely. "I'm afraid I may have said something I shouldn't have, unfortunately. You'll have to teach me one of these days," she added, glancing mournfully at Pansy. "It seems I'm still not very adept at interpreting my surroundings."

Pansy frowned, surprised.

"You seem a bit off, Lovegood," she remarked. "Did you accidentally kill someone?"

"Not that I know of," Luna said. "Though I suppose it's statistically possible."

"No, I—" Pansy glanced down, amused. "Maybe don't say things like that, Luna."

"You see?" Luna sighed. "I can never tell."

"Well, don't let it get you down," Pansy replied, glancing out over the crowd and wondering where everyone had gotten off to. "I'm not very good at saying the right things either."

"Oh," Luna said. "Do you mean how you hurt Daphne's feelings?"

"I—what?" Pansy asked, taken aback. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you know, perhaps I'm wrong," Luna remarked, "but it seems you and Daphne are both a little bit sad. Normally you are very complementary creatures," she added. "When you suffer, she seems to sort of—" she gestured with her hands. "Curl around you. But this time," she sighed, "you're _both_ suffering, and I'm not quite sure either of you see it."

Pansy swallowed.

"Well," she said. "It's a bit more complicated than that."

"I suppose," Luna agreed, glancing at her. "Though perhaps it's just my usual lack of synchronicity with other people, but to tell you the truth, Pansy, I don't particularly see why."

Not wanting to give in, Pansy promptly cleared her throat, changing the subject.

"So," she said. "About the thing you fucked up. What was it that you said?"

Luna's pale cheeks flushed. "Well—"

They paused as the sound of shouting echoed from elsewhere in the house, and Luna frowned.

"Did you hear that?" she asked. "Or was it just in my head?"

"No, I heard it," Pansy murmured, turning towards the sound.

"Though, of course, it being in my head doesn't preclude reality," Luna murmured to herself, getting dragged slightly as Pansy grabbed her arm.

"Come on," Pansy said urgently. "I know that voice."

* * *

"So," Hermione said, having pulled Theo and Draco into Draco's study. "There's something I think you both should know, and Rose and I agreed it was probably best if I broke it to you myself."

"Be quiet until she's finished," Daphne added, though Theo noted she seemed to be speaking more to Draco than to him, which was odd. "And please, be _sane_."

At that, Draco and Theo exchanged matching glances of suspicion.

"Why are _you_ telling us?" Theo asked, as Daphne glanced apologetically at Hermione, shrugging in one of their secret wife exchanges. "Why not Rose?"

"Yes, Granger, precisely," Draco sniffed, making a face. "You know perfectly well that if Rose has anything to say, she can come to me."

"In this case, I think it's best if I handle it," Hermione assured him delicately, as Daphne nodded her agreement. "And don't argue with me."

"This," Theo pronounced, "cannot be good."

"It isn't," Daphne assured him. "Well." She cocked her head. "We'll see."

"Listen," Hermione announced, "I'm just going to come out with it." She took a deep breath and then let it out, shaking herself. "Draco," she told him, angling herself at him, "Rose and Milo have been seeing each other for the last six months, and it's very serious."

Theo stared at her for a moment, gauging whether it was a joke, and then turned to Draco, watching his face turn oddly pale.

"Darling," Hermione prompted. "Say something."

"Milo," Draco repeated vacantly, blinking. "Milo who?"

"Well," Daphne exhaled. "That's as good a response as any—"

"Milo Nott," Hermione informed her husband, sighing. "You know—your _godson_? The one whose birth you were present for?"

"Milo Nott," Draco echoed. "As in the son of Theodore Nott?"

Theo had to forcefully bite his tongue to keep from laughing aloud.

"You just hush," Daphne told him brusquely, tapping her mouth in warning, and he shook his head, tacitly agreeing despite the laughter threatening to crack his chest.

"Yes," Hermione confirmed curtly, glancing at Daphne.

"For the record," Daphne ventured, gesturing between herself and Hermione, "we're quite pleased. You know we adore Rose, and—"

" _His_ son," Draco cut in fiercely, jabbing Theo in the ribs and blinking. "The one with the penis?"

"Yes," Hermione said, hands on her hips. "The one with the penis."

"The penis one," Draco said, dumbstruck, "is dating my Rose?"

Daphne reached over, handing Hermione her glass of champagne, which Hermione accepted.

"Yes," she sighed briskly, taking a sip. "Theo?" she asked, watching him hover somewhere near bursting. "Anything you'd like to add?"

"Hold on," he managed, staring at Draco, who was still muttering to himself.

"Is there—" Draco sputtered. "Are they—"

"Take your time, darling," Hermione assured him, taking another sip. "Sort it all out."

"Again," Daphne said, " _we_ could not be more thrilled ab-"

"Granger!" Draco suddenly shouted, leaping to his feet. "Are you telling me that we could end up with a grandchild that is also Theo's?"

"Well, she'd have to pick _someone_ , wouldn't she?" Hermione sighed impatiently, shaking her head. "Unless you have high hopes for a virgin birth—"

"I do!" Draco shouted. "The _highest_ hopes!"

"—then I think you should be glad it's Theo's son," Hermione suggested primly, "considering how many other delinquents she could be with. He's smart, he has a promising future, and—"

Theo turned, watching Draco's head threaten to implode.

"MY SON," he shouted, "IS ALREADY WITH POTTER'S SON—"

"Oh, stop it," Hermione groaned. "You've been friends with Harry for years—"

"—AND NOW YOU ARE TELLING ME—"

"Draco, for heaven's sake—"

"—THIS IS UNACCEPTABLE—"

"Calm down, Draco—"

"—WHAT DO WE EVEN KNOW ABOUT HIM—"

"Draco," Daphne sighed. "For the love of god—"

"—ONLY THAT HE COMES FROM A LINE OF UNFETTERED DEPRAVITY—"

"That's true," Theo said giddily.

"DO NOT TALK TO ME RIGHT NOW," Draco roared, launching to his feet and beginning to pace the floor. "HOW DARE YOU—"

"How dare he what?" Hermione prompted. "Raise a son that would attract your daughter?"

"I AM DEEPLY INSULTED YOU WOULD EVEN SUGGEST THAT," Draco said, affronted. "GRANGER, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?"

"Me?" Hermione echoed furiously. "You're blaming this on _me_?"

"I WOULD LOVE TO BLAME SOMEONE ELSE, BUT I CAN'T," Draco informed her at the top of his lungs.

At that, Theo leaned back in his chair, thoroughly delighted. "This," he said, "is the best day ever. Best day of my life. I literally could not have dream-"

"We should go," Daphne cut him off hurriedly, grabbing Theo's arm and dragging him to the door. "Darling, you're going to make things so much worse—"

"Fine, fine," Theo said, turning back to Draco. "But just so you kn-"

"OUT," Draco shouted, and Daphne gave Theo's arm a quick tug, yanking him into the corridor as Hermione was left to face her husband, shaking her head as she leaned forward to admonish him.

"You're making me miss all the fun, Daph," Theo told her, watching the door close behind them. "You realize this is my _moment_ , don't you? Of everything I've ever done to him, _this_ is—"

"Theo, _please—_ "

"Uncle Theo," Blaise Theodora interrupted, suddenly appearing in front of him and startling both him and Daphne. "Can I have a moment?"

"Blaise," Daphne said, a little stiffly, though she forced an unsteady smile. "How are you, darling?"

"Fine," she said, though Theo noted she was wearing one of Pansy's more demonic looks. "But Uncle Theo," she continued, batting her lashes. "If you have a minute, I think there's something you should know."

* * *

"Draco," Hermione said tightly, "you _do_ realize you're overreacting, don't you?"

"I am _not_ ," he snapped. "I have never in my life reacted with anything but enviable aplomb, Granger, you know this—"

"He wants to dance with her during the party," Hermione continued. "I told them that would be fine."

"You did _what—_ "

"You forget being young and in love, Draco," his wife sighed, shaking her head. "You forget how much it matters to have a moment with the person you care about, and to not have to hide. I'm letting our daughter be happy, and _you_ are not to come out until you've matured enough to do the same," she warned, brandishing a finger at him.

She turned to the door to leave and then paused, shaking her head, before turning towards him, taking a few steps to close the distance between them and brushing her lips against his cheek.

"I love you, you horrid, wonderful man," she whispered, "and I love how protective you are of our children. But _this_ ," she sighed. "This is about our daughter, so I'm afraid I'll have to take her side to let her be happy for the evening. And if that means locking you in here until you can behave," she warned, stepping back, "I won't hesitate to do it."

"But _Granger—_ "

"Have you ever loved anyone like you love Milo?" she asked him. "I know you love Scorp, Draco, but Milo came first, and he's always been like a son to you. I know this isn't about him."

"Maybe it isn't," he growled, "but _still_ —"

"He's a good egg, and he respects our daughter," she said. "I would rather her be in love with him than anyone else."

"MAYBE YOU'RE RIGHT," Draco growled in frustration, "BUT—"

"She's not a child, Draco," Hermione warned. "She's not your princess, she's a _woman_ , and as far as I can tell, her choices are sound."

"But—"

She stepped forward again, kissing him, and for a second he held tight to her waist, desperately wishing he could stop time as he clung to her, the familiar smell of her hair filling him with both nostalgia and fear.

"She grew up so fast," he whispered to her, and Hermione rested her forehead against his, shaking her head.

"Don't I know it," she agreed, and sighed. "Come out when you're ready," she told him. "I believe she's out there with him already. You'll want to see her dress," she added, smiling. "It was her choice, but I think you'll like it."

Draco nodded, and then Hermione stepped back, slipping into the hall.

He waited a moment, gathering his thoughts.

He thought, specifically, of his daughter in her various stages; of the toddler who'd clung to his leg; of the child he'd taught to dance, to sing, to smile; of the teenager he'd learned was funny and clever and vivacious, and who was the best of him and the love of his life combined.

And eventually, recalling how much he quite enjoyed that little human, Draco stepped out of his office, taking a deep breath.

Draco paused at the outskirts of the room, watching as the young blonde woman in the center of the crowd accepted the offer of a young dark-haired man who bowed reverently, taking her hand in his. He watched, too, as the floaty periwinkle gown seemed to draw forth something from his memory; of watching another girl who'd once caught his eye, long before he would ever find it in him to tell her.

He was proud of how much his daughter looked like his wife, even if she bore more obvious traces of him. Rose may have his coloring, he thought, but she carried herself like her mother, and she warmed people like Hermione did, and he was honored to have spent a single moment of her life being the most important man in it—even if he no longer was.

But just as the thought occurred to him, Rose glanced up, catching his eye, and he gave her the broadest smile he could conjure; perhaps it wouldn't be enough, but he raised his glass, toasting her from afar.

She smiled, grateful, and he felt a warmth in his chest.

Perhaps he was still a little important.

"She looks so pretty," he heard beside him, and turned to find Alessia at his side. "Sorry about my brother," she added, shaking her head. "I'm sure you're going to murder him later."

Surprisingly, Draco managed a laugh.

"Don't tell him," Draco warned, "but I actually quite like him. He reminds me of the best man I ever knew," he said, permitting himself a smile. "You might know him."

"Surely you're not talking about my father," Alessia said with a laugh, and Draco smirked.

"Again," he said, "not that I'd ever admit."

Alessia fell silent at that, and then Draco looked over, noting something wistful about her expression.

"Is everything alright?" he asked her, and she grimaced.

"Actually," she sighed, "I think I have something I'm rather afraid to tell my father myself."

Draco realized then what Theo had meant earlier about giving their children a safe space, and he felt an odd sense of relief, wrapping an arm around his goddaughter.

"Come on," he coaxed her gently. "Maybe we can both think of a way to tell him."

Alessia have him a weak half-smile.

"The thing is," she began, but stopped, the sound of shouting suddenly carrying from elsewhere in the house. "What's that?" she asked, and Draco frowned.

"Sounds like your dad," he said, and took off, gesturing for Alessia to follow.

* * *

"Is that yelling?" Esme asked, glancing up, and Harry frowned, hearing it too.

"Come on," he told her, picking her up and taking off at an awkward jog. "That sounds like your Uncle Theo."

He hurried into the kitchen just in time to catch the sound of Theo's words.

"YOU WERE HER TEACHER—"

"Theo, _please—_ "

"—SHE IS NOT A TOY FOR YOU TO PLAY WITH, TEDDY, SHE IS MY _DAUGHTER_ —"

"What's going on?" Harry asked, just as Daphne had to yank Theo back from lunging for Teddy's throat, his fists coiled tightly. "Theo," Harry snapped, stepping between them and using the hand that wasn't holding Esme to wrest them apart, protectively throwing an arm out in front of Teddy. "I understand you're angry about something but you _will not_ lay a hand on my son—"

"He's been sleeping with Alessia," Theo spat furiously, angrier than Harry had ever seen him as the sound of footsteps hurried in behind him. "You had _no right—_ "

"Esme, sweetheart," Ginny said, taking her from Harry's arms just as he registered Luna and Pansy's presence in the room, followed by Hermione, Draco, and Alessia. "Come here, darling, this is for grownups—"

"Why?" Esme whined, which Harry, for once, was pleased to not have to answer.

"It's—you don't understand," Teddy said frantically, still facing Theo. "I wasn't—"

"Daddy, _please_!" Alessia begged, running to him. "Please listen to him, Daddy, it's not what you think—"

"She is twenty years old," Theo said, his face ghostly pale as the words slipped angrily through his teeth. "She's _twenty,_ Teddy, she's _seven years_ younger than you, and she was your _student_ —"

"It didn't start at Hogwarts," Teddy said quickly. "It's—I swear, I—" he turned, his eyes wide as they met Harry's. "I promise, Dad, I _swear_ , I didn't take advantage of her like that—"

"Daddy, who told you?" Alessia asked Theo, and his eyes flicked to Blaise Theodora in the corner. "Dad, come on, don't listen to her—"

" _You_ should have told me," Theo snapped to Teddy. "A _year,_ Teddy? A fucking _year_ you've been sneaking around with my daughter?"

"I—" Teddy grimaced. "With Arthur, and Victoire, I just didn't—"

"Mate," Draco said, taking Theo's arm. "Come on—"

"What's going on?" Scorpius asked, running into the kitchen. "I heard shouting—"

"Scorp, darling, come on," Hermione whispered, taking his arm and leading him out. "Let's just cast a _Muffliato_ , okay? Let them work this out—"

"Daddy, please, I _love_ him," Alessia said, her eyes filling with tears as Ron, who'd walked in with Arthur, glanced over at Pansy. "I know I should have told you—I should have told everyone, but Arthur and I didn't—we just—"

"You knew about this?" Pansy asked her son quietly. "You knew?"

"It's not her fault, Mum," he replied, his voice equally hushed. "She was always honest with me, I promise, but—"

"I can't just let this go, Teddy," Theo said, staring at him, and Harry realized with an odd sense of enlightenment that Teddy's hair matched the precise shade of blue of Alessia's dress, and wondered if perhaps Theo were not jumping to conclusions. "It's my job to protect my daughter, Teddy," Theo seethed, "so if you're just fucking around—"

Teddy, in response, wordlessly pulled something from his pocket, setting it down on the counter in front of Alessia.

"I'm not fucking around," he told Theo, and glanced pointedly at Alessia before turning to walk away, exiting the kitchen.

There was a collective exhale, and then Daphne spoke for the first time, her hand still tight around her husband's arm.

"Is that—"

"Yes," Theo croaked unsteadily, staring at it. "It's a ring."

Alessia looked up, locking eyes with Arthur. "Art, I—"

"No, it's—it's fine," Arthur said, stumbling over his words. "I just—I have to—"

He turned, fleeing the room, and Ron went after him.

"Dad," Rose said, hurrying into the room with her hand in Milo's. "Are you—"

"I need to talk to my children," Theo said flatly, and Milo and Alessia both froze. " _Now_."

Harry watched as across the room, Daphne and Pansy locked eyes.

"Blaise Theodora Weasley," Pansy said, turning to her daughter in the corner. "You and I need to have a talk." She paused, glancing again at Daphne. "And you," she added, slightly softer, and Daphne nodded her tentative agreement, heading towards her.

"Oh dear," Luna said, her fingers closing around Harry's elbow. "I think I may have set a rather unfortunate chain in motion."

"Actually," Harry said, watching Daphne join Pansy, the two women exchanging furtive glances. "I'm not so sure it's as unfortunate as you think."

* * *

Pansy led her daughter into Draco's study, letting Daphne close the door behind them.

"Blaise," she said, the moment the door closed. "You little shit-stirrer."

"Why's _she_ here?" Blaise asked stiffly, glancing up at Daphne, and Pansy sighed.

"Because she's my best friend," Pansy said flatly, "and I'm afraid I haven't set a very good example for you by denying it."

"What does that mean?" Blaise protested, effervescently stubborn, and Daphne perched beside Pansy, waiting.

"Your mother," Pansy told Blaise, taking a deep breath, "is a bit of a difficult human being."

From the corner of her eye, she caught the motion of a smile from Daphne.

"It's very much my move to start a fight like the one you just caused," Pansy added, "but I would hope that the daughter I raised would have a kinder heart than that, Blaise."

"You always say kindness is soft," Blaise said, glancing at her feet. "I just thought it'd be funny."

"It rather wasn't," Daphne said quietly. "I'm afraid your Uncle Theo is really quite upset."

"So?" Blaise asked, not looking up. "He's always upset."

"Theo's usually all bark," Pansy permitted, shaking her head, "but I do think that if Harry hadn't been there, someone might have gotten hurt. There's a right and a wrong way to do things, Blaise," she added, "and this was the wrong way."

"But—"

"You wanted to get Alessia in trouble," Daphne commented gently. "Why?"

Blaise's face contorted. "Mum, she's not—"

"She's right," Pansy warned, shaking her head. "Out with it, Blaise."

Blaise scowled, her lip trembling.

"She's—because you—" her face contorted, and then she exploded. "Because you always act like you wish Alessia had been your daughter!" Blaise suddenly shouted, rising to her feet. "You always said how much you adored her, because she was a Slytherin like you, and she's glamorous _like you_ , and I'm—"

"You're my daughter," Pansy said, aghast, and Blaise let out a wail.

"It's not the same!" she sobbed. "You always make fun of my house, Mum, and you always say I look just like dad—"

"Well, what's wrong with that?" Pansy asked, startled. "I love that man, Blaise—"

"Yes, but—but you have so much more in common with Alessia," Blaise continued, sniffling, "and you always said so, and I heard you—I heard you telling Dad you were so disappointed she wasn't going to be in our family—"

"Well I _was_ , sweetheart, but not to replace you!" Pansy said, alarmed. "Blaise, darling, you're my daughter, I love you—"

"Yes, but do you _like_ me?" Blaise asked her, her eyes wide. "When Arthur and Alessia broke up you started spending time with me instead of Alessia, and—and I _liked_ it, and—"

"Oh, sweetheart," Pansy said, rising to her feet and pulling her daughter into her chest. "I didn't mean to neglect you." She felt a wretched sense of guilt, realizing how much she'd let her daughter down. "I promise you, darling, I've never once wished for you to be anything but you."

She let Blaise cry into her dress for a moment, shaking in her arms.

"I just," Blaise sniffed eventually. "I want you to be proud of me, Mum—"

"I _am_ ," Pansy said. "I'm _so_ proud of you, darling. Of how much better a person you are than me," she added, cupping her daughter's face in her hands. "Of how hard you work, and how much brighter you make the world. And I'm glad for everything you are, because sweetheart, there is more than enough trouble in the world." She swallowed, feeling a crushing blow of remorse, before looking up, meeting Daphne's eye. "I'm sorry, Blaise, that I haven't been the best example of showing you how to put love first."

At that, Blaise pulled away, noting the glance between Pansy and Daphne.

"I think you should talk," she said, wiping at her eyes and taking a step towards the door. "And Aunt Daphne, I'm sorry," she added. "I didn't mean to—"

"It's okay, Blaise," Daphne assured her. "I'm afraid none of us have been very exemplary, but we can change that. Can't we?" she asked, and Pansy nodded as Blaise gave a teary smile, walking quietly to the door and leaving them alone in the room.

There was a beat of silence, and then -

"Clearly we can't fight anymore," Pansy told Daphne flatly. "I'm a horrid mum when you're not around."

"That's not true," Daphne protested, though Pansy rolled her eyes. "No, really, that's not true at _all_ ," she insisted, but Pansy shook her head.

"You knew, didn't you?" Pansy asked. "When Blaise started dyeing her hair, you were the first one who said something. I should have noticed." She grimaced. "I should have done something."

Daphne shook her head. "She idolizes you," she permitted. "But you've never neglected her, Pansy. It was never anything like that."

"Still," Pansy sighed. "It seems she's inherited my insecurity."

"To be fair, she gets it from both sides," Daphne commented wryly, and Pansy made a face, noting the truth in that. "And anyway, it seems my children inherited my selfishness, so there's no winning in this parenting game."

"God, we should have had Hermione raise our children," Pansy muttered, burying her face in her hands. "They're so stable."

"Give them a couple more years," Daphne reminded her, shaking her head. "There's still time for total collapse."

Pansy managed something of a shaky laugh, and Daphne gave her a tentative smile.

"I need you," Pansy confessed. "You balance me. I'm driving Ron insane, and I'm driving my children to deviance."

"I need you, too," Daphne replied without hesitation. "I need to scream to you about my miscreant children running around with people they shouldn't."

"So should we end this, then?" Pansy asked, gesturing to the space between them. " _Can_ we?"

Daphne took a step closer, wrapping her arms around Pansy.

"Welcome back," she said, and Pansy breathed a sigh of relief, holding tight to her best friend.

* * *

"So," Theo said, conjuring sternness. "You've both kept your mother and me completely in the dark so that you could both cause a scene at a Malfoy gala."

"Seems legit," Milo commented, and Theo scowled.

"Don't," he snapped, and rubbed his temple, pacing in front of his children. "You realize, don't you, that you both behaved rather fucking irresponsibly this evening?"

"Says the man who tried to punch someone," Alessia pointed out, and Theo held up a hand.

"Do not get smart with me right now, Alessia," he warned. "You _know_ this was something I should have heard from you."

"Why am I here?" Milo asked brusquely. "I've done nothing."

"Oh, you've done _nothing,_ Milo?" Theo echoed. "You missed the episode of Draco's brain exploding earlier—"

"Again," Alessia said, sighing loudly, " _you_ were—"

"You're my daughter!" Theo snapped, rounding on her. "You are my _daughter,_ " he repeated. "You're my baby. I saw you walk, I saw you talk, I saw you learn everything you know, and if I think someone is taking advantage of you, I will tear them to pieces. I've learned NOTHING from this," he added at a shout, brandishing a finger at her, "and I'll do it all again if I _ever_ have reason to suspect you're being treated badly. I don't care how long we've known Teddy," he added furiously. "When I see a man that much older than you parading around with different women and _then_ I hear he's been sleeping with my daughter—"

"They weren't real," Alessia grumbled. "He just—I told him I wasn't ready to tell people. It's my fault."

"You're damn right it is!" Theo retorted, and then paused, stopping in front of James. "You," he realized, startled. "When did you get here? You're not my kid."

"No," James agreed. "But you looked like you were dispensing advice, and everyone else is busy."

"Fine," Theo permitted roughly, gesturing to the twins. "But these two first."

"Fair," James said, nodding.

"Again," Milo insisted. "I've not done _anything_ , I'm not even sleeping with Rose, so—"

"You're not?" Alessia asked, turning to him. "But you're a filthy slut, aren't you?"

"She says, _ironically,_ " Milo snapped at his sister, as Theo groaned, letting his head fall back.

"First piece of advice," he told James, "do everything in your power not to have twins."

"Noted," James agreed.

"Listen, it's the secrecy here that bothers me," Theo told the other two. "Trust me," he added, "speaking as someone who didn't tell the person I loved how I felt until it was almost too late, I recommend you say everything you need to say sooner rather than later."

"You wrote Mum a book," Milo muttered. "We don't all have that kind of time."

"I've seen those piles of ceaseless word vomit you call letters," Alessia told him. "All you're missing is professional binding."

"YOU ARE THE WORST," Milo growled to her, and Theo sighed.

"You two," he said, pointing at both of them, "need to realize that life is short. That love is _rare_ , and if it's real, you have to be open about it. It's in all this fucking secrecy that conflict festers," he added, waving a hand.

"Is that a book title?" Milo asked, which Theo ignored, despite privately considering that it wasn't a bad idea.

"Alessia, if you love Teddy—"

"I do," she insisted. "But with the whole Arthur thing—"

"Yes, and on that note, you need to take some time away from Arthur," Theo warned. "Let him grieve, Alessia. Let _all_ of us grieve, your mother especially. She put on a front for you, but she was sad, and she lost her friend over this. You owe her an apology."

Alessia hung her head. "I know."

"And you," Theo said, turning sharply to Milo, " _do not_ fuck this up with Rose."

"I won't," he said. "I swear, Dad. I won't."

"Good," Theo said. "I'll kill you myself if you do," he added. "That girl is a fucking angel."

"I KNOW!" Milo barked.

"And as for you," Theo said, turning to James and then pausing, vacantly opening and closing his mouth. "What was it you needed?"

"What was the thing?" James asked, blinking. "That thing about telling the people you love how you feel?"

"That if you can't just tell someone you love them," Daphne interrupted, and Theo turned, smiling in relief at the sight of her, "then it doesn't mean anything." She sidled up to Theo, slipping an arm around his waist. "Right?"

"Yes," Theo said, kissing her forehead. "Take a lesson from me, kids. Don't bother hiding how you feel, it'll only lead to shouting."

"You guys are disgustingly perfect," Milo muttered. "It's gross."

"I'm going to go find Teddy," Alessia said, picking up the ring and sauntering out of the room. "Since unless he's fled the country," she added over her shoulder, "I think I'll be marrying him."

"If you break this one off, you're paying for the deposits!" Theo yelled after her, as Milo came to his feet.

"I'm going to go flirt the pants off Rose," he announced. "Not literally," he assured his mother. "Anyway, she's in a dress."

"Just go," Daphne sighed, shaking her head, and she and Theo looked down at James.

"And as for you?" Theo prompted, and James looked up, smiling his insufferable Potter smile.

"I'm going to go tell my boyfriend I love him," he said, shrugging, "and we'll see what happens after that, I guess."

"Excellent," Theo said, and as James slipped from the room, he turned to Daphne, finally alone. "And you," he murmured, leaning down to kiss her. "Are you all squared away?"

"Oh, very nearly," she confirmed against his lips, pulling at his tie. "A little congress, my good man?"

"I thought you'd never ask," he said, clearing off the counter and setting her on top of it.

* * *

"Well," Ron remarked to Arthur, "I guess I was a bit too hasty when I said we shouldn't tell your mother."

"I should have known Blaise was going to say something," Arthur grumbled, and Ron shrugged.

"The women of this family are mad," he assured him. "Both your mother and Aunt Ginny. It's inescapable. Blaise was fucked from the start."

"Fair," Arthur said, shrugging. "Is it bad that I was glad Uncle Theo tried to hit him?" he asked, and Ron tried his damndest to prevent a laugh.

"I suppose it must have been hard on you to keep it a secret," he said, and paused. "Why did you, actually?"

Arthur glanced at his feet, shaking his head. "She asked me to," he said quietly, and all at once, seeing his devastation, Ron realized why Pansy had been so willing to go to war over her son's broken heart, and privately, he made a note to thank her for it later.

"You know," Ron said, sighing. "Your mother was the last person I thought I'd find myself involved with. But do you know how long it took to fall in love with her once I did?"

Arthur shrugged.

"About twenty minutes," Ron said. "I married her after six months."

"Dad, that's—" Arthur paused, frowning. "Deeply irresponsible of you."

"Yeah, well, I've done worse things, but that's neither here nor there," Ron said. "The point is, I spent years wondering why things weren't working with Hermione, and then the minute I opened myself to the possibility of someone else, I found the world's most perfect, _imperfect_ person." He looked up, catching her oncoming form, and smiled. "And thank god, too."

"What are you prattling on about, Weasley?" she sniffed, though she leaned her cheek against his chest as he slid his arm around her. "Not boring our son, are you?"

Arthur smiled faintly.

"I'm a bit bored," he admitted, and glanced across the room. "And that girl over there's quite pretty, isn't she?"

"She's in my house," Blaise Theodora said, suddenly appearing at Ron's other side. "She was three years above me."

"A Hufflepuff," Pansy noted. "We could use more of that in the family, don't you think?"

Blaise beamed, and Ron kissed her forehead.

"Jesus, Mum, don't get ahead of yourself," Arthur said, rolling his eyes, and then he took off, approaching the girl and tapping her on the shoulder.

"What a little dick," Pansy said fondly, and Ron laughed.

"He gets it from his mother," he assured her, as Pansy promptly backhanded him in the chest.

* * *

"Why was everyone shouting?" Esme asked, looking up at Blaise.

"Because they're all lunatics," he replied, and Esme nodded sagely.

"Give me one minute, will you?" Ginny asked, kissing her husband's cheek. "Going to go find Kingsley to tell him I'll take the job."

"Excellent," Blaise said, picking up Esme. "Mummy and Daddy are going to buy a new house, Esme."

"Can I come?" she asked, very seriously.

"I will consider it," he confirmed, and Ginny laughed, turning to look for Kingsley.

She paused, scanning the room. She noted Arthur talking to a girl, and Ron standing a bit further off, smiling his approval; beside him, Pansy toasted her daughter, both appearing to be gossiping delightedly about someone else in the room. Draco and Hermione stood arm in arm, fondly watching their daughter dance with Milo, and she saw Teddy bend to kiss Alessia, the ring on her finger flashing as she slipped her hand around his cheek.

Ginny also saw a flash of pale blond from the corner of her eye, and despite seeing Kingsley across the room, she followed it, catching Scorpius as he let his head fall against the wall.

"You doing okay, Scorp?" she asked, and he jumped.

"Is there something I can get you, Aunt Ginny?" he asked her. "Do you need a drink, or—"

"You're more neurotic than usual," she noted, frowning. "What's wrong? Oh, wait," she realized, blinking. "Is this why James is asking everyone for advice?"

Scorpius groaned. "Is he?" he asked, looking pained. "It's just—it's a job offer, and I guess he's hesitant to tell me, so—"

"Ah, job offer," Ginny said. "I can relate."

Scorpius blinked. "Really?"

"Come on, Scorp, I'm not _that_ old," Ginny said, shaking her head. "I still encounter life-changing decisions, you know."

"I didn't mean—" he grimaced. "I just—"

"Look, Scorp, I know you're a very serious kind of dude," Ginny told him, slipping an arm around his waist, "but you should know that not every decision you make has to change your whole future. It's okay to be young while you're young," she told him, and he chewed his lip, thinking it over.

"Don't be offended," he said slowly, "but—"

"Do I regret having a kid late in life?" she guessed, and he nodded slowly, looking sheepish. "No, not at all," she said, realizing how much she meant it as she said it. "Sure, I did it differently than your parents did, but not everybody follows the same path. I'm glad I have Esme _now_ ," she added. "I had all this adventure while I was playing professionally, but the truth is that the best adventures of my life are still happening to me. Watching my daughter grow, helping her learn," she explained. "That's my favorite job right now," she admitted slowly, "but I'm not sure it would have been ten years ago."

Scorpius nodded, processing it.

"I have a job here," he said slowly. "Dad says I have a bright future."

"And you do," Ginny confirmed. "But your bright future doesn't have an end. Life has lots of stops and starts," she added, reaching back to squeeze his shoulder. "You know what I mean?"

"Kind of," he said, though he still looked a bit pained, and Ginny laughed, kissing his cheek.

"Nothing's ever too late, Scorp," she said firmly. "It's never, ever too late to have the life you want."

At that, he finally permitted a smile.

"Thanks Aunt Ginny," he said, and looked up, catching James' eye. "I'm going to go tell the love of my life that I'll travel the world with him, if he wants."

"That's a good lad," she agreed, and gave him a nudge, smiling as he went. "And I," she murmured to herself, aiming herself at Kingsley, "will similarly start anew."

* * *

"Did James ever find you?" Harry asked, his arm slung comfortably around his wife's shoulders. "He seems to be struggling with something."

"He looks cured now," Luna noted, nodding as she watched him approach Scorpius. "He had some wrackspurts earlier, but I'd say they're gone now. He got a job, you know," she added, turning to Harry. "Gringotts hired him as a curse-breaker."

"Really?" Harry asked, surprised. "He never told me."

"He never told me, either," Luna agreed. "But he thinks I don't know about the books Bill's given him over the years, or the fact that Gringotts called me for a reference."

"You?" Harry asked, surprised. "He's _James Potter_ , what sort of reference do they need?"

"Well, that's how I know he got it," she said, laughing, and they watched as their son threw his arms around Scorpius, his fingers coiled tightly in the blond man's robes. "And now, I suspect," she judged, tapping her mouth, "that Scorpius is likely going with him."

"You're so observant," Harry said, though by the look of it, he agreed. "Notice anyone having congress?" he joked.

"I still have my suspicions," Luna permitted, "though I've been advised not to voice them. What about you?" she asked, turning to him. "I saw you spent most of the evening with Esme."

"Yes," Harry said, watching Blaise dance with her on his toes and indulging a smile. "She's sort of wonderful."

"And," Luna noted, "you called Teddy your son tonight."

"I did, didn't I?" Harry asked, watching Theo walk over to offer Teddy his hand, shaking it with an apologetic smile. "I suppose I'm feeling parental." He turned to Luna, considering her. "You wouldn't want another one, would you?"

Her brow furrowed. "Another baby?"

"We could adopt one," Harry suggested. "Maybe one that's Esme's age?"

"That could be nice," Luna permitted. "I think Kreacher misses having children in the house."

"Ah, yes," Harry said, laughing. "Kreacher hasn't had his nails done in ages."

"They're all so grown up," Luna commented, watching Theo and Daphne walk over to Ron and Pansy, laughing at something, as Draco and Hermione joined them, followed by Blaise, Esme, and Ginny. "Don't you think?"

Harry laughed.

"Come on," he said, slipping her hand in his and pulling her towards their friends. "You've done enough observing for the evening, love."

"Did anyone see where Minerva and Lee got off to?" Luna asked innocently, as Daphne and Pansy exchanged conspiratorial glances.

"Not this again," Theo groaned, making room for them in the circle. "Not suspected congress, is it?"

"What's that mean?" Esme asked, and they all laughed.

"Nothing," they told her, and Harry smiled.

All was well.

* * *

 **a/n:** coming up soon—a Dramione honeymoon for Sally's birthday, a Harlots AU for Aurora's birthday, and a new series, _Sex Diaries_. Thanks, as always, for reading!


	74. SPEW

**S.P.E.W.**

 _Pairing:_ Theomione bromance (Theo x Hermione friendship)

 _Universe:_ Goblet of Fire, Year 4 AU

 _Rating:_ T for language

 _Summary:_ I suggested in an ask on Tumblr that perhaps if Theo and Hermione had been friends while they were at Hogwarts, he might have been a contributing member of S.P.E.W. Then I wrote a little drabble about it for clausumcormeum, to clear my head before returning to my many, many current drafts.

* * *

"You coming?" Draco asked.

Theo grimaced, glancing between Draco's two stooges.

 _What?_ Draco had protested their first year, feigning ignorance when Theo had asked why Crabbe and Goyle were in their train compartment. _They do what they're told._

 _Didn't realize that was important,_ Theo commented unhappily, and Draco shrugged.

 _Is,_ he said simply.

"Nah," Theo said. "I've got some things to finish up."

Draco frowned.

"You've been finished with Snape's parchment for ages," he said. "What _things_?"

Crabbe's thick brow rose, expectant.

Theo couldn't decide if he loathed him, or simply wished he were dead.

"Other things," Theo supplied. "See you later."

Draco shrugged. "Bye, then," he said, and turned towards the Great Hall as Theo approached the corridor, deciding at the last second to head to the library.

He turned the corner, aiming for the stairs, when he collided with something—a box, he realized faintly, and behind it, a head of frizzy brown hair.

"Oops," said Hermione Granger, as the contents of the box scattered across the floor. "Sorry. _Evanesco,_ " she murmured, returning what appeared to be a series of brightly-colored badges to the box she'd been carrying. She looked up, seeming like she wanted to say something, but decided against it; her mouth tightened with whatever withheld thing had been on her tongue but she ducked her head, budging around him.

"Hey," Theo said, stopping her to glance into the box. "What's this?"

She sighed. "You'll only laugh," she said, and turned to leave.

Theo frowned.

"Maybe I won't," he said brusquely, stepping after her. "I hardly think I'm that predictable."

She arched a brow.

"I should think you _are_ , actually," she told him, her gaze dropping conspicuously to his Slytherin tie before returning, meeting his eye with irritation. "So why don't you just call me a mudblood and be done with it, then, Nott?"

"Hey," Theo snapped, scowling. "Don't tell me what to do. What's in there?" he demanded, peering into the box. "What's spew?"

Hermione groaned aloud.

"It's S-P-E-W," she enunciated crisply, "and it stands for the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare. But I haven't got all day, Nott, so—"

"Elfish _welfare_?" Theo echoed, puzzled. "Are they unwell?"

"Well—" she trailed off, blinking. "I mean, yes. Obviously."

"Don't patronize me, Granger," Theo scoffed. "If they're unwell, I want to see literature on the subject. I want to see a mission statement," he began. "A manifesto, a series of relevant published works, statistics, if you have them—"

"Right here," she said, and slipped a piece of parchment free from the box's contents, though she looked consummately befuddled as she handed it to him. "I mean, I assume you're mocking me, but—"

"Assume nothing," Theo retorted. "Assumptions are an idiot's endeavor."

She frowned. "You mean a fool's errand?"

He rolled his eyes. "Christ, Granger, contain yourself," he muttered, skimming the manifesto. "So what's this? You want a change in the legal status of house elves?" He looked up. "Not from creature to _human_ , surely?"

"I—" she stared at him. "Well, yes!"

He tilted his head, considering it. "But that would necessitate—what, voting rights?" he asked. "Rights to own property?"

"Well, yes, but—"

"Wages, I presume," he murmured to himself, and glanced at her. "Plus health benefits? Holidays?"

"I mean, that's a fundamental—"

"What about childcare?" he asked, and paused. "Do elves even have children?"

She huffed, agitated. "I would _assume_ —"

"Assuming again," he tutted, flipping to the back of the parchment. "Pretty fucking beneath you, Granger."

"What?" she demanded, taken aback, which he ignored.

"This would positively _infuriate_ my father," Theo commented, humming thoughtfully. "I'd be willing to bet my fortune that he'd have a full psychotic break if one of our elves asked for medical coverage."

Hermione sighed, withering slightly at that. "Well, like I said, I didn't think you'd be—"

"Who's involved in this?" Theo cut in loudly. "Potter and Weasley?"

"I haven't actually asked them yet," Hermione said, fidgeting, "but yes, I think, so—"

"I'd hoped not," Theo commented, feeling his expression sour, "as I would think that neither Weasley nor Potter possess the necessary intelligence to comprehend the heading, much less the content. Though, I suppose their involvement would only further unnerve my father," he realized thoughtfully. "So it's not entirely a loss."

Hermione's eyes widened. "What are you—"

"Well, what's our plan?" Theo pressed. "I see a whole lot of ideological word-vomit, Granger," he added, waving the manifesto around, "but hardly any concrete ideas. What are we _doing_ , what are we _selling_ , who are we _petitioning—_ "

"Um," Hermione said, chewing her lip. "I didn't—I wasn't quite—"

"I want competent leadership," Theo informed her. "I _require_ it. Are you a competent leader?"

She stared at him.

"I—" she paused, and then stomped her foot. "Yes, Nott, I am!"

"Well, good, then," Theo ruled, glancing back at the box. "I can have a green one, yeah? Matches my eyes," he explained, gesturing to them. "I like to keep a consistent aesthetic, if you don't mind."

She seemed torn, her brow deeply furrowed.

"It's two sickles to join," she told him dazedly, and he dug into his pocket, feeling around for spare change.

"Here," he said, dropping them in her hand. "Now. What's step one?"

"Recruitment," she suggested, and he made a face.

"No," he said flatly. "I don't know if you know this about me, but I hate people."

She seemed unsurprised.

"I don't really care for them either," she admitted, and he nodded.

"Good. So no recruitment. Something else," he suggested, and for a moment she bit her lip, thinking.

"Well," she said, and looked up. "You can't knit, can you?"

Theo scoffed loudly.

"Granger," he said. "Anything you can do, I can do _better_."

* * *

"Nobody wants to join," Hermione complained, throwing down the box. "Not even Harry and Ron are very helpful."

"Eh, who needs 'em," Theo said, his tongue caught between his teeth as he focused intently on a recalcitrant loop stitch. "No offense, but it's not like they're even that good at their current hobbies."

"What hobbies?" Hermione asked.

"You know," Theo said, shrugging. "Living. Breathing. Existing—"

"You should be nicer to them, you know," she sighed. "There's no reason for you to be such an unbearable prick all the time, Nott."

"Yes, actually, there is," Theo corrected. "And anyway, this isn't about friendship."

"It isn't?" Hermione asked. "Then what's it about?"

Theo sighed, setting down his knitting.

"Elves," he began, and paused. "Sorry, hold that thought. Primarily, it's rebellion against the establishment," he amended, enumerating on his fingers, " _then_ mutiny against my father, then the promotion of chaos by intellectuals against the mindless sheep of damaging, consumer-driven ideologies, plus the eventual overthrow of current institutions—oh, and I'm obviously including the vitriolic opposition to ongoing regimes of prejudice and oppression in that, as well as any natural, entropic inclination towards anarchy—and _then_ elves—"

"Your priorities," Hermione said, pursing her lips. "They're suspect."

"Well, your knitting is lumpy," Theo reminded her. "So we've all got flaws."

"It's not lumpy!" she said, brutally offended. "It's—it's just—"

"It's lumpy," he repeated firmly, picking up the socks he'd been working on. "But it's fine, Granger, you're permitted your shortcomings."

She opened her mouth to argue and then stopped, catching sight of someone behind them.

"Granger," Theo heard Draco drawl, "what are you—"

He stopped.

"Theo?" he ventured, bewildered, and Theo turned.

"Yes?" he asked, innocently, as Draco stared in confusion.

"What," Draco began, " _on earth_ are you doing?"

"I'm clearly knitting, Draco," Theo sniffed, as Draco's pale brow furrowed, aggressively bemused. "You've obviously been spending too much time with Crabbe and Goyle," Theo added slyly, turning back to the table. "It's beginning to affect your capacity for simple deduction."

Across from him, Hermione stifled a giggle. Theo, knowing Draco as he did, assumed the other boy's pale cheeks were burning, and hid a smile of his own.

"What the fuck?" Draco said eventually.

"It's a bit warm right here, isn't it? Full of hot air," Theo announced, smirking. "Come on, Granger," he sniffed to Hermione, flicking his wand for his knitting materials to follow. "These socks aren't going to knit themselves."

She grinned.

"See you, Malfoy," she sang, following Theo out of the library as Draco remained, mouth open, to stare after them in silence.

* * *

"So, you're clearly cross with Malfoy," Hermione remarked, handing Theo one of her lumpy hats as they made their way down to the kitchen. "Why?"

"I'm not _cross_ with him, Granger, I'm not a child," Theo retorted. "Besides, it's not like he needs to question me about _my_ activities when _he's_ always off with those buffoonish twits he calls friends _,_ so—"

"Mm, so you're jealous, then," Hermione commented, making her swotty little tsk-ing sound. "I thought you were above that sort of thing, Nott."

"What, above basic human emotion?" Theo echoed, scoffing. "How rude of you, Granger. And anyway, I'm not jealous. I just don't like them," he delivered flatly. "That's all."

"You like Malfoy, though," Hermione noted, toying with her hair. "He's your only other friend, isn't he?"

" _Other_ friend, Granger?" Theo prompted dubiously, glancing at her. "Are you counting yourself among my friends now?"

She paused abruptly, turning to face him.

"What do you think we are?" she asked.

"We're colleagues," Theo told her. "Associates. Intellectual equals."

"We're hardly equals," Hermione said, and then she rolled her eyes, rather obnoxiously.

"See this?" Theo asked, gesturing to her. " _This_ is why you're not my friend."

She sighed.

"If you say so," she said, reaching out to tickle the pear.

* * *

"You know, if you stare any harder, you'll burn a hole through her," Theo commented, watching Draco follow Hermione's motion across the room.

"I'm not staring at her," Draco said, and then frowned. "Staring at who?"

Theo eyed him skeptically.

"I'm _not_ ," Draco insisted, and turned back to the table. "What's this you're knitting now?" he demanded gruffly, changing the subject.

"A jumper," Theo said, holding it up. "To be honest, I think I have a future in elfin fashions. I really nail the angles of the should-"

" _Stop_ ," Draco groaned. "You're not actually _enjoying_ this, are you?"

"Of course not," Theo assured him. "I got a howler from my father, though. He got one of our newsletters."

"I didn't know Granger was doing newsletters," Draco muttered. "You'd think she'd know not to send one to your father."

"She isn't," Theo said smartly. " _I_ am."

Draco sighed.

"You know you're just asking for trouble," he remarked, shaking his head.

"Am I?" Theo asked. "Huh. I rather thought I was _luring_ it in, but if all I'm doing is _asking,_ then—"

He stopped as Hermione offered him a small wave across the Great Hall, and Draco, who'd once again been staring, promptly averted his gaze.

"You know," Theo told Draco, waving back to Hermione. "I think she might actually like you if you could just manage to control your more dickish impulses."

"Shut up," Draco muttered, his cheeks flushing violently as he scowled.

* * *

"You think Malfoy would join?" Hermione asked, handing a pamphlet to a villager and sighing as they gave her a viciously dirty look. "I think we need more members."

"I don't think he'd provide much," Theo said, lazily waving his wand to stick a few pamphlets to the display outside the Three Broomsticks. "He's not so keen on upsetting his dad. Also, he's hardly any contributing factor for morale, honestly."

Hermione nodded. "Still," she lamented. "He's popular—for whatever inane reason," she muttered under her breath, and Theo nodded his fervent agreement, "so maybe more people would listen to _him_ —"

"Potter's popular," Theo commented, pinning a badge to a tree. "He hasn't had much luck."

"Well, he's not really trying," Hermione sighed. "And anyway, he's got the tournament, so—"

"Ah, right," Theo said. "So he could die any minute, then." She glanced at him, snottily displeased. "What?" he prompted, returning her glare with a scowl. "I mean, rest in peace, obviously, he'll be missed or whatever—"

"Nott," Hermione groaned. "Do you ever wonder if maybe people would like you more if you weren't such a prat all the time?"

"Nope," he said. "Do you wonder if people would like you more if you weren't such a swot all the time, Granger?"

She paused, considering it.

"Yes," she said, almost sadly. "But I'm not sure I can help it."

Theo sighed, kicking himself.

"Eh, fuck 'em. Come on," he said, giving her shoulder a nudge. "Let's try the Hog's Head. Lots of lunatics there."

She smiled weakly.

"Okay," she agreed.

* * *

"You do realize that your sheets are changed, your fires lit, your classrooms cleaned, and your food cooked by a group of magical creatures who are unpaid and enslav—"

Theo stopped, groaning.

"Oh my god," he said. "I sound just like her, don't I?"

"Yeah," Daphne agreed, grimacing. "I mean. No offense, but kinda."

He wondered, briefly, when the hell that had happened; but in the end he simply shrugged, deciding it not worth the study.

"Well?" he demanded, crossing his arms over his chest. "Are you in?"

Pansy paused, glancing at Daphne.

"Do you have blue badges?" she asked. "Like, a _pretty_ blue," she added. "Something feminine, you know?"

"Teal," Daphne suggested, nodding her agreement. "Do you have teal?"

Theo, to his utter disbelief, felt himself crack a smile.

"Yes," he said. "Yes, we do."

* * *

"I can't believe it," Hermione whispered, staring out at the classroom. A dozen or so heads lounged in the chairs, waiting expectantly for the meeting to start. "How did you manage this?"

Theo looked up, catching sight of Draco as he slunk quietly into the corner.

Notably, he was absent two bullies, which Theo made a mental note to politely _not_ comment on later.

"Magic, Granger," Theo replied briskly, and turned. "Now, are you going to start this fucking meeting or what?"

She took a deep breath, preparing herself, and shifted to face the others.

"Hello," she began. "As most of you know, I'm Hermione Granger, president of this organization, and this is Theo Nott, vice president. And _this_ —" she paused, glancing around the room before landing on Theo with a smile. "This is S.P.E.W."

* * *

 _ **a/n:** Special thanks to Sally for the rush edit before I wandered out the door. Hope you like it, clausumcormeum! More stories coming this weekend._


	75. Vive le Tour

**Vive Le Tour**

 _Pairing:_ Mulcibery (Darian Mulciber x Caleb Avery), background Nottpott (Theo Nott x Harry Potter)

 _Universe:_ Muggle AU, time is a construct

 _Rating:_ M for language, sex

 _Summary:_ Darian Mulciber has won the Tour de France for the last five years as the lead for Team Slytherin, along with rising sprinting star Theo Nott. Little does anyone know, though, that Mulciber and his nemesis Caleb Avery have quite a complicated history—and right from the start, both Tour contenders know that it's going to be a long, long ride to Paris.

 _(Mr Blake is a professional cyclist, so I couldn't resist this AU; this isn't his genre of racing, but come on, who doesn't love the Tour? … okay, most people, true, but even if you don't, there's at least Luna and Lee to look forward to.)_

* * *

 **STAGE ONE:  
Flat Stage  
** _Audio Broadcast_

 **Lee:** "Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you for tuning into this year's Tour de France broadcast, hosted by myself, Lee Jordan, and my colleague, Luna Lovegood."

 **Luna:** "Hello, muggles!"

 **Lee:** "I can't promise that's not an offensive term, but I _can_ promise that we've got a great first stage for you today! As you can see, wearing the number one in the green-and-silver jersey of Team Slytherin is Darian Mulciber, the returning champion of last year's coveted yellow jersey. What can we expect from him this year, Luna?"

 **Luna:** "Madness!"

 **Lee:** "Yes, of course, always! And nearby with Team TMR—bearing the initials of billionaire owner Tom Marvolo Riddle—is Caleb Avery, a new favorite this year! He won big last year in the Classics, dominating both Paris-Nice and Paris-Roubaix, but has not been present in the Tour since he was previously Darian Mulciber's domestique on Team Slytherin. Care to explain to the audience what a domestique is, Luna?"

 **Luna:** "Like a house elf for bikes!"

 **Lee:** "Yes, quite right, a domestique is a rider who works for the benefit of his team and leader, rather than trying to win the race himself. The fact is, of course, that quite a lot of energy can be saved by riding in the slipstream, and Caleb Avery was Darian Mulciber's favorite super-domestique for, what, about four years?"

 **Luna:** "Wrackspurts!"

 **Lee:** "I agree, it's definitely going to be something to watch as Mulciber and Avery face off in cycling's most prominent venue for the first time since Avery joined Team TMR. And how about our sprinters? Team Slytherin is positively _stacked_ this year with both yellow jersey contender Mulciber and sprinter Theo Nott, who won four stages at this year's Giro d'Italia and seems to be coming into his own. No telling, of course, whether Nott will be a match for Harry Potter of Phoenix-Hogwarts, who snatched up the green jersey last year for the points competition in the Tour, but only time will tell. I, for one, predict that it will be a close race indeed by the time they cross that finish line in Paris."

 **Luna:** "The sexual tension is palpable!"

 **Lee:** "Ah, Luna. Luna, Luna, Luna. You just say the damndest things."

 **oOo**

 _He hasn't spoken to me yet. Sure, he's surrounded by his team and I'm surrounded by mine and there's not exactly what I'd call privacy, but still. There's a certain amount of respect reserved for the previous yellow jersey winner, and it's just like him to completely disregard every facet of cycling etiquette._

 _He was always fond of chaos, really. Not like me. I like order, regularity, strategy. Not to say I won't attack when the time is right—unlike fucking Karkaroff, who's always playing it safe, the little shit—but I was always a little more rigid than he was. Caleb was fucking transcendent on a bike and that's what I loved most, I think. Sure, his power output was off the charts, and he had quads like a fucking horse—but_ man _, did he look like he was having fun. Even after he inevitably got dropped and I kept going, he always had that smile on his face. That look of satisfaction. I loved to win_ — _loved how I felt in yellow_ — _but Caleb loved to bike._

 _No wonder I fell in love with him._

 **oOo**

 _ **Three Years Ago**_

"Personal best," Caleb announced, grinning, as he came out of the hotel room's bathroom, brushing his teeth and checking the stats from his power meter. "Maybe," he began, spitting into the sink, "I should just fuck off as your domestique and become a sprinter for myself."

"Keep dreaming, Avery," Darian said from his twin bed, rolling his eyes. "One stage win does not a sprinter make."

"You're just jealous that I'm in yellow to start the race," Caleb said, running his hand through his damp curls and falling into the bed at the other end of the room with a laugh. "Not to worry, Mulciber," he assured him, closing his eyes. "You'll put me to shame in the time trials."

"I know I will," Darian agreed, trying not to let his gaze linger as Caleb shifted on the bed, the towel around his waist slipping to reveal the muscle of his upper thigh. "Not to mention that you can't climb for shit, Avery."

Caleb grinned, his eyes fluttering open as he shifted upright.

"You don't have to pretend, you know," he commented, and Darian swallowed, glancing at him.

"What?" he asked neutrally.

Caleb's tongue slid out from between his lips, passing over them and accommodating another golden smile.

"I know you think I'm a cycling god," Caleb joked, slipping under the covers and tossing the towel aside.

Darian watched it fall.

Imagined him, bare under the sheets, and swallowed.

"Keep dreaming, Avery," he forced out again, compelling himself to sleep.

* * *

 **STAGE TWO:  
Individual Time Trials  
** _Audio Broadcast_

 **Lee:** "Well, the individual time trials are without a doubt _ultra_ -competitive among these teams, and what a way to start! In the time trials, each individual competes _alone_ for a timed race—which means what, Luna?"

 **Luna:** "Mayhem!"

 **Lee:** "Yes, exactly, mayhem, and _also_ it means that it requires a separate set of skills from, say, the mountain stages. Now, seeing as Team Slytherin's Thorfinn Rowle managed to scrape out a win yesterday, should we expect total domination from the boys in green-and-silver? Presumably team leader Darian Mulciber will not be reaching _quite_ so early to clinch the yellow jersey, but do we suspect it sparks up old rivalries, noting that one of his domestiques once again clinches a first stage win in the Tour de France?"

 **Luna:** "I hope so!"

 **Lee:** "Well, hope springs eternal in Dusseldorf today, Luna, especially for Team TMR, who came out hoping for a win. Do we think Caleb Avery can best Darian Mulciber for the best time trial of the day?"

 **Luna:** "When is a door not a door?"

 **Lee:** "When it's ajar! Well said, Luna. Well said indeed."

 **oOo**

 _I absolutely loathe time trials._

 _Sure, cycling is an individual sport, but I've never actually enjoyed doing it by myself. So little of it is spent alone, really. Training is done in groups—in pairs, at least—and I rarely do anything by myself; not like Darian. Maybe that's what made him such a better cyclist. He likes the solitude of winning; I always watched the focus on his face when he took the lead, leaving everyone else in his dust. He's most comfortable on his own. Critics mock him for the way he's always looking down, the way he never takes his eyes off his own bike, but that's the winner in him. The victor. Darian Mulciber is riding entirely for Darian Mulciber, and there could be an attack from a rider or a herd of storming buffaloes and Darian Mulciber will still find a way to win, because he is never distracted. Never deterred._

 _I hate time trials. There's nobody here but me._

 _I wonder if that's how Darian feels now that I'm gone._

 **oOo**

 _ **Three Years Ago**_

"Practically threw that yellow jersey out the window, didn't you?" Darian asked, shaking his head as Caleb fell on the duvet with a groan. "Maybe stay a domestique for a while, or go back to your sprinting dreams—"

"Can you not mock me right now, Mulciber?" Caleb retorted, scowling. "Better watch it, or I won't ride into the wind for you tomorrow."

"You will," Darian said, arching a brow. "You always do."

"Maybe I won't," Caleb shot back. "I mean, if you're going to be so helplessly smarmy about it, then I don't see why I should."

"Aside from the paycheck?" Darian asked, and Caleb shrugged. "Is there some other reward you're working for?"

Caleb looked up, eyeing the muscle of Darian's chest. He was surprisingly muscular for a cyclist, Caleb thought, but appealingly so. Even with the strident, violently oppressive suntan on his arms and legs, Darian's musculature had a certain intriguing appeal.

"Maybe there is," Caleb murmured.

Darian didn't notice.

* * *

 **STAGE THREE:  
Medium Mountain Stage  
** _Audio Broadcast_

 **Lee:** "Well, I think we're all still recovering from yesterday's surprise as Caleb Avery, a notoriously weak time trialist, managed to snatch the yellow jersey out from under Team Slytherin with an impressive first place finish, edging out Darian Mulciber for the stage win by less than _half a second,_ my word, and—OH MY, LOOK AT THAT! THERE'S BEEN A CRASH TEN METERS FROM THE FINISH!"

 **Luna:** "Somebody check for dementors!"

 **Lee:** "It appears that Theo Nott on Team Slytherin attempted to muscle his way past Potter from Phoenix-Hogwarts, only to be met with Potter's elbow! My word, that's quite a finish to today's stage! A questionable one, for sure—and it looks like Caleb Avery holds onto his early yellow jersey lead, but will it last?"

 **Luna:** "Nothing yellow can stay!"

 **Lee:** "I agree wholeheartedly, Luna. It seems Mulciber and Team Slytherin have their work cut out for them on this one!"

 **oOo**

"Hey, you fucker," Theo snarled, grabbing Harry's shoulder and dragging him back. "What the fuck was that? You could have killed us _both_ —"

"It's a race, Nott," Harry replied, sounding bored. "It's the fucking _Tour_ , and you didn't have the lane."

"Like hell I didn't!" Theo shouted, giving him a shove. "You know the rules, Potter, you _know_ I could have you dismissed from the race if I request race analysis," he threw out wildly, "just on the basis of fucking _safety_ —"

"Do it, then," Harry said, shrugging. "Go ahead."

Theo gaped at him. "You can't be serious."

" _You're_ the one who's not serious," Harry returned, arching a brow. "You get rid of me, Nott, and you've got no one worth racing. Are you really telling me you'd take your win by default?"

"I will if you're going to fucking cheat!" Theo snarled, clenching a fist.

Harry shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I didn't cheat," he said flatly, and turned. "Suck my dick, Nott," he tossed over his shoulder, and Theo scowled.

"LICK MY BALLS, POTTER!" he shouted, and then he, too, turned in the opposite direction, stomping away from the other man and throwing his helmet into the team car.

 **oOo**

 _Caleb's tense today. I can see it on his face. Wearing the yellow jersey makes him a target for the entire field, and he's never much enjoyed that. I doubt he's enjoying it now. Sure, he managed to hold onto his win, but it won't be long. I know him. He'll break in the mountains._

 _I will break him in the mountains._

 _He still wears his curls long. When he takes off his helmet they're matted close to his head from sweat and he rakes his hand through them._

 _I wonder if he thinks about my hands._

* * *

 **STAGE FOUR:  
Flat Stage  
** _Audio Broadcast_

 **Lee:** "Things are quiet in the peloton today. Do you think the main field is tired, Luna?"

 **Luna:** "Goodnight, moon!"

 **Lee:** "There's still much left in the tour, but at least we'll h- OH MY, AND LOOK AT THIS! THERE'S BEEN ANOTHER ATTACK!"

 **Luna:** "Holy nargles!"

 **Lee:** "Darian Mulciber and Thorfinn Rowle have broken away from the peloton, and—OH, AND IT LOOKS LIKE CALEB AVERY IS FOLLOWING! AVERY IS FOLLOWING WITH ROOKWOOD! My, oh my, this is an exciting stage, never a dull moment during the Tour, and—OH MY, AVERY HAS A TECHNICAL! HE'S SIGNALING FOR THE TEAM CAR! Avery needs help and Mulciber is _not slowing down_ , he and Rowle are going for it!"

 **Luna:** "Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!"

 **Lee:** "It looks like Avery's about to lose his yellow jersey!"

 **oOo**

"My tire blew," Caleb shouted into his radio. "Get me Dolohov's bike _now_ , or I'm going to fucking lose this to Mulciber—"

"It's only the fourth stage," Tom replied coolly, his voice low in Caleb's earpiece. "You'll get it back. Just wait for the team car."

"This is _Darian Mulciber_ we're talking about," Caleb yelled, growling aloud as the last of the peloton's riders whizzed past him. "We don't have the luxury of giving him even a second's advantage!"

"Rookwood, stay on Mulciber," Tom said. "Keep him out of a stage win."

"On it," Augustus agreed over the mic, and Caleb let out a primally urgent shout, slamming a fist into the window of the team car as he dragged behind the fray.

 **oOo**

 _I hate losing to him._

 _More than that, though, I hate seeing Rowle in my place._

* * *

 **STAGE FIVE:  
Medium Mountain Stage  
** _Audio Broadcast_

 **Lee:** "Alright, well, this is shaping up to be a rather exciting day for the climbers! Who do we think is looking good for a polka dot jersey, Luna?"

 **Luna:** "Godric Gryffindor!"

 **Lee:** "Ah, Luna. What funny things live in that enigmatic little head of yours. And what do we have to say about the ongoing battle between Caleb Avery and Darian Mulciber? It appeared there was some sort of interaction between them for a moment when Avery decided to attack yellow jersey Mulciber on the climb—rather unorthodox, wouldn't you say?"

 **Luna:** "The unorthest of doxies!"

 **Lee:** "Meanwhile, Potter and Nott are holding on at the back of the peloton, but with tomorrow's sprint stage, who knows what their rivalry has in store? Never a dull day at the Tour de France!"

 **Luna:** "Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure!"

 **Lee:** "Never a truer word!"

 **oOo**

"What the fuck?" Darian hissed as he climbed down from the podium, catching sight of Caleb and dragging him behind one of the trailers. "You're really going to attack on a _climb_ , Avery? Have you lost your mind?"

"Oh, fuck off," Caleb said, snatching his arm from Darian's grip. "I'm not the same cyclist I was when I trained with you. Don't make the mistake of underestimating me," he warned, which Darian did not take particularly well.

"Don't act like that's what this is about," he said grimly, and Caleb's mouth tightened.

"What's it about, then, Darian?" he prompted, crossing his arms expectantly.

At that, Darian stared at him, blinking, and abruptly realized with a dissatisfied lurch that this was the first time they had spoken in three years.

"You don't get to walk away from my team—from _me_ ," Darian stammered furiously, "and then come back here just to disrespect the yellow jersey—"

"You and that jersey aren't the fucking same, Darian," Caleb snapped, cutting him off. "You attacked me first, in case you forgot, and just because you have it now—" he trailed off, the muscle clenching around his jaw, and shook his head, deciding something for himself. "And anyway," he added, his teeth slicing against his lip, "I didn't fucking walk away from you."

Darian swallowed a mouthful of rage.

"You look shit in that jersey," he said, and then he pivoted away, not looking back.

 **oOo**

 _ **Three Years Ago**_

"Can you get this knot out?" Caleb complained, reaching for his left shoulder. "I called for a trainer but I don't know, Dippet's being a little shit—"

"Yeah, fine," Darian said, sitting up and gesturing for Caleb to sit on the floor. Caleb let out a sigh of relief, settling himself between Darian's legs and leaning back against the mattress as Darian worked the knuckles of his fist into Caleb's shoulder.

"Ouch," Caleb hissed, inhaling sharply. "Fuck, can't you be gentle?"

"Nope," Darian said, and replaced his hand with his elbow, pushing down hard. "Hold still," Darian instructed, his free hand holding Caleb in place as he slowly rotated his elbow. "I said _hold still_ ," he repeated, as Caleb squirmed under the pressure, letting out a grunt of pain. "I need this gone if you're going to be any use to me tomorrow."

"So fucking selfish," Caleb forced out, his eyes watering. "This _hurts_ , Darian—"

"Ten more seconds," Darian told him. "Breathe."

He paused, waiting, and Caleb took a deep breath in; then let it out, shakily, before Darian slowly removed the pressure from his shoulder.

"How's that?" he asked, watching Caleb roll his neck out; first to the right, then back, looking up at Darian as the light from the hotel bathroom illuminated the curve of his throat.

"You," Caleb said, licking his lips, "are a fucking arsehole."

Darian shrugged, trying not to focus on Caleb's head against the inside of his thigh.

"Yeah," he agreed. "But it's better now, right?"

Caleb's hand slid up from the floor, rising up the outside of Darian's ankle. Darian jumped, startled, and Caleb laughed, his thumb working into the muscle of his calf.

"I'm going to get you back for that," Caleb warned, and Darian held his breath as Caleb slowly drew his hand up further, trailing the length of the muscle. "How are the quads?" Caleb asked neutrally, and Darian, speechless, merely nodded.

Caleb turned, resting his hands on Darian's legs and then shifting, pressing his lips to the curve of Darian's thigh. Darian shakily let out a breath, and Caleb's blue eyes met his, expectant.

"We should go to sleep," Darian said hurriedly. "Sprint stage tomorrow." He shoved himself back on the bed, scrambling away. "Goodnight," he said, throwing himself under the duvet and shivering, forcing his eyes shut, until eventually Caleb stood to turn off the light.

"Goodnight," Caleb murmured, extinguishing it.

* * *

 **STAGE SIX:  
Flat Stage  
** _Audio Broadcast_

 **Lee:** "Darian Mulciber is looking focused this morning; he's known for rarely looking up from his bike, of course, but there seems an extra level of intensity to him today! This is, of course, a sprinter stage—lots of points to be had for the green jersey, so Team Slytherin is divided in its goals. Do you agree, Luna?"

 **Luna:** "Are thestrals winged?"

 **Lee:** "No idea! In any case, Theo Nott might require some help from his team, but knowing his aggressive style, most of Team Slytherin will be dedicated to keeping Mulciber on track with the yellow jersey. Meanwhile, Team TMR will be looking to advance Avery's position as much as possible before the mountain stages—OH, AND IT LOOKS LIKE POTTER'S TAKEN OFF! POTTER HAS BROKEN AWAY FROM THE PELOTON WITH NEARLY 30 KILOMETERS TO THE FINISH!"

 **Luna:** "Like a stag in the night!"

 **Lee:** "If Potter takes this all the way—OH AND LOOK, NOTT'S JOINED HIM IN THE BREAKAWAY! He's not going to let Potter take all the glory today!"

 **oOo**

"Okay, _fuck you_ ," Theo panted, catching up to Harry and flipping him off as they rode, at breakneck pace, along the French country roads. "You could have waited, but _no_ , you had to break off THIRTY KILOMETERS in advance—"

"You're going to tire yourself out," Harry warned him. "You can't keep this pace up this long."

"Like hell I can't!" Theo snarled, unzipping the top of his speedsuit and glaring askance at Harry. "If _you_ can do it, Potter, I'm fucking doing it too."

"You realize this is catastrophically unwise," Harry warned, and Theo glared at him.

"Do you want to do this alone," Theo snapped, "or do you want an actual sprint at the finish?"

Harry paused, tossing his water bottle aside and then leading into the wind, turning over his shoulder.

"Switch in 5k," he yelled.

"Fuck you," Theo returned, which Harry took for agreement.

 **oOo**

 _Once, before everything happened—before everything went too far, before it all got ripped away—there was a flat stage at the beginning of our careers when Caleb and I attacked early in the Tour. Too early, as many people said, too risky for a couple of inexperienced cyclists, and the voices in our radios kept telling us to hang back—that there was no way we were going to take it from the French champion, the favorite. It didn't matter. I felt good and strong and powerful and Caleb was by my side, and so we took the stage and we took the race and we took what was ours, and I loved him then. I didn't know it was love. I didn't know any better. We were young and unaccustomed to winning and still learning to fly, and all we knew was that we could trust each other. He knew the feel of me on his wheel like the back of his hand; I knew that when it was time to claim victory, I would always look for him. Even with the champagne and the attention and the kisses from the girls and the photographs and the thrill of slipping on that yellow jersey for the first time—the unmistakable euphoria of learning that the sweetest of victories took the form of garishly colored spandex—it was Caleb I looked for in the crowd._

 _I loved him then, I know it._

 _I just didn't know it at the time._

* * *

 **STAGE SEVEN:  
Flat Stage  
** _Audio Broadcast_

 **Lee:** "Harry Potter is, of course, a favorite for the day, a notably eccentric rider who thrills audiences with his aggressive finishes. He's far more than a sprinter—the man can certainly climb—but it is a beautiful thing to watch him in action. What do you think, Luna?"

 **Luna:** "OTP!"

 **Lee:** "Yes, of course, and there's no forgetting about Theo Nott, who's ridden beautifully these past few stages. He seems to have a fire lit under him—"

 **Luna:** "A goblet of fire!"

 **Lee:** "— _indeed_ , and it is remarkable how fast the first week's stages have been with him vying with Potter for the lead in the points competition."

 **oOo**

"We're going to have to take him soon," Augustus commented, jutting his chin up to reference where Darian was surrounded by the green jerseys of Team Slytherin. "If he holds onto the yellow going into the Alps, we might be fucked."

"Speak for yourself, Rookwood," Caleb said gruffly, though he knew the other man was right; Darian had always been a better climber. A better bike-handler. He could descend better than Caleb ever could—not to mention that Caleb, having been without a good enough team the past few Tours, was out of practice with the altitude of the Alps.

Still, though, he persisted with the pretense. "We're fine," Caleb muttered, though Augustus remained skeptical. "Just be ready to attack."

"You're going to have to do that soon," Augustus reminded him. "Nott's going to want the sprint win, which means Team Slytherin is split—"

"This isn't my first day, Rookwood!" Caleb spat, and Augustus shrugged.

"Just seems like you're not really here to play," Augustus remarked. "You were Mulciber's domestique, weren't you?" he asked, though he clearly knew the answer. "Seems like you should know his weaknesses better."

Caleb grimaced.

"I know his weaknesses just fine," he muttered, staring at the curve of Darian's spine.

 **oOo**

 _ **Three Years Ago**_

Darian was lying on his stomach when Caleb came in; the trainer had just been there, probably working on his glutes. Maybe his hip flexors. Darian always had some immobility in his hips; went stiff easily.

Caleb cleared his throat, forcing the thought from his mind.

"Hey," he said, falling beside Darian on the twin bed, nudging him over. "Hungry?"

Darian shook his head.

"I'm good," he muttered, turning to squint up at Caleb. "You're energized," he commented.

"Haven't hit the mountains yet," Caleb said, shrugging. "We're still in my sweet spot. Besides," he added casually, lying down on his side, "what's not to be energized about? It's seven stages in and you've already got the yellow locked down."

"Not yet," Darian muttered. He was sort of superstitious; always worried about jinxing things. Never enjoyed the promise of a good thing until it was firmly in his grasp. "I could still die tomorrow."

"So true," Caleb agreed, and before he could stop himself, he had reached out, tracing circles on the bare skin between Darian's shoulder blades.

He felt Darian inhale sharply.

He waited, but it seemed Darian was holding his breath.

"What are you doing?" Darian asked, his voice muffled into the duvet.

Caleb, rather than answer, shifted on the bed, dragging himself closer to Darian. He waited, but when Darian didn't move, he bent his head, brushing his lips against the top of Darian's spine.

Darian shuddered, but didn't pull away.

Caleb, emboldened, rolled onto his hands and knees, positioning himself over Darian's back and moving without hesitation, placing his knees on either side of Darian's hips. He dragged his lips down carefully, pausing on each notch of Darian's vertebrae and slowly, slowly working his way down until his fingers were digging into Darian's waist, his throat going perilously dry as he kissed the skin of Darian's back.

The hand on Darian's waist slipped under, loosening the towel around his waist, and then Darian seemed to wake from a trance, slapping Caleb's hand away and twisting around, his arm outstretched against Caleb's chest.

"What are you doing?" he asked again, his dark eyes wide and panicked.

"Nothing," Caleb said, brushing a curl from his forehead and praying he looked normal—or at least didn't look as shattered as he felt.

"Don't," Darian muttered uneasily, not looking at him. "I'm not—I can't—"

"Don't die tomorrow," Caleb said quietly. Darian blinked, once, and then nodded.

"Fine," he said, and let his head fall back, closing his eyes with a sigh.

* * *

 **STAGE EIGHT:  
Medium Mountain Stage  
** _Audio Broadcast_

 **Lee:** "Well, yesterday's surprise upset—Avery taking the yellow jersey from right beneath Mulciber's nose, attacking with a surprising vigor on a flat stage, of all things—obviously we have a lot to watch here in the early mountain stages. What would you say is the trickiest thing about this climb, Luna?"

 **Luna:** "Werewolves!"

 **Lee:** "So true, not to mention a high risk of technicals due to the rain today—always a risk of blowing a tire when weather is a factor! I daresay we have a few soggy cyclists on our hands today, and they do _not_ look happy."

 **oOo**

 _I hate rain._

 _I hate rain because it invades me. Pounds on my back, stabs at my eyes, soaks through my skinsuit and settles uncomfortably as I slip all over the narrow seat of my bike. Nobody likes rain, but I handle it badly. There's nothing fun about it. I get moody and all of my frustrations—the discomfort of spending hours and hours hunched over the handles of my road bike—seem so much worse when I'm soaked through, shaking, my fingers slipping all over my handlebar tape._

 _I hate rain because Caleb doesn't mind it. He would always come back from a ride in the rain laughing, whipping those curls around and shaking off like a dog, pawing at my face and taunting me for my surly misery._ Cheer up _, he'd say, and I wouldn't, because I hate rain, because I hate what it does to me, how it makes me feel._

 _I hate rain because of Caleb._

 **oOo**

Maybe it was coincidence.

That seemed unlikely.

Whatever reason there'd been for it, Caleb's appearance on Darian's right had made him uncomfortable, and there wasn't a convenient escape. There was no reason to attack; not in the rain, not when the peloton would essentially all get the same time, not when there was no tangible victory to be won. Darian wanted to pull away— _far_ away—but he didn't.

"Do you remember?" Caleb asked as Darian removed his glasses, wiping the beads of precipitation from the lids of his eyes.

He fought to suppress a shiver at the memory.

How could he forget?

"Remember what?" Darian lied gruffly, and Caleb said nothing.

He only bent his head, watching the revolution of his front wheel, and licked the falling droplets from his lips.

* * *

 **STAGE NINE:  
High Mountain Stage  
** _Audio Broadcast_

 **Lee:** "Rain continues today high in the mountains, making for a difficult descent. Mulciber's playing it safe for the most part, hasn't been challenging Avery yet—probably a smart decision, given how much is left of the race and how perilous this particular climb will be. I'm sure Team Slytherin will be gearing up to take the leader's jersey back soon, though, don't you think, Luna?"

 **Luna:** "Cycling is fun, but have you ever seen quidditch?"

 **Lee:** "Is that something Team Slytherin excels in as well?"

 **Luna:** "Oh, Lee. You just never have any idea what you're talking about."

 **oOo**

 _Darian's tired. I can see it in the way he dismounts his bike, the way he grips the seat of it and bends his head, exhausted. He looks frustrated. He looks discouraged. He looks fine in green and silver but I know he looks better in yellow. He knows it, too._

 _And then, cruelly, I remember that he looks best in nothing at all._

 **oOo**

 _ **Three Years Ago**_

"Come on," Caleb groaned, banging on the doors and shivering. "I get that you're the yellow jersey and all, but I'm fucking _freezing_ out here—"

"Fine," Darian said, yanking the door open and shaking his head as Caleb darted in, luxuriating in the heat from Darian's shower. "Fucking rain," he muttered, the towel wrapped around his waist as he slicked his wet hair back, picking up his toothbrush.

"Are you really going to brush your teeth right now?" Caleb asked, shaking his head as Darian slid some toothpaste onto his toothbrush. "I need to shower, you dickhead."

"Then shower," Darian told him, rolling his eyes as he started brushing. Molars first, Caleb knew, and a slow, meticulous process around to his canines. "Not like I haven't seen your dick before."

"Well, then you asked for it," Caleb said, bending to remove his kit. The spandex stuck to his thighs and he struggled, peeling the fabric from his right leg first, and then his left.

When he looked up again, Darian had paused, watching, but the moment Caleb looked up, Darian directed his attention to the ceiling. He continued to brush his teeth, pretending not to have been caught, and then he spat into the sink, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before looking up, locking eyes with Caleb.

His brow furrowed. "What?"

Caleb took two long strides to close the distance between them, pausing in front of Darian and then taking the toothbrush from his hand, dropping it into the glass beside the hotel sink.

"Don't move," he said, and Darian didn't.

And then Caleb placed his hands lightly on Darian's hips, backing him against the bathroom wall. Darian's eyes widened, startled, but Caleb didn't give him time to think; he raised one hand to Darian's face and kissed him. Not too forceful; not too soft. Enough for Darian to know it wasn't a mistake. Enough for Darian to know what he wanted.

Caleb knew his hands were cold on Darian's heated skin and he felt the thrill of temperature clashing and fear and curiosity as it coursed through him, radiating between them both. Caleb slid his tongue between Darian's lips, licking the taste of spearmint toothpaste from them, and Darian's tightly clenched jaw finally parted, his hands falling to Caleb's chest.

Then Caleb made a mistake. He slid his hand down from Darian's hip, nudging the towel to the floor, and then there was nothing between them.

"We can't," Darian said, shoving Caleb away without warning. "Stop."

Caleb took a step back, dizzied.

"Okay," he said, and then, like he were in some kind of horrific dream, he got in the shower, turning the heat all the way up and scrubbing himself raw.

* * *

 **STAGE TEN:  
Flat Stage  
** _Audio Broadcast_

 **Lee:** "Well, it looks like this stage is going to come down to the sprint between Theo Nott from Team Slytherin and Viktor Krum from Team Durmstrang—Krum, of course, being himself quite a threat, although quite heavy for a sprinter, and so often dropped during the mountain stages; but with about 200 meters to go I would say that they both have a chance of—OH, OH MY WORD, POTTER HAS TAKEN OFF!"

 **Luna:** "Harry Potter!"

 **Lee:** "Harry Potter of Phoenix-Hogwarts has taken off and with only meters to go he is edging out both Krum and Nott—Nott is _furious_ , look at his face, he's pushing as hard as he can but he's worked too hard against Krum—he's got nothing left, and it looks like—POTTER HAS IT! LOOK AT THAT PHOTO FINISH! POTTER TAKES THE STAGE!"

 **oOo**

"You fucking did that on purpose!" Theo growled, chasing after Harry as he stepped down from the podium, tossing the pointless bouquet aside and rubbing at the back of his neck with a towel. "I'm talking to you, motherfucker—"

"Are you accusing me of biding my time to let you and Krum tire each other out?" Harry asked, not turning around. "Because if so, then no. I didn't do it on purpose," he suggested drily, "it just worked out."

"God, you're annoying," Theo snapped, reaching him and giving him a shove. "You're not going to keep the green jersey, you know. I'm coming for you, Potter."

"So you keep saying," Harry reminded him. "Let me know how that works out for you, Nott."

"Krum's not a threat," Theo said brusquely, brandishing a finger in Harry's face. " _I'm_ a threat."

"I know," Harry replied, giving him a sparing once-over. "Just not much of one yet," he said with a shrug, turning to walk away.

Theo gaped after him, speechless, and then let out an incoherent growl.

"Fuck you!" he shouted, after a ridiculous delay.

Harry turned, blowing an irreverent kiss over his shoulder and climbing onto his team's bus.

 **oOo**

 _Maybe it's small of me, but every particle of my being is opposed to seeing Caleb in my jersey. No_ — _it's_ not _my jersey, actually, because when I wear yellow, I wear it in the name of Team Slytherin. That's my team. That was_ our _team. Once upon a time we won and lost for the same name, the same team, the same colors. Now Caleb's got TMR emblazoned on the yellow jersey that_ I _should be wearing, and everything is wrong. Everything is wrong, and I feel sick._

 _Maybe it's small of me, but seeing Caleb again is making me sick._

* * *

 **STAGE ELEVEN:  
Flat Stage  
** _Audio Broadcast_

 **Lee:** "Team Slytherin has done an excellent job so far of placing themselves at the front of the peloton while Team TMR seems to be protecting their yellow jersey rider, Caleb Avery. How do you think Avery is feeling right now, Luna?"

 **Luna:** "Hungry!"

 **Lee:** "Yes, so true, hungry for the win, I'm sure, which would be a first for both Avery and his team, Team TMR. We spoke to owner Tom Riddle this morning and he seems quite certain his team is going to manage a win; says he's not even worried about Team Slytherin! What do you think about that, Luna?"

 **Luna:** "I hope he's got lots of horcruxes!"

 **Lee:** "Which are?"

 **Luna:** "A means to cheat death!"

 **Lee:** "Well, cheat death when you can, but never cheat in cycling, as I always say! In any case, it has been a pleasure to watch Team TMR, and best of luck to them as they continue to vie against a very, very competitive field."

 **oOo**

"There's a split ahead," Tom said in Caleb's ear, speaking into the team radio. "Take whichever line Mulciber takes."

"You're assuming nobody decides to attack from Team Slytherin," Caleb muttered back, and he heard Tom scoff.

"I'm not assuming," Tom said. "They're playing it safe right now. They're not going to chance attacking and even if they do, it'll be Mulciber who does it, so stay in Mulciber's lane."

"Could be Rowle," Caleb said, glancing at him. "Looks hungry for a stage win."

"No," Tom said, his voice clipped. "Their resources are split between Mulciber and Nott and they already lost a domestique in the peloton crash yesterday. Just stay with him," he snapped venomously. "Is that too difficult, Avery?"

Caleb's mouth tightened.

"Well?" Tom drawled.

"Fine," Caleb said tartly. "I'll stay with Mulciber."

 **oOo**

 _I can't be this close to him._

 _This isn't a distance I'm accustomed to. I used to be his teammate. We were inseparable. We stayed in the same hotel rooms, worked with the same trainers, stayed on the same schedule and used the same training plans. I'm used to being attached to his hip_ — _or else miles away, years apart, keeping my distance._

 _Darian does this thing when he rides; he takes a moment to center himself. Like meditation, almost. It's like there's magic in the burning of his muscles and he takes a second to feel it, to savor it, to luxuriate in the pain and turn it into something better. Something bigger. I don't feel like a winner when I'm near him; I feel like a fraud. An imposter. I feel pain and it's just pain, and that's that. Darian feels pain and turns it into power._

 _He bends his head, doing that centering thing, and I can't be this close to him._

 _I watch the line of his neck and remember how it feels under my tongue._

 _I can't be this close to him._

* * *

 **STAGE TWELVE:  
High Mountain Stage  
** _Audio Broadcast_

 **Lee:** "And here we are, just getting into the mountain stages! This is of course brutal, especially for our sprinters, who just have to hang on through the difficult climbs. But, of course, this is bound to be interesting for our yellow jersey contenders; Avery still in the lead, with Team Slytherin's Darian Mulciber only seconds behind. In a mountain stage like this one, that could mean one strong attack, or Avery could just as easily lose it with a poor choice, or worse, a technical mistake in the mountains."

 **Luna:** "Or even worse, a basilisk!"

 **Lee:** "Basilisks, flat tires. Equally nightmarish!"

 **oOo**

"Hey," Harry said, sidling up to Theo, who scowled.

"What are you doing?" Theo demanded. "I don't want to talk to you."

"Fine," Harry said, and moved to speed up before Theo shot a hand out, growling, as he yanked him back by the pocket of his skinsuit.

"Stop," Theo muttered. "Just—don't say anything."

"Nice weather," Harry commented. Theo groaned.

"I said _don't say anyth-_ "

"I hate climbs," Harry interrupted, shaking his head. "I hate being inhumanly fast one day and then being relegated to the back of the pack another. I know I'm supposed to call this a rest, or something," he said, as Theo rolled his eyes, slaving away up the climb, "but I hate it."

"I hate you," Theo reminded him.

"Yeah," Harry said, glancing at him. "Right, well. I hate climbs, snakes, and you."

"Snakes?" Theo asked, gesturing to the one on his jersey. "Seriously?"

Harry shrugged.

"No legs," he explained. "Can't bike. Stupid choice," he added, "for a bike team."

"Phoenixes can't fucking bike," Theo reminded him.

Harry shrugged again.

"Nice weather," he commented.

Theo reached up, wiping sweat as it trickled into his eyes.

"Yeah," he conceded. "Yeah. It is."

* * *

 **STAGE THIRTEEN:  
High Mountain Stage  
** _Audio Broadcast_

 **Lee:** "It's another day in the mountains, and judging by the motion within Team Slytherin's formation, it looks like they're getting ready for an attack, and—OH, THERE THEY GO! Rowle and Mulciber take the lead on the attack, pushing past Avery, and will he be able to follow?"

 **Luna:** "And will there by any Snorkack sightings?"

 **Lee:** "Impossible to say, and _equally_ impossible is the chance that Avery will catch Mulciber! Team Slytherin positioned themselves perfectly to block Team TMR into the peloton, and it looks like Rowle and Mulciber will take the breakaway to the finish! Darian Mulciber is going to take the yellow jersey back from Caleb Avery, and from the looks of it, there's not a thing Team TMR can do to stop him!"

 **oOo**

 _I knew this would happen. Caleb can never focus in the mountains. The climbs are strenuous and he needs someone to keep him on track. To make him keep pushing. I've seen him talk to Rookwood and I know they're both bored; they're not paying attention. Caleb's discipline has always been lacking, and he won't catch me on a climb. Certainly won't catch me on a descent._

 _I knew this would happen. Mountain stages are Caleb's weakness._

 _Mountain stages, and me._

 **oOo**

 _ **Three Years Ago**_

Darian turned off the shower, listening, but he heard no sign of Caleb's entry. Instead he stood for a while, letting the drops slide down the contours of his shoulders and arms and torso, and thought about Caleb's kiss. It had come out of nowhere.

It _had_ come out of nowhere—hadn't it?

Sure, there had been the touches—the kisses on his backs and legs, if you wanted to call them that, though Darian decidedly didn't—but those were easy to laugh off. To ignore. They spent all day on the bike; they lost their minds off of them, it seemed.

The kiss, though. That was different. Caleb's tongue in his mouth was _different_ , and—

Darian shut his eyes.

He heard the hotel room door open, then, and knew Caleb was in the room. On the other side of the bathroom door. Probably taking off his skinsuit, peeling it off slowly, reaching for the knot on his shoulder. Probably closing his eyes while he massaged it, basking in the pain.

Then Darian pictured Caleb falling onto his bed, laying on his back. Pictured him bare on the duvet, limbs spread out, worn out and exhausted from the day's impossible climb. Pictured his curls splayed across the white pillow case. Pictured the way his tongue slid across his lips.

Darian lowered his hand, sliding it against his abdomen and down to his throbbing cock.

He'd wanted to come quickly, to get it over with—to never admit to anyone what he'd been doing and pretending he could forget he'd ever done it—but that wasn't to be.

"Darian?" Caleb asked, and opened the door, catching sight of Darian with his hand on his dick in the reflection of the bathroom mirror.

Darian shut his eyes again, feeling his cheeks burn, and listened to the sound of Caleb's footsteps.

Listened, intently, as Caleb stepped into the hotel shower.

"Let me help you with that," Caleb suggested, and backed Darian against the shower wall, the corners of his mouth quirking up as Darian let out a startled hiss, his bare shoulders hitting the cold surface.

Caleb shoved Darian's hand away, replacing it with his, and began to stroke him, steadily, without any hesitation or gentleness, his own cock bare and hard and pressed against Darian's hip. It was quiet except for the sound of their breathing—panting harder than they had up the fucking Alps—and then Caleb dropped to his knees, sliding his lips along Darian's cock.

"Fuck," Darian hissed, tightening his fingers in Caleb's curls. Caleb sucked hard, from base to tip, and Darian shuddered.

"Stop?" Caleb asked, flicking his tongue over Darian's tip.

Darian swallowed.

"Keep going," he gritted out, and Caleb's lips tilted up in a smile.

* * *

 **STAGE FOURTEEN:  
Medium Mountain Stage  
** _Audio Broadcast_

 **Lee:** "Well, some slightly lower stages here, Luna, but still a series of difficult days ahead for our riders after fourteen stages of some of the toughest rides in Europe. What do you think will be the key here, physical fitness? Mental stamina?"

 **Luna:** "Wit and wisdom!"

 **Lee:** "Ah yes, certainly strategy will be key over the course of these stages, as surely Caleb Avery and Team TMR will be doing everything they can to regain possession of the yellow jersey from Darian Mulciber and Team Slytherin!"

 **oOo**

 _ **Three Years Ago**_

"Fuck," Darian said, shoving Caleb into the hotel room after two failed tries with the key card and wrestling him back onto the bed. "I thought we'd never get out of there."

"Slow down," Caleb admonished him, grabbing Darian by the collar of his t-shirt and rolling over him, straddling him on the bed before unzipping his own hoodie and clumsily tossing it aside. "It's not like we don't have all night."

"We _don't_ have all night," Darian reminded him, muttering it into his mouth as Caleb leaned forward, catching the words on his tongue. "We need to fucking sleep, Caleb, this is still the goddamn _Tour_ —"

"You've had the yellow jersey," Caleb began, pausing to kiss Darian again, "for fourteen fucking stages. I don't really think you're in danger of losing it."

"Still," Darian insisted, rolling over him and brusquely shoving Caleb's arms above his head. "As much as I enjoy seeing you like this," he murmured, his gaze raking indulgently over Caleb's face, "I'm still here to win a race. _We_ ," he corrected, kissing Caleb's neck, "are still here to win a race."

Caleb sighed, letting his head fall to the side.

"Fine," he said, not sure why he found himself so disappointed. "Maybe we should just go to sleep, then."

Darian grimaced, noting Caleb's sudden turn, but he withdrew without comment, shifting onto his side before falling back beside Caleb on the bed.

"We should," he muttered, closing his eyes. "Whatever this is," he exhaled heavily, "it's not—we can't—"

He trailed off, and Caleb felt something weigh heavily in his chest.

He turned onto his side, taking Darian's face in his hand and tilting it towards him.

"You look tired," Caleb said quietly, running his thumb along Darian's jaw.

Darian's mouth twitched.

"You wear me out," he whispered, kissing the palm of Caleb's hand.

 **oOo**

"Mulciber looks tired," Augustus noted, gesturing to him.

Caleb's breath caught in his throat.

 _You wear me out,_ he heard, but forced himself to say nothing, focusing instead on the burdensome purgatory of the climb.

* * *

 **STAGE FIFTEEN:  
Medium Mountain Stage  
** _Audio Broadcast_

 **Lee:** "Well, after a bit of an unsuccessful attack by Team TMR, Caleb Avery and Augustus Rookwood have been drawn back into the peloton, which means that Darian Mulciber and Team Slytherin hold onto their victory for another day as the King of the Mountain competition continues. It's looking like the ever-reliable Team Slytherin will be able to hold onto the yellow, barring any terrible misfortunes!"

 **Luna:** "Hopefully no premature deaths!"

 **Lee:** "Agreed wholeheartedly, Luna, well said!"

 **oOo**

 _Caleb's not happy._

 _Of course, I suppose I wouldn't be either if I'd just wasted the effort of a climbing attack for nothing, but it looks worse than that. Bigger, I think, than that. I guess I don't have a right to claim I know him anymore, but I don't recognize this version of him. It seems drawn and worn out and pushed to the brink, and I know it's not the riding. Sure, the mountain stages are difficult, but I've seen Caleb lose before. I've seen him pushed to his breaking point. I've seen him crash. I've seen him bloodied and battered and yet still laughing, still glinting gold, but now, for some reason, he seems tarnished. He's got an undisputed second place in the most competitive cycling event in the world, and he looks miserable. Rookwood's a shitty domestique; his rhythm's all off, he pulls like a lumbering plough horse, and by the way Caleb looks at him, I don't think Caleb trusts him._

 _Caleb's not happy._

 _And I'm not either, as it turns out._

 **oOo**

"Hey," Darian said, climbing down from the podium. Caleb looked up, surprised.

"Hey," he said, his brow furrowing. "Everything okay?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Darian said, pointedly arching a brow, and Caleb's mouth twisted unhappily.

"Don't do this," he warned, shaking his head. "This," he said, gesturing between them. "Whatever this is. Don't do it."

Darian rolled his eyes. "Care, you mean?"

" _Pretend_ you care," Caleb corrected, running a hand through his hair. "You've got your fucking yellow jersey, anyway. For now," he added brusquely, but Darian brushed past the taunt, reaching for Caleb's arm.

"We were friends once," Darian reminded him, holding tight. "I'm allowed to ask if you're okay."

For a moment, Caleb stared at him, disbelieving; then he yanked his arm away, turning to leave, and paused.

"We were never fucking _friends_ , Darian," Caleb forced out, hurling the words over his shoulder. "I was your domestique, and then we were—" he trailed off, looking pained. "We were never friends," he repeated flatly, and then he walked away, not bothering to look over his shoulder.

* * *

 **STAGE SIXTEEN:  
Medium Mountain Stage  
** _Audio Broadcast_

 **Lee:** "Some inclement weather today, unfortunately, so we're missing those beautiful mountain views—but as ever, the race to Paris continues! Mulciber has gradually increased his yellow jersey lead with the help of his excellent team, which is filled with high caliber domestiques—Thorfinn Rowle in particular, who seems to be Mulciber's lead-out of choice."

 **Luna:** "He's so very shiny!"

 **Lee:** "He _is_ shiny, and quite a gem on Team Slytherin. Darian Mulciber is a gifted cyclist on his own, certainly, but seeing as there's nobody on Team TMR to rival Rowle's skills as a super-domestique, I daresay Caleb Avery has his hands full if he wants to reclaim his yellow jersey!"

 **oOo**

"I want Rowle taken out," Tom said into the radio, and Caleb looked up, locking eyes with Augustus at his side and fighting an audible reaction.

"What do you mean?" Augustus asked carefully, and Tom made an impatient scoffing sound.

"Force an error," Tom said listlessly, as if such a thing were so easily done. "Weather's bad," he added. "Could easily blow a tire."

"This is a _descent_ ," Caleb snapped emphatically. "A technical could cause a crash—could hurt a lot of riders," he added, but he could hear Tom's dispassionate shrug.

"This is the fucking Tour de France, Avery," Tom reminded him. "I don't pay you to look pretty. I pay you to _win_ , and I think there's a better chance of that if we remove Rowle from the equation. Or Mulciber himself," he added thoughtfully.

Beside Caleb, Augustus shrugged. "He's not wrong," he muttered, and Caleb scowled.

"You can't just _take out_ a rider, Tom—especially not the yellow jersey rider," Caleb growled into his radio. "There are cameras, and a fuck-ton of other people who would notice—"

"Better be subtle, then," Tom commented. "And pick things up, would you? I'm tired of seeing Dippet's logo," he said, yawning. "Looks shit in yellow."

 **oOo**

 _ **Three Years Ago**_

"Wait," Caleb gasped, his fingers tight against the back of Darian's neck. "If you don't want to do this—if this isn't—"

"I want this," Darian said gruffly, and turned him, slamming Caleb's chest against the wall and then, in an incongruous moment of affection, sliding his lips along the side of Caleb's throat. "I want this. I want _you_ ," he added hungrily, and Caleb leaned back against his chest, barely managing to stand.

"Darian," he ground out, shaking, and Darian paused, his hands on Caleb's hips.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asked, his voice uncharacteristically gentle, and Caleb shook his head, turning to face him.

"I want you to fuck me," Caleb confessed. "But—" he swallowed. "I can't get back on that bike tomorrow and keep doing this shit if you're going to wake up and tell me it was a mistake."

Darian blinked, swiping his tongue over his swollen lips.

"This isn't a mistake," he said hoarsely. "Caleb, you're not a fucking _mistake_ —"

"Prove it, then," Caleb said, digging his fingers into Darian's chest, and Darian nodded, reaching forward to snatch a kiss from Caleb's parted lips.

* * *

 **STAGE SEVENTEEN:  
High Mountain Stage  
** _Audio Broadcast_

 **Lee:** "Things are picking up on the descent today as the peloton is preceded by the breakaway, including Mulciber and Rowle from Team Slytherin as well as Rookwood, Avery, and Dolohov from Team TMR, and then of course the rest of the field as we get down to—OH! LUNA, DID YOU SEE THAT? A TERRIBLE CRASH! SOMEONE'S DOWN! WHO IS IT?"

 **Luna:** "A cyclist!"

 **Lee** : "MY GOD, ROWLE IS DOWN! HE'S DOWN AND HE'S NOT GETTING UP! Mulciber is of course being pressured to continue but Thorfinn Rowle is down and he's _bleeding_ , ladies and gentlemen—this is not a sport for the faint of heart, I'll tell you that! Thorfinn Rowle looks unable to stand and the crash has backed up the remainder of the peloton—oh my word, what an utter mess—"

 **Luna:** "Quick, somebody summon a house elf!"

 **oOo**

"You _fucking_ dickhead," Darian shouted, tearing off his helmet and shoving Caleb in the chest. "You _fucker_ , you forced a mechanical—you should be fucking _disqualified_ for that—"

"I didn't do anything," Caleb said coldly, his blue eyes abnormally hard. "If Rowle's tire blew, that's not my fault. This is cycling, Mulciber, sometimes shit happens—"

"SHIT LIKE THIS DOESN'T JUST HAPPEN," Darian roared, grabbing Caleb by the parted collar of his skinsuit and shoving him back against one of the media trailers. "I don't know what kind of fucking revenge plot you had in mind for this race, Caleb, but Rowle could have been killed— _I_ could have been killed—"

"I know that," Caleb spat. "I told you. This wasn't my doing."

Darian stared at him, breathless, and curled his hands into fists, beating them against Caleb's chest.

"How could you do this," he rasped, shaking his head. "How?"

Caleb didn't blink.

"It was him or you, Darian," he said, his voice barely audible.

Darian released him, taking several horrified steps back.

"What?" Darian said, feeling his face go pale. "What does that—"

"Darian," Caleb sighed, reaching for him, but Darian shoved his hand away, shaking his head.

"Who _are_ you?" he demanded, and Caleb's face contorted, pained.

"Darian, please," Caleb said, "just—"

But he must have known by the look on Darian's face that the words, whatever they were going to be, weren't worth saying.

For a moment they stared at each other, breathing hard, and then Darian finally raked a hand through his hair, his face hardening in anger.

"You should have just let it be me," Darian snarled, snatching his helmet from the ground and storming away.

 **oOo**

 _ **Three Years Ago**_

He came with Caleb's name on his tongue; saw the blue of his eyes, even behind closed lids. Collapsed against him and let out a breath, nothing but skin and sweat between them.

Caleb's hand rose, stroking the hair at the base of his skull.

"What the fuck are we doing?" Darian asked, the words seeping into the crook of Caleb's neck.

"Well," Caleb said, closing his eyes. "We certainly aren't biking."

* * *

 **STAGE EIGHTEEN:  
High Mountain Stage  
** _Audio Broadcast_

 **Lee:** "Well, Luna, it looks like this year's Tour has taken an interesting turn now that Thorfinn Rowle is out with a fractured Talus and a broken kneecap. It's almost as though you can feel the loss of energy from Team Slytherin, and this climb has been a slog indeed, leaving Mulciber vulnerable now not only to Avery and Team TMR but also Karkaroff on Team Durmstrang, who's held onto a pretty steady third place through the mountain stages. Any thoughts on what Darian Mulciber can count on accomplishing without his preferred domestique?"

 **Luna:** "Search for the Hallows!"

 **Lee:** "Yes, the options are numerous, but for now it seems his best bet is just to keep his head down—as he always does—and try to keep from being distracted. Rumor has it that Team TMR is in some way responsible for Rowle's crash in the mountains yesterday, but Team Slytherin—and specifically Darian Mulciber—have declined to push for any formal investigation by the UCI. Care to comment, Luna?"

 **Luna:** "They're in love!"

 **Lee:** "Ah, Luna. You always keep things light."

 **oOo**

 _He could have said something. He could have questioned whether it was appropriate_ — _whether it was safe_ — _for Rookwood to have pressured Rowle like that; to attack when the ground was wet and the road was narrow and the descent was steep. He could have demanded judgment on high, and it would have been well within his rights to do it._

 _He could have said something. He could have blamed me. He could have blamed me personally and he would have been at least partially right. He's the one in yellow; that's a hallowed position. He could have had me yanked from this race on suspicion alone._

 _He could have said something, but he didn't._

 _Why?_

 **oOo**

 _ **Three Years Ago**_

"Do you think we'll get tired of it?" Darian asked, his chin resting in the dip of Caleb's shoulder.

"What, sex?" Caleb prompted. "Evidence proves that unlikely."

"No," Darian said, shaking his head with his dry chuckle of a laugh. "Cycling. You know," he added, gesturing around them. "The hotels. The traveling. The exhaustion."

"The muscle stiffness," Caleb muttered, and nudged Darian's chest. "Your chin is in my shoulder knot."

"Good," Darian said, and dug it in, laughing again as Caleb growled in pain. "I'm fixing it."

"I guess the question is will _you_ ever get tired of _winning_ ," Caleb corrected, shoving him away. "I don't think I'll ever stop wanting to ride, but, you know." He shrugged. "The monotony of racing is—"

"Monotonous?" Darian guessed, and Caleb grimaced.

"I don't get the glory, you know," he reminded Darian. "I get all the work but none of the teddy bears and champagne."

Darian hesitated at that, pausing, and Caleb shifted.

"Not that I'm jealous of you," Caleb assured him quickly. "I love riding with you. _For_ you," he amended.

Something twitched at Darian's mouth.

"You love it?" he asked, and Caleb blinked.

"I love—" he began, and faltered. "It," he pronounced, clearing his throat. "Yes. I love it."

Darian rolled onto his back, closing his eyes.

"Right," he exhaled, and Caleb watched his chest rise and fall; watched his heart thud beneath his ribs.

"I won't get tired of it," Caleb promised, but by the time he said the words—by the time they fell asleep, shoulders touching—he realized that wasn't at all what Darian had asked.

* * *

 **STAGE NINETEEN:  
Flat Stage  
** _Audio Broadcast_

 **Lee:** "We're finally out of the mountains, which means another stage for our sprinters! Harry Potter of Phoenix-Hogwarts and Theo Nott of Team Slytherin are neck-and-neck for the green jersey with it currently in Potter's hands, but one good sprint from Nott could take it, doubling the win for Team Slytherin!"

 **Luna:** "House Cup Champions!"

 **Lee:** "Of course, that's assuming that Mulciber doesn't continue to fall behind—Avery and Team TMR are relentlessly attacking, taking advantage of Rowle's absence, and the gap from first to second is shrinking dangerously. Only a matter of seconds now!"

 **Luna:** "Where's a time-turner when you need one?!"

 **Lee:** "Oh, Mulciber looks to be falling behind! He'll need to join the final sprint to keep his lead on Avery!"

 **oOo**

"I'm going to lose my lead," Darian panted, struggling to keep in the breakaway as he glanced over at Theo, who'd been gearing up for the final sprint. "I'll have to win the time trial tomorrow but—but I don't know," he muttered under his breath, his chin dropping. "I don't know if I can do that, or—"

Theo grimaced, glancing over his shoulder at Harry, and sighed.

"I'll do it," Theo said, and Darian blinked dazedly, glancing at him with confusion. "I'll be your lead-out," he clarified. "Just keep on my wheel until you can break off for the final sprint. If you finish with the sprinters, then—"

"No," Darian ground out, shaking his head. "No—you'll lose the sprint if you do that, Nott, and you'll lose the points. I'm not going to let you lose your shot at the green jersey—"

"Well, fuck you if you haven't noticed you're in goddamn _yellow_ ," Theo reminded him, jutting his chin out to reference Darian's jersey. "That's sort of more fucking important than the points competition. _And_ you're the team leader," he added, "and I'm rested from the mountain stages, so if you can stay on my wheel, I can keep you in the lead."

It took a moment, the gears in Darian's head turning slower than the ones on his front wheel.

"Are you sure?" Darian asked, blinking in disbelief. "That's—Nott, that's—"

"Selfless?" Theo prompted. "Heroic? I know," he sighed dramatically, and punched on his pedals, speeding up. "Get on my wheel," he yelled, glancing over his shoulder, and Darian nodded gratefully, accepting his teammate's lead.

 **oOo**

"Well," Harry said, crossing his arms over his chest. "I thought I would see you at the sprint finish, but—"

"Mulciber needed a lead-out," Theo supplied, not looking at him. "And I really don't need you to rub it in, thanks," he added, pointedly flicking Harry's green jersey.

Harry cleared his throat carefully, delicately opting _not_ to comment on Theo's admirable moral fortitude.

"Well," he said, changing the subject. "I was hoping for, you know. A showdown."

Theo arched a brow. "A showdown?" he echoed, skeptical.

"Yeah," Harry said, shrugging. "I mean, like I said. You're my only real threat, so—"

"Well," Theo cut in, turning the words over on his tongue. "There's always the sprint in Paris."

"True," Harry agreed. "I mean, the green jersey's locked in, it's definitely mine—"

"But the final stage is the sprinter's wet dream," Theo reminded him briskly. " _So_ ," he pronounced conclusively. "If I win in Paris, that's kind of the only thing that matters."

"That's literally false," Harry informed him, shaking his head, "but sure, I guess." He shrugged. "I could do that."

"Paris, then," Theo said, extending a hand. "Race you there?"

Harry looked down, eyeing the proffered palm, and took it, his thumb brushing carefully over Theo's knuckles.

"Race you there," he agreed, as Theo's gaze fell to his lips.

* * *

 **STAGE TWENTY:  
Individual Time Trial  
** _Audio Broadcast_

 **Lee:** "And we're back to the time trials! After so many outstanding stages—and so many ups and downs, too!—we're finally rounding out this year's Tour de France. It looks like Darian Mulciber and Team Slytherin will take the yellow jersey this year, as Mulciber managed to edge out a win over Avery yesterday and held onto his lead with a lead in today's time trials to finish with his sixth Tour de France title. I can't say it's much of a surprise, but Team TMR certainly gave Team Slytherin a run for their money, wouldn't you say?"

 **Luna:** "I don't trust Tom Riddle."

 **Lee:** "Well, that's fun. In any case, I wonder what's in store for the dynamic between Avery and Mulciber. There's been no indication of any love lost between them despite both performing brilliantly throughout the Tour, but still—can't help wondering what it's been like for those two after so much time apart. What do you think happened, Luna?"

 **Luna:** "I think they fell in love, but were too stubborn to admit their feelings!"

 **Lee:** "I was thinking something more like the issues Team Slytherin had re-signing Avery to the team when his contract ended, or perhaps the financial gain and the promise of being the lead when he was recruited by Tom Riddle, but—"

 **Luna:** "Nope, it's the love thing!"

 **Lee:** "Well, there you have it, then. Love. What a fickle mistress!"

 **oOo**

 _ **Three Years Ago**_

"Can't believe the Tour's over tomorrow," Caleb murmured, resting his chin on Darian's chest. "Seems like hell every year, but it goes by so fucking fast."

"Hell will be back for us soon enough," Darian reminded him, chuckling. "The Vuelta's in less than a month."

"God," Caleb groaned. "Why do we do this again?"

Darian laughed, the motion of it vibrating against Caleb's mouth.

"The perks," he said slyly, and yanked Caleb up, rolling over him in the too-small twin bed.

"Hey," Caleb said, his hands on Darian's hips as the other man bent, kissing his neck. "What are we going to do when the Tour ends?"

"Eat pizza," Darian said, shrugging, before shifting lower, trailing kisses down Caleb's torso. "Fuck again in the mornings."

"Okay, but—" Caleb sat up with difficulty, nudging Darian away. "What do we do about, you know," he said, gesturing between them. "This?"

Darian's brow furrowed.

"I told you," he said. "We can fuck in the morning. And later at night," he added thoughtfully, but Caleb shook his head, frustrated.

"You realize eventually people will figure this out," Caleb told him. "The team. Dippet. The _media_ ," he said emphatically. "Your sponsors could pull out, Darian—"

"Unlike me," he said with a grin, and Caleb groaned.

"Come on, Darian, be serious—"

"Who says they have to find out?" Darian prompted. "I mean, is this even serious?" he added, looking away. "I don't see why we have to talk about this."

"I just—" Caleb hesitated. "I know there could be repercussions, and—"

"Repercussions," Darian repeated, and Caleb could see instantly he'd made a mistake; Darian withdrew, retreating to the opposite end of the bed. "Like what?"

"Like I said," Caleb said hurriedly. "You don't know how the owners will react, or your sponsors, Darian, and—"

"Is it really me you're worried about, Caleb?" Darian cut in harshly, and Caleb gaped at him.

"Of course it's—"

"Dippet told me your contract is up after the Tour," Darian said, his tone worryingly indifferent. "Told me that other owners are vying for you to be their lead. Is this about you not wanting to be a domestique anymore?" he asked, and Caleb stared, disbelieving. "Because I get it. I get that you never intended to play second fiddle to me your entire career, Caleb, but if this is what this is about, just tell me—"

"It was one meeting," Caleb cut in, frustrated. " _One_ fucking meeting, Darian, and I just wanted to hear him out, so—"

"A meeting," Darian echoed, and Caleb kicked himself again. "I didn't know you actually entertained the thought."

A blanket of ominous silence fell over them.

"I get it," Darian said, swallowing. "If you're with me, your avenues close. Lower salary, no sponsors, no prize money. _Without_ me—"

"No," Caleb said, shaking his head. "Darian, no, that's not—I wasn't—"

"It's just sex, Caleb," Darian told him, launching to his feet and reaching for his underwear. "We're just fucking, and you have to do what's right for your career."

"Darian," Caleb said, panicked. "This isn't what I want, I swear—"

"Tell me right now," Darian said, rounding on him. "Tell me right now you wouldn't take a better contract if you were offered one. A different team," he accused, swallowing heavily. "A better paycheck. A chance to be the lead. Tell me right now you'd turn it down to stay with me," he demanded, and Caleb stared, frozen.

"I—" he began, and faltered. "Darian, that doesn't mean—"

"That's all I needed to know," Darian said coldly.

 **oOo**

 _Three years ago I made a mistake. I didn't tell you how I felt. I let you walk away._

 _Three years ago you fucked this up. You let me believe a lie. You pushed me out the door._

 _Three years ago we let this die. We were too proud to fight for it. We were too selfish to try._

 _But now it's three years later, and you look so exhausted, and so proud and so brilliant and so_ relieved, _standing alone on that podium, and all I want to do is hold you. Press my lips to all your little knots and tangles. I should have been at your side, and you at mine. For me, the Tour is nothing without you. Cycling is nothing without you. I have been, done,_ felt _nothing without you_ — _but now it's three years later, and I feel everything all at once._

 _And now, of course, too late, I am helpless to the truth: that I have loved you, Darian Mulciber, for every day we've been apart._

 **oOo**

"What do you mean you quit?" Tom demanded, staring down Caleb. "You can't quit. I signed you for five years."

"Well, sue me, then," Caleb retorted carelessly. "If you don't let me walk away after the final stage tomorrow, then I'll just tell the UCI that you coerced me into recklessly endangering the lives of multiple cyclists." He shrugged. "We'll see how it goes from there."

"That will only hurt you," Tom informed him bluntly, his eyes narrowing. "The UCI needs my money more than it needs your license."

"Fine—I don't care," Caleb said, shaking his head, and despite the costs, he found he really didn't. "When I took this deal, I had no idea what you were going to ask me to do. What you were going to _force_ me to do," he added, his mouth tightening. "If I'd known, I would never have agreed to race for you."

At that, Tom rose to his feet, furious. "When I came to you with an offer, you told me you wanted to win," Tom hissed. "You told me you _could_ win—"

"And I can," Caleb agreed, "but not like this. Not the way you want me to. Say we parted amicably if you want," he permitted, shrugging. "Say you fired me. I don't care. You seem a capable liar," he added, not bothering to conceal his distaste. "I trust you to craft a lie that suits you, whatever lie it is."

Abruptly, Tom's features went cold.

"I can ruin you," Tom warned. "This will be the end of your career, Avery."

Caleb's chest constricted at the thought, but he'd always known there would be a sacrifice.

"Fine," he said, and turned, walking away.

"AVERY!" Tom shouted. "DON'T YOU TURN YOUR FUCKING BACK ON ME!"

Caleb paused, pondering how to tell a narcissistic billionaire that nothing he offered held any real value, and let Tom rant at his back.

"I picked you up when you had _nothing_ ," Tom continued, incensed. "I made you a leader when no other team would! When Dippet let you out of your contract, who did you come to, Avery?" He let out a growl. "YOU FUCKING CAME TO ME!"

Finding nothing worth saying, Caleb opted instead to keep walking.

"AVERY! _AVERY_ —"

* * *

 **STAGE TWENTY-ONE:  
Flat Stage  
** _Audio Broadcast_

 **Lee:** "And now, of course, the final stage of the Tour: the epic sprint to Paris around the Champs-Élysées! The winner has been decided, as we know—Darian Mulciber of Team Slytherin has won his sixth yellow jersey in the Tour de France, followed by Caleb Avery of Team TMR and Igor Karkaroff of Team Durmstrang. And the green jersey of the points competition will be awarded to Harry Potter of Phoenix-Hogwarts, but not before we get to watch one final sprint as they take the end of the Tour to Paris!"

 **Luna:** "Bouillabaisse!"

 **Lee:** "Bless you! And now here they come, the sprinters! Harry Potter, of course, and Theo Nott of Team Slytherin are neck and neck—oh, they're certainly going for it! This is an all out _battle_ , ladies and gentlemen, as the two best sprinters in the race are headed for the finish! Luna, does it get any better than this?"

 **Luna:** "Vive le Tour!"

 **Lee:** "I couldn't have said it better myself! Vive le Tour, indeed!"

 **oOo**

"If I win this," Theo grunted, bent furiously over his handlebars, "pretty sure you have to blow me."

"How about dinner," Harry panted, muscling full-bodied towards the finish. "On me."

" _On_ you?" Theo echoed. "Is that supposed to be a euphemism?"

"If you want to fuck me so badly, Nott, just say so," Harry muttered, giving it one last push.

But Theo, who saw the opening for a win, merely took off, laughing as he crossed the finish line and sat up in the saddle, throwing both arms in the air victoriously. He paused, slowing past the line, and then turned to acknowledge Harry, giving him a wink.

"Hey Potter," he said, and raised his hands, cupping them around his mouth. "I want to fuck you," he mouthed.

Harry sighed, shaking his head. "Fine," he mouthed back, and Theo grinned.

 **oOo**

Darian took a seat, contemplating his words before finally glancing up at the flashing cameras, giving them a tentative smile.

"There's no easy way to say this," he began. "You've all come to mean so much to me throughout my career, and I'm honored more than I can say to have won this jersey today. After a lot of thought on the matter, I have decided to announce my retirement from the sport of professional cycling," he said, pausing to accommodate the murmur of discontent from the crowd, "effective immediately. I know there has been some speculation as to whether I would race in the Vuelta this year, but I think the time has come for me and this sport to part ways. There's so many young guys out there who have talent, and drive, and passion, and I leave it in their hands."

He paused, waiting, and someone in the crowd stood up.

"Darian, this is Lee Jordan with NBC Sports," said Lee, "and I just wanted to ask you: does this decision have anything to do with Caleb Avery choosing to part ways with Team TMR at the conclusion of the Tour?"

"Wait," Darian said, frowning. "What?"

"Caleb Avery is currently without a contract," Lee Jordan clarified. "Being that he was once your super-domestique, will you be recommending him to take your place as the leader of Team Slytherin?"

"I—" Darian paused, glancing around. "Sorry," he said, disentangling himself from his microphone, "hold on—I have to—"

"Aww, OTP!" said a dreamy, feminine voice from the crowd, and Darian sprinted away, searching for Caleb in the midst of the media circus.

"Avery!" he shouted, looking for the TMR jerseys. "Caleb!"

"What?" Caleb said, barrelling into him from around the corner. "Oh," he said, registering Darian's presence, and paused. "Yes?" he prompted, and Darian frowned, realizing he didn't know exactly what he wanted to say.

"You left Tom Riddle's team," Darian said slowly.

"Yes," Caleb agreed, "and you retired from cycling."

"How did you know that?" Darian asked hazily, and Caleb held up his phone.

"Team Stream," he said, gesturing to the app notification on the screen. Darian frowned.

"You have notifications set for me?" he asked. Caleb shrugged.

"Yeah," he said.

"Still?" Darian asked, blinking.

Caleb shrugged again.

"Yeah," he repeated, and Darian shoved him back against a media trailer, holding him by the collar and then stretching his fingers out, settling his palms against Caleb's chest.

"Why'd you quit?" Darian asked, as Caleb seemed to hold his breath.

"Tom Riddle's kind of a psychopathic arsehole," Caleb supplied casually. "Why'd you retire?"

Darian paused, swallowing.

"I don't love it anymore," he confessed. "I don't think I ever loved it after you were gone. Or before you. Actually, I don't think I love cycling," he clarified slowly, and Caleb waited, staring expectantly at Darian's face. "I think I just love you," Darian finished.

Caleb let out a breath; a long one, as if he'd been holding it for a long time, and then he grabbed Darian's face and held it between his palms, running his thumb across his lips.

"I've been waiting a long time to hear you say that," he admitted. "Minus the 'I think' part."

"Fine, so I know I love you," Darian amended gruffly. "What of it?"

Caleb lifted his chin, drawing their lips together, and let a pleasant, unrestricted laugh escape into Darian's mouth.

"Tell me again when we're naked," he suggested, "and I'll say it back while I make you come."

Darian let his tongue dart between his lips, satisfied, and savored the taste of the promise.

 **oOo**

 _I remember this day three years ago._

 _It was the hollowest of victories then; I knew I'd be coming home to an empty hotel room. An empty bed. A vacancy where Caleb used to be. I would have a yellow jersey and a small fortune where there used to be his laughter, his dirty kits. His humor, his loyalty, his_ —

 _Not love, I'd told myself. Or maybe there was love, and I just didn't give it room to take root._

 _Today is much the same kind of day_ — _I started it alone, same as before, only perhaps it doesn't have to end that way. Caleb caught up to me in the peloton while the rest of my team was cheering and drinking champagne, and at the sight of him, things seemed to make sense again. He rode beside me in silence and I let him, because we used to do it all the time. We used to fall in sync with each other without a word, and today we did it again. Easily. Naturally. Like breathing._

 _Caleb and me; maybe we'll never grow out of it. Maybe we'll never forget._

 _Maybe it's just like riding a bike._

* * *

 _ **a/n:**_ _for Aurora (who enjoys the Tour), Sally (who enjoys Mulcibery), and nymphadoraholtzmann (who enjoys making sports gay). Thanks for reading! Also, FYI, I started publishing the promised HP sex diaries as a separate fic because it does have some angst, so if you're interested, you can now find them (story called_ _ **Modern Romance**_ _) in my works._


	76. The Real World: Ministry of Magic, Ep 1

**The Real World: Ministry of Magic  
** **Episode I**

 _Pairing:_ ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

 _Universe:_ Post-Hogwarts, Sequel to _The Real World: Hogwarts_ (Ch. 35-59)

 _Rating:_ M for truly unsettling language

 _Summary:_ It's December 1st, and that means the Olivie Advent! There will be a brief post every day until December 24th in this, the totally unnecessary sequel to last year's event that literally nobody was clamoring for, and which is my great pleasure to present to you now.

In sum: it's 2002, and Lee Jordan and his crew have returned for a reunion series, five years after the filming of _The Real World: Hogwarts._

* * *

 _[Camera pans the office of the Minister for Magic, coming to rest unsteadily on where Kingsley Shacklebolt sits at his desk, poring over a series of documents. He frowns slightly, visibly bemused, and then glances up at host Lee Jordan.]_

Kingsley: "What exactly is this again?"

Lee: "Ah, right, you're new to this. Look, basically all we do is—"

Kingsley: _[interrupting]_ "I understand the basic premise of a reality show, Lee. But why are these other people here?"

 _[Camera pans out to reveal Gilderoy Lockhart and Rita Skeeter sitting on either side of Lee. Gilderoy, dressed in a formal set of aubergine velvet robes, is delightedly following the path of a piece of lint as it travels listlessly through the air. Rita, on the other hand, is dressed in primly cut robes of garish crimson and is sitting with her arms folded crossly, staring straight ahead as though she might burn a hole through the wall behind Kingsley.]_

Lee: "Oh. These are the show's new hosts."

Kingsley: _[skeptically]_ "These two? … Together?"

Rita: _[disdainfully]_ "I agree entirely with the intimations of your tone—"

Gilderoy: _[excitedly]_ "—and I have a wand!"

 _[He pulls out something that has clearly been purchased at a muggle magic shop and flicks it once, prompting a small sign that says 'BANG' to eject from the end of it.]_

Kingsley: "Oh… that's very, um…"

Rita: "Sad?"

Kingsley: "More like—"

Rita: "Sad."

Kingsley: "Well, I just—"

Rita: "SAD."

Gilderoy: _[gleefully]_ "Sad!"

Kingsley: _[uncomfortably]_ "Yes, well, I guess that's the word, then."

Lee: "There were some legal issues involved."

 _[Gilderoy puts on an abnormally large top hat, nodding smugly.]_

Kingsley: "Still addled, then, is he?"

Gilderoy: _[loudly]_ "I had a rabbit but I lost him!"

Kingsley: "Oh boy."

Rita: _[stiffly]_ "As you can see, being involved in this whole thing is an insult to me and an affront to journalism—"

Lee: _[sighing]_ "Once again, Rita, if you really feel that way, you're welcome to leave."

Rita: _[brusquely]_ "Will I get paid?"

Lee: "No."

Rita: "Then you completely misunderstand the entire purpose of me being here."

 _[Gilderoy leans over Lee, peering intently at her.]_

Gilderoy: "You have lovely breasts."

Rita: _[sniffing affectedly]_ "Yes. I know."

Kingsley: "Er, so, as to the details of the show—"

Gilderoy: "Would you like an autograph?"

 _[He clambers onto Kingsley's desk.]_

Kingsley: "I—no thank you, Gilderoy—Gilderoy, please don't touch th- no, no the plant is fine, Gilderoy, please don't tickle its—really, Gilderoy, I would prefer—yes, thank you, good, sit right there, yes—" _[Gilderoy lies face down on the floor, muttering something that sounds distinctly like 'tits' as Kingsley returns his attention to Lee.]_ "Anyway, Lee, as I was saying—this is somewhat different from how it was handled before, yes?"

Lee: "Well, we, um—" _[He coughs, looking exceedingly guilty.]_ "Our budget has, er, increased, and so we were able to afford these highly esteemed interview-"

Luna: _[interrupting]_ "Really? But I thought you said the budget was cut?"

 _[Camera pans out to reveal Luna perched precipitously on the edge of Kingsley's desk, blinking owlishly at Lee.]_

Kingsley: _[leaping back, aghast]_ "Holy hell, how did you get in here?!"

Lee: _[wearily]_ "Personally, I've stopped asking."

Luna: _[gestures vacantly into the corner]_ "I was over there." _[She turns back to Lee.]_ "Anyway, I distinctly remember you saying that your budget had been _vastly_ diminished, because I was thinking to myself that nobody in their right mind would want to undergo this monstrous process again, and if they did, then _surely_ it would end up being diminished in some way, as all sequels are—"

Rita: _[to Lee]_ "Excuse me? You _lied_ to me?"

Kingsley: _[to Luna]_ "I'm serious, how did you get in here? The security wards are virtually invulnerable to penetration—"

Gilderoy: _[to himself]_ "Penetration!"

Luna: _[ignoring everyone]_ "—and _then_ , Lee, I definitely recall you mentioning that you were going to have to settle for the first twat-faced cuntbasket who would agree to take the job—"

Lee: _[cutting in hastily]_ "No, no, I wouldn't—that really doesn't sound like me—"

Luna: "Yes, you did, Lee. I'm quite certain that you did. And _then_ , of course, you got Rita, because other than nasty tell-alls she really doesn't have anything but time on her hands—"

Rita: _[disdainfully]_ "Excuse me, little girl, but who let _you_ in here?"

Kingsley: "SERIOUSLY. WHO LET YOU IN HERE?"

Luna: "—but when _she_ did so poorly with all the test audiences in your target demographics of 'idiots, goons, and blithering jizz-pots' you decided you'd have to include someone like Gilderoy, who has at least held onto his looks—"

 _[Gilderoy preens in the metallic reflection from Kingsley's desk leg.]_

Luna: "—so then you said, 'fine, hire the bollocky cockswallops and see if I care,' and _then_ —"

 _[Lee turns abruptly to the camera, throwing his hands in the air.]_

Lee: "LET'S JUST INTRODUCE THE CAST, SHALL WE?"

 _[Scene cuts to individual interviews.]_

Harry: "Er, okay, this again?"

Rita: "Yes. Go ahead, Mr Potty—"

Harry: "It's actually Potter."

Rita: "Hm? Oh, sorry. Mr Pots, you were saying?"

Harry: "We've met, like, several times."

Rita: "I'm sure we have, Mr Poncho."

Harry: "It isn't—" _[Sighs.]_ "Okay, well, I was saying my name is Harry Pot-"

Gilderoy: _[thunderously]_ "Harry Potsticker!"

Harry: "I—yeah, fine."

Rita: "And you are, what now? A custodian? Some sort of person who cleans gutters, was it?"

Harry: "I—what? No, I'm an Auror."

Rita: "Right, so, you're some sort of filthy sludge-handler, then?"

Gilderoy: _[clapping his hands together]_ "Oh, that's just adorable."

Harry: "It's—is it?"

Rita: "Well, that seems about all we have time for—"

Harry: "What? But I thought you said—"

Rita: "MOVING ON."

 _[Scene cuts to Draco, Theo, and Blaise.]_

Draco: _[distractedly, as he scribbles on a piece of parchment]_ "Yes, hello, I'm still Draco Malfoy—"

Theo: "And I'm Theo Nott. Draco and I work in the Department of Magical Contracts and Tortfeasor Comeuppance, and our projects consist of—"

Draco: _[loudly]_ "What rhymes with 'terrible hairdo'?"

Theo: "Bearable cashew."

Blaise: "Eh, mate. Not your best."

Theo: "Listen, it's not like we have much going on, you shit. All he _does_ is write his stupid poetry. I'm out of words!"

Blaise: _[shrugging]_ "Fair."

Rita: "Who are you again?"

Blaise: "I'm Blaise Zabini."

 _[Gilderoy produces a cucumber from one of his pockets, trilling excitedly.]_

Rita: "And what do you do for the Ministry, Mr Zabini?"

Draco: _[glancing up from scribbling on his parchment]_ "Who, Blaise?"

Theo: "Blaise, you mean?"

Blaise: "Are you talking to me?"

Rita: "I—yes. I thought that was obvious."

Draco: "Wasn't."

Theo: "Nope, not clear."

Blaise: "Sorry, did you mean me?"

Rita: "Yes, Blaise, what is it you do here?"

Draco: "What, here?"

Theo: "Here, you mean?"

Blaise: "Are you talking about here?"

Rita: "I—"

Gilderoy: "Zabini forever!"

 _[Scene cuts to Pansy and Daphne.]_

Pansy: "I'm Pansy Parkinson, and this is Daphne Greengrass."

Daphne: "We work in the Department of Magical Games and Sports."

Rita: "And what sort of work do you do here?"

Pansy: "Honestly?"

Rita: "Sure."

Daphne: "Mostly research."

Rita: "For cases?"

Pansy: "Well, yeah. More like—research _about_ the, um. Magical games and sports."

Rita: "…what about them?"

Daphne: "Just—you know. _About_ them."

Rita: "Are you saying you don't have any sort of familiarity with any sports?"

Pansy: "Oh, no. No, definitely not."

Rita: "That seems… somewhat suspect."

Daphne: "Oh, it is."

Pansy: "Fully."

Daphne: "But in fairness to us, the Ministry was really desperate."

Pansy: "And in fairness to _them_ , we are fantastic liars."

Daphne: "Yes. It comes naturally to us."

Pansy: "Among other things that come naturally to us."

Daphne: "Which does not include our jobs."

Pansy: _[with a charming, haughty laugh]_ "No, certainly not those."

Daphne: "Personally, I have a really tenuous handle on quidditch just—as a _whole_ , you know? I know there's—what is it, like three kinds of balls? Two balls? Or is that something else—"

Pansy: "Either way, it's more balls than anyone needs, frankly."

Daphne: _[carefully]_ "Well honestly, in any situation, two is more than enough. Even _one_ is sort of, you know. Unnecessary for my purposes."

Pansy: "So true."

Gilderoy: "Would you like to see mine?"

Lee, from behind the camera: "GODRIC'S SWEET LEMON-TITS, SOMEONE STOP HIM!"

Pansy: _[delighted]_ "Oh my god, _do it—_ "

 _[Gilderoy pulls two small marbles out of his pocket, handing them to Daphne.]_

Pansy: _[deflatedly]_ "Oh."

Gilderoy: "These are my balls."

Daphne: _[cradling them awkwardly]_ "Oh, well, thank you—they're, um, very nice Professor Lockh-"

Gilderoy: _[cheerfully]_ "Would you like to see my testicles?"

Lee: "MERLIN'S CROOKED SHAFT, SOMEONE JAM HIS ZIPPER—"

 _[Camera cuts out as Daphne and Pansy chant 'do it, do it, do it' and re-opens on Neville, Marcus, and Cormac.]_

Rita: "Sorry, you're who?"

Marcus: "I'm Marcus."

Rita: _[impatiently]_ "Yes, I see that, but Marcus _who_?"

Marcus: "Are you expecting another Marcus?"

Rita: "Well, it had crossed my mind, but—"

Marcus: "I don't see why the issue requires clarification."

Rita: "I—well, I suppose not."

Neville: "And anyway, to answer your question, we work in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and—"

Cormac: _[interrupting]_ "Personally, I work in the beast division."

Rita: _[with cautious skepticism]_ "Is—is that—"

Cormac: "—the name of an actual division in this department? Yes. Is it also a reference to my own transcendence of perfect muscularity and exceptional physique? Yes. Is it a hilarious example of my inherent gifts for deeply nuanced double entendre? Hell yes. Is it a capital showcase of witty and astonishing wordplay? Fuck y-"

Neville: _[interrupting]_ "We talked about this, McLaggen."

Cormac: _[vacantly]_ "Did we?"

Neville: "Yes. Remember? We agreed. No more rhetorical question and answer periods, okay?"

Cormac: "Look, is it my fault that my brilliant ideas don't seem to catch on? No. Is there any good reason that the official Ministry dictionary refuses to accept my petitions to make 'quidbitches' a legal term? Hell no. Does it make sense that I'm still required to wear full shirts to the office?"

 _[They all wait.]_

Cormac: "No, really. I'm asking."

Marcus: _[exasperatedly]_ "You guys should really just go."

* * *

 _ **a/n:**_ _Obviously we have a lot more characters to check in with (and a lot more Draco Poetry and games of MFK to explore) but I'm saving a few of the big ones for tomorrow. Can't spoil the advent on day one, right? Please do let me know if your birthday is during this period of madness and I will be sure to mention it in the dedications. Thanks for reading. More of this shit until Christmas!_


	77. The Real World: Ministry of Magic, Ep 2

**The Real World: Ministry of Magic  
Episode II**

 _Summary_ : The Real World, continued. Olivie Advent Day 2.

* * *

 _[Scene opens with Kingsley being interviewed in his office.]_

Rita: "So…" _[She looks around, clearly bored.]_ "Is this it, or—?"

Kingsley: _[impatiently]_ "As I'm sure you know, my office is responsible mainly for diplomacy and crisis management. It may not be newsworthy, Ms Skeeter, but a quiet morning is actually rather a relief in my line of w-"

 _[The door behind them bursts open, cutting him off mid-sentence and revealing Minerva McGonagall in the frame. She is wearing the Sorting Hat and carrying a portrait of Albus Dumbledore. She looks, quite frankly, more than a little put out.]_

Minerva: "SHACKLEBOLT, YOU WRETCHED WHORE."

Rita: _[eyes widening greedily]_ "Yes, _finally_ —"

Kingsley: "I beg your pardon?"

 _[Lee storms into camera view.]_

Lee: "WHAT'S GOING ON IN H- oh, hello Professor—"

Minerva: "GET OUT, JORDAN!"

Lee: _[with ruffled offense]_ " _Excuse_ me? Professor, might I remind you that this is my _job_ , not some sort of foolish classroom antic, and even if it were an antic, or even a shenanigan, you certainly don't have any authority to tell me what to d-"

Minerva: "QUIET, JORDAN, OR I'LL TAKE TEN POINTS!"

Lee: _[weakly]_ "Yes ma'am."

 _[He wanders out of camera view, looking childishly forlorn. Minerva strides forward, shifting Albus' portrait under one arm before straightening the Sorting Hat on her head and glaring expectantly at Kingsley.]_

Albus, via his portrait: "Kingsley, I specifically told you t-" _[breaks off]_ "Minnie, turn me around, how on earth am I supposed to chastise him when I'm not even facing the correct direction? Honestly, it's like you don't even want me to be here—"

Minerva: _[to the portrait]_ "I _don't_ want you to be here, you cocksucking waste of varnish! Even _I_ don't want to be here—"

Albus: "Well, fine, let me handle it then, and you and that squirrel crown on your head can just—"

Minerva: "Squirrel crown?"

Albus: _[sarcastically]_ "Oh, sorry, is it supposed to be some sort of marsupial diadem?"

Sorting Hat: "I know you're trying to hurt me, Albus, but it's not going to work."

Albus: "Sorry, are you speaking to me, vermin tiara?"

Sorting Hat: "I SAID IT'S NOT GOING TO WORK!"

Kingsley: "Er, Minerva, what exactly is this?"

Minerva: "Listen, we're here for—"

Albus: "REMONSTRATION!"

Sorting Hat: "VENGEANCE!"

Rita: "Oh my god, _yes_ —"

Kingsley: "Er, Minerva, I really don't follow."

Minerva: "First of all, ignore them. Secondly—"

Albus: _[interrupting]_ "CAN A MINISTER BE JUDGED FIT TO RULE WHEN HE CHOOSES TO NEGLECT A WORTHY VOICE OF CONSCIENTIOUS OBJECTION?"

Kingsley: "I—is that what this is? Because I really don't—"

Sorting Hat: "SHOW YOURSELF, YOU LIME GREEN POCKET OF DESPOTISM!"

Kingsley: "—okay, apparently not—"

Minerva: _[to the hat]_ "I _told_ you, we don't have time for this. It's just a _hat_ —"

Sorting Hat: "Like hell it is!"

Kingsley: "Oh, are you referring to Fudge's bowler hat? That's—well, he sort of took that with him, you know. It's not exactly something we keep as a pet—"

Sorting Hat: _[scoffing]_ "A LIKELY STORY."

Albus: _[still muffled]_ "Minnie, I must _insist_ you let me speak to Kingsley to express my disappointment in his tyranny. When have I been anything but perfectly professional?"

Minerva: "Albus, when the utter fuck have you been anything but perfectly defunct?"

Rita: _[hastily taking notes]_ "Yes, yes, good, keep going—"

Kingsley: _[to Rita]_ "Stop it." _[to Minerva]_ "And Minerva, please explain what this is about, would you? Or Albus, for that matter. Or the hat, even—"

Sorting Hat: "BRING FORTH THE SUBJECT FOR QUESTIONING. TRIAL BY A JURY OF HIS PEERS!"

Kingsley: _[sighing]_ "—or, you know, perhaps not the hat, but I think you get the idea—"

 _[Minerva shoves Rita's chair aside with her foot, charming an elaborate throne-like chair that serves to block Rita's view entirely. She pokes out from behind it, though, and continues to scribble in her notepad.]_

Minerva: "Look, Kingsley, I think you and I both assumed our respective posts with some understanding of the generally accepted camaraderie between the Headmaster at Hogwarts and the Minister for Magic, did we not?"

Kingsley: _[hesitantly, bordering on suspiciously]_ "Yes…"

Albus: "And in the past, your office has always been clear on the rules preceding any necessary Ministry intervention at the school." _[He pauses, thinking.]_ "Well—the _rule_ , I should say."

Minerva: "Yes, exactly. And listen, Kingsley, we do understand that Hogwarts has always been somewhat of a—" _[She hesitates.]_ "A veritable breeding ground for inadequacy."

Albus: "How rude! But yes, totally that."

Minerva: "And while that may amount to some understood level of concern, it's still _my_ turn to run that godforsaken shithole into the ground, Shacklebolt! Albus already turned it into a murder competition and a traitor playground and a death sky-match for children, and now, after learning from his mistakes and cleaning up his messes, it's clearly _my_ turn to burn it down—"

Luna, popping out from behind Minerva's chair: "Oh yes, I agree. That's only fair."

Kingsley: _[furiously]_ "HOW DID YOU—"

Minerva: "—and I would _think_ , Kingsley, that the Ministry would recognize the school's autonomy in this matter—"

Sorting Hat: "AND PRODUCE THE SUBJECT FOR QUESTIONING!"

Kingsley: "Okay, hold on. First of all, I still have no idea what this is about, and secondly—" _[He pauses.]_ "Nope, just the first thing, actually. What is this?"

Albus: "Show him, Minnie. Show him. Show him. Show him. Show h-"

Minerva: "For the love of- _shut up_ , Albus—" _[Slams a bit of parchment on the desk, scowling at Kingsley.]_ " _This_. Who is responsible for this?"

 _[Kingsley picks up the parchment, frowning; after skimming the page, his eyes gradually grow wide with recognition.]_

Kingsley: "Oh dear."

 _[Rita pokes out from behind the chair again.]_

Rita: "What is it?"

Albus, Minerva, and the Sorting Hat: "NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS."

Sorting Hat: "Stay out of it, you c-"

Kingsley: " _Language_ , please!"

Sorting Hat: "-ountry whore!"

Kingsley: "Oh. That's fine." _[pauses quizzically, murmuring to himself]_ "Is it?"

Luna: _[cheerily]_ "Where's Gilderoy?"

Rita: "Ugh. Who cares? What's this thing about?"

Albus: "The Ministry is asserting control over Hogwarts! It is extending its CONTEMPTUOUS TENDRILS OF AUTHORITY to squeeze the very LIFE and TRUTH out of wizarding education, and—"

Minerva: _[interrupting]_ "And by virtue of _someone_ enacting a law from nearly four centuries ago requiring Ministry oversight of Hogwarts curriculum, _I_ am now being forced to bend to the ravings of a narcissistic portrait."

Albus: "Oh, Dippet bothering you too, then?"

Minerva: _[sarcastically]_ "Yes. Sure. I'm definitely talking about Dippet."

Sorting Hat: "I KNOW YOU'RE HERE, BOWLER. I CAN SMELL IT."

Minerva: "In any case, surely you agree that this whole song and dance of Ministry control is completely unnecessary, Kingsley."

Sorting Hat: "YOU CAN HIDE, BUT YOU CAN'T RUN!"

Albus: "Besides, our old rule was working fine!"

Sorting Hat: "I MAY BE DOWN, BUT I'M NOT UP!"

Kingsley: _[tentatively]_ "Well... as a reminder, the existing rule is 'no murder,' and that's basically it."

Albus: "Yes! And it works just fine!"

Kingsley: "Okay, but there _was_ a murder, wasn't there?"

Albus: "What? When?"

Kingsley: "More than one, actually. I mean— _you_ were murdered there, so—"

Albus: "What? No. Really? No. That sounds fake."

Minerva: "Shut up, Albus." _[To Kingsley]_ "So? Which of your beastly little minions is responsible for this?"

 _[They all go quiet as Luna chuckles to herself, the giggle evolving to a contented sigh. Slowly, the other heads in the room turn, looking expectantly at her.]_

Luna: "Oh, come on. You know perfectly well who did this."

 _[Cuts to where Gilderoy is following Hermione Granger through the halls. She is carrying a large box, speaking blithely over her shoulder.]_

Hermione: "Sorry Professor, what was it you wanted?"

Gilderoy: "Breasts, if I can get them. I have questions." _[Pauses, looking saddened, and then brightens.]_ "Otherwise, talk to me about plants!"

Hermione: "Oh, I'm sorry Professor, but I'm afraid I really can't at the moment. I'm moving into my new office today. Again." _[She smiles wearily, but seems optimistic, if not proud.]_ "Recently I've been promoted all over the Ministry, actually. I think it's a record—six promotions in the last six months. Unfortunately it means quite a lot of moving, as it always seems to be from department to department."

Gilderoy: "Promotion?"

Hermione: "Yes. I'm leaving the Improper Use of Magic Office now that I've been made head of a different department. It's a smaller office, as I understand it, but it's a fairly considerable title bump, so naturally I'm honored by the Ministry's obvious trust in my leadership abilities. I regret having to leave my previous position, as I really feel I was doing so much good where I was, but apparently I'm needed elsewhere."

 _[Cuts to Seamus and Dean.]_

Dean: "Oh, she was needed elsewhere, alright."

Seamus: "Yes. As in, we really needed to get rid of her."

Dean: "Yes. I mean, she's Hermione, so she's brilliant—"

Seamus: "Yes. But—"

 _[They glance at each other and lean in conspiratorially.]_

Seamus: "She's just, like, _so_ by the book."

Dean: _[groaning]_ " _So_ by the book."

Seamus: "I mean, we adore her, of course—"

Dean: "Unquestionably."

Seamus: _[dropping his voice again]_ "But there was _so_ much paperwork."

Dean: _[at once hushed and shrill]_ "SO. MUCH. PAPERWORK."

Seamus: "I've never seen someone so completely unapologetic about _never_ bending the rules."

Dean: "She's a mutant."

Seamus: "She's a _fucking_ mutant—"

Dean: _[louder]_ "Whom we love."

Seamus: "DEARLY."

Dean: _[quietly]_ "But who really needed to go."

Seamus: "BADLY."

Dean: "She was costing the department a fortune."

Seamus: "A fucking _fortune_ —"

Dean: "—so we convinced Mafalda Hopkirk that Hermione was doing such a good job in our department that she needed a position with more responsibility."

Seamus: "Yes. And at the same time, she needed to be put somewhere she couldn't ruin things."

Dean: "Yes. Sort of like an employment straightjacket."

Seamus: "Yes, exactly."

Dean: "Somewhere she'd be restrained, figuratively."

Seamus: "Yes, and unable to move her arms."

Dean: "…theoretically, you mean?"

Seamus: "Did I not say that out loud?"

Dean: "No."

Seamus: "Huh. Silly me."

Dean: "So anyway, they had her moved to one of the departments of the Ministry that does—" _[glances around, leaning in]_ "—absolutely _nothing_."

Seamus: _[solemnly]_ "Seriously. Nothing."

Dean: "I'm not even sure why they exist."

Seamus: "They come in every day—"

Dean: "—and do _something_ , I assume—"

Seamus: "—but we have no idea what it is."

Dean: "Yes. Right."

Seamus: "Right. So anyway, she's the head of it now."

Dean: "Yes. And we're so proud, naturally."

Seamus: "Right. Because it's a promotion."

Dean: "Yes, that."

Seamus: "And we'll miss her terribly, of course—"

Dean: "Of course."

Seamus: "—but it's better her talents not be wasted."

Dean: "Yes. Exactly. This is about her talents, exclusively."

Seamus: "Yes. Well—" _[Hesitates]_ "It's primarily about her talents. Secondarily our sanity."

Dean: "No, secondarily the benefit of the Ministry as a whole. _Thirdly_ our sanity, at best. Maybe even fourthly, actually. This is clearly for the greater good and not at all about us."

Seamus: "So true. You're so right."

Dean: "Thank you."

Seamus: "You're welcome."

Dean: _[turning back to the camera]_ "Anyway, sorry, what was the question?"

 _[Cuts back to Hermione.]_

Hermione: "… so anyway, I was looking over the four thousand page manual for the department I'm taking over for a bit of light bedside reading, and I happened to find some discrepancies in an old Ministry law that I didn't even know existed. I mean, were _you_ aware that the Ministry is permitted oversight of Hogwarts curriculum if the current administration presents a danger to the students? And _also_ , did you know the only current rule is 'no murder'? That's literally the only rule, it's insane—"

Gilderoy: _[interrupting]_ "So where are we going? Is this a spa?"

Hermione: "A spa?"

Gilderoy: "Yes. Is it a spa?"

Hermione: "No. It's an office."

Gilderoy: "Like the last office?"

Hermione: "No, Professor. Once again, that was the women's lavatory, and I really wish you hadn't followed me inside."

Gilderoy: "So … not a spa?"

Hermione: _[sighing]_ "No, Professor, it isn't."

 _[She puts her hand on the worn handle of a door featuring, in crumbling paint, 'DEPARTMENT OF MAGICAL CONTRACTS AND TORTFEASOR COMEUPPANCE.' She takes a deep breath, preparing herself, and steps inside.]_

From inside, a male voice: "Okay, so, so far I have 'shrill and unkind, o ghost of a stranger' rhyming with 'blue are my balls, I'm still hard for Gr-"

 _[The voice breaks off as something crashes to the floor. Hermione hastily shuts the door, turning to stare wild-eyed into the camera.]_

Hermione: _[whispering to herself]_ "Oh, fucksticks."

* * *

 _ **a/n:**_ _Okay, am setting up something suspiciously resembling plot, bear with me._


	78. The Real World: Ministry of Magic, Ep 3

**The Real World: Ministry of Magic  
Episode III**

 _Summary_ : The Real World, continued. Olivie Advent Day 3.

* * *

 _[Scene opens with Draco and Theo interview.]_

Rita: "What exactly does this department do?"

Theo: "Us? This is the Department of Magical Contracts and Tortfeasor Comeuppance."

Draco: "Yes. And please stop asking me about Granger."

Rita: "I … didn't?"

Draco: "I'm a person, you know. I'm a _human being_ , not some sort of international sex symbol dressed up for ravenous public consumption. I decline to be accosted at will by the mainstream media as some sort of punishment for being a lethal combination of inescapably interesting and wildly attractive."

Rita: "I—okay, noted—"

Draco: "And as for my thoughts on our new department head, as you know, I've never once left room for ambiguity. Or even damnbiguity."

 _[Cuts to Cormac interview.]_

Cormac: "Damnbiguity. It's a term I coined, based on a combination of the words, 'damn, that's ambiguity,' you know?"

 _[Cuts back to Draco.]_

Draco: "I maintain now, as I always have, that I absolutely, unequivocally, and with no exceptions loathe Hermione Granger entirely—"

Rita: _[nodding]_ "Yes, okay. So same as before, then."

Draco: "—both for her unforgivably soft skin and her even softer sensibilities and, frankly, for the way her horrible hair is positively brimming with liberalism and starlight and I assume several months' worth of spare change—"

Rita: _[with visible confusion]_ "Right, well, I thought I knew where this was going, but I no longer know what this is."

Theo: _[kindly]_ "You get used to it. After a while it just becomes white noise. Like, here, watch this—"

Draco: "She's _just like_ Potter with that—"

Theo: "Insufferable morality."

Draco: "— _insufferable morality_ , only worse, because she's—"

Theo: "An affront to the institution."

Draco: "—an affront to the _entire Ministry_ , and a bane on the _whole institution_ —"

Theo: "Ah, damn, not quite. Well, in any case, here comes something that's both an insane compliment and an alarming insult."

Draco: "—and ultimately, she is without a doubt a terrible, floral-scented, dazzling sunbeam of utter incandescence and a disgrace to not only society, but everything valued within it."

Rita: "Oh my."

Theo: "Quite."

Draco: "Also, she's my albatross."

Theo: "What, like the bird?"

 _[Draco lies down on the floor, moaning.]_

Theo: "Cool, I'll check back in ten."

Rita: "Okay, well, that got a bit off track, but I was asking more along the lines of, you know, what you actually _do_?"

Theo: "I already told you. Contracts. Comeuppance. Et cetera."

Rita: "Right, but—do _you_ draft the contracts? Or determine the torts?"

Theo: "Hm? No, the Wizengamot does that. We don't actually have any powers of litigation."

Rita: "Oh. Well, then do you enforce the contracts themselves, if you can't prosecute the tortfeasors?"

Theo: "Nope. The DMLE and the Aurors do that."

Rita: "Is this where the contracts are filed?"

Theo: "Hm? No. That's the clerk's office."

Rita: "Okay … so do you, um—"

Theo: "No. Probably not, I mean."

Rita: "So then you do— _what_ , exactly?"

Theo: "Honestly? Most of the time I'm managing my prank war."

Rita: "Prank war?"

Theo: "Well, it's more an aspiration than anything at the moment. Though I did successfully put Draco's stapler in gelatin the other day."

 _[Cuts to footage of Draco removing said gelatinous stapler from his desk. He picks it up, eyeing it from all sides, and frowns pensively before sampling it with his finger.]_

Draco: "What is this, lime?"

Theo: "Green apple."

Draco: "Huh."

 _[Cuts back to Theo interview.]_

Theo: "He's not particularly interested. I also did try with Magical Creatures department, too, but that was even less fun."

 _[Cuts to footage of Theo, Neville, Marcus, and Cormac. Theo is wearing a heavy black cape, shielding his eyes from the office lights.]_

Theo: "It's … it's so _cold_ in here … almost a _deathly_ chill …"

Neville, without looking up from his book: "Mhmm."

Theo: "Is … is that garlic? I—I can't, it's so … _unholy_ —"

Cormac: "Bro, sweet cape. I've got one like it at home. Says 'Spaghetti Time' on the back."

 _[Neville sets his book down, staring bemusedly at Cormac. Across from him, Marcus also leans forward.]_

Neville: "What does 'spaghetti time' even mean?"

Cormac: _[shrugging]_ "That it's fucking spaghetti time, Longbottom."

Neville: "Okay, but why?"

Theo: _[louder]_ "Oh no … my reflection … I dare not gaze upon it!"

Neville: "I don't understand. Do you wear the cape when you're eating spaghetti?

Marcus: "Or do you just use it to remind you when it's time to eat spaghetti?"

Cormac: "Bro. Bros. It just _is_ , okay? You just _do_."

Theo: "TOO BAD I GOT BITTEN BY THAT BAT!"

Neville: "Okay, but why spaghetti time? Why not some other kind of food?"

Cormac: "I have other capes, bro."

Marcus: "Are we not even going to address the cape bit? Is this a 'one nonsensical thing at a time' situation, or what?"

Theo: "HOPE NOBODY'S GOT ANY HOLY WATER—"

Neville: "Okay wait, other capes?"

Cormac: "Well, there's my brunch cape. Says 'mimosa time.' Plus my festive one, says 'nacho business,' and—"

Theo: "Ugh, hold on."

 _[Cuts to Theo walking into DMGS to see Daphne and Pansy.]_

Theo: "It's … it's so _cold_ in here …"

Pansy, without looking up: "You're not a vampire, Theodore. And I'm going with marry Voldemort, fuck Grindelwald, and kill Dumbledore, for obvious reasons."

Daphne: "Oh, obviously."

 _[Theo pauses, abandoning his act.]_

Theo: "Was that … did you just …?"

Daphne, eyeing her fingernails: "Yes. Obviously."

Pansy: "We were playing villain MFK, but like, you know, I feel like 'villain' is such a damnbiguous term."

 _[Cuts to Cormac interview.]_

Cormac: "it also works for 'damn, that's ambiguous,' so, you know. It's versatile."

 _[Cuts back to Pansy.]_

Pansy: "And besides, I really think I could have had a positive influence on Voldemort."

Daphne: "Yes, right? I'm pretty sure I could have _changed_ him, you know?"

Pansy: "Yes. I mean, let's be real. You don't get to traipse through this garden of Eden only to turn around and start wars, you know what I mean?"

Daphne: "I do. I've been there, and I've never once started a war."

Pansy: _[nodding]_ "Proof."

Daphne: "Obviously."

Pansy: _[thinking]_ "I mean, I guess Draco technically came close—"

Daphne: "Doesn't count. War was already started."

Pansy: "Ah, good catch."

Daphne: "I consider myself detail-oriented."

Pansy: "As you should."

Theo: "... is there a reason a Dumbledore was included in there?"

Pansy: _[flipping a page]_ "Is there a reason _you're_ here?"

 _[He pauses, considering it.]_

Theo: "Point taken. Hold please."

 _[Cuts to Harry and Ron, who are alone in the department's bullpen.]_

Theo: _[disappointedly]_ "Oh. I was hoping there'd be someone else here."

Harry: "Why? You doing a bit, Nott?"

Theo: "Eh."

Harry: "You have a cape on, so I'm kind of assuming it's for a bit."

Theo: _[innocently]_ "Oh, do I?"

Harry: "Yes."

Theo: "I mean, sometimes my arms are, er, cold. But, you know. Not cold enough for sleeves."

 _[Harry and Ron exchange dubious glances, folding their arms over their chests.]_

Harry: "We're wizard detectives, Nott. We can see you're doing a thing."

Ron: "Yeah. Come on, Nott, just show us the bit."

Theo: "Eh. Nah."

Harry: "Why not? You've already got the cape on."

Theo: "Yeah, but it's just—" _[He hesitates.]_ "It's really nuanced. You might not get it."

Ron: "Oh."

 _[They wait.]_

Theo: "Okay, bye."

 _[Cuts back to Theo interview.]_

Theo: "Basically I'm so bored I've been trying to stimulate interest literally anywhere else, because our department doesn't do anything."

Rita: "Really? Then how do you explain that?"

Theo: "Explain what?"

Rita: _[pointing]_ " … _that_."

 _[Camera pans out to show that the three of them are currently sitting outside of the department's office. On the other side of the door, Minerva paces, arbitrarily shouting expletives over her shoulder at Hermione, who sits next to a delighted Gilderoy.]_

Theo: "Oh, right. That."

 _[Cuts to the inside of the room.]_

Minerva: "—BOILED IN A STEW OF YOUR OWN BLOOD AND MADE TO FEAST UPON YOUR ENTRAILS—"

Hermione: _[timidly]_ "Professor, I—"

Minerva: "—AND SURE, MAYBE THAT'S NOT AN APPROPRIATE THING FOR A GHOST TO SAY TO A FIRST YEAR STUDENT, BUT WE ALL TURNED OUT FINE, DIDN'T WE?"

Hermione: "I—wait, are you serious?"

Gilderoy: "Question. Will there be time for a musical number?"

Minerva: "THE POINT IS, MISS GRANGER, THAT LEVYING SOME SORT OF VENGEANCE-DRIVEN AUTOCRACY IS—"

Sorting Hat: "THE ONLY APPROPRIATE WAY TO DEAL WITH RECALCITRANT BOWLER HATS!"

Minerva: "—QUITE CLEARLY OPPRESSION TO THE HIGHEST DEGREE—"

Hermione: "It's not a matter of _vengeance_ , Professor! I just think that since this law exists, it's quite a good opportunity for the Ministry and the school to work together, you know, just to make sure that there are no holes in the curric-"

Minerva: "I WILL PUT A HOLE IN _YOU_ , GRANGER!"

Gilderoy, singing: "I-eeeeee-iiiiiiii, will put a hooooooooole in youuuuuuuu!"

 _[He finishes in the splits, tossing a handful of freshly cut flowers. Camera cuts back to Theo interview.]_

Theo: "Oh, right. Well, this department does do one thing, I guess. We're in charge of old contracts that other departments forgot about before they were all formed to take care of things that we don't have the authority to do."

Rita: _[disapprovingly]_ "Other people besides Miss Granger, it seems."

Theo: "Yeah, she sniffed that one right out. She doesn't seem to like the status quo much."

Rita: "Evidently not."

Theo: "Yeah. It didn't go well with Blaise, either."

 _[Cuts to Hermione, Draco, Theo, and Blaise.]_

Hermione: "I don't understand. What exactly do you do here?"

Blaise: "Who, me?"

Draco: "Blaise, you mean?"

Theo: "Are you talking to Blaise?"

Hermione: "I—yes, obviously, I'm just wondering what your job is here, Blaise, seeing as you're not actually a Ministry employee—"

Blaise: "Sorry, do you mean here?"

Draco: "Are you talking about here?"

Theo: "I don't follow. Is this about Blaise?"

 _[Hermione's expression turns murderous.]_

Blaise: "You look upset."

Theo: "What are we talking about now?"

Draco: "Is this still about Blaise?"

 _[Hermione's fingers tighten around her wand. Cuts back to Theo interview.]_

Theo: "Yeah, so long story short, he left."

 _[Draco pops up from the floor.]_

Draco: "You know what else about Granger?"

Theo: "Oh good, you're back."

Draco: "She's totally unreasonable. Like, okay, so say that you—or you know, _someone_ , who definitely isn't me— _hypothetically,_ and totally by accident, poisons one p-" _[stops, thinking]_ "Okay, so, say you— _someone_ —accidentally poison two people, right? Totally by accident, and she finds out."

Theo: "Sure, buddy."

Draco: "And then it's just like—BAM, you fucked up. Over. Done. The line is apparently drawn at murder, and like—? We never even talked about it? So there was just… basically no way for me to know she had some sort of, I don't know, personal opposition to it? I just. I can't, like—how is that _fair_ , exactly? I mean, what, there's not even a cooling off period where we both see our respective wrongs and you know, maybe a little cunilatio exchange—"

 _[Cuts to Cormac interview.]_

Cormac: "Cunilatio. Cunnilingus and fellatio. It's a term I coined, based on combining two words for mouth-fucking."

 _[Cuts back to Draco.]_

Draco: "—and then, after we'd both had some time to think about how sure, _maybe_ I shouldn't have tried to kill someone and yeah, she _probably_ shouldn't have been so upset over what ended up only being murder- _adjacent_ at best, we might have come together and—and actually—and—"

 _[He struggles.]_

Theo: "How 'bout another time-out, there, guy?"

 _[Draco lies down, whimpering.]_

Theo: _[turning back to the camera]_ "Right, so—what was the question?"

* * *

 _ **a/n:**_ _This does require some prior knowledge of the first advent, so a note for one or two of you who seem bewildered in the reviews: there's some history here. Though in fairness, it is bewildering regardless._


	79. The Real World: Ministry of Magic, Ep 4

**The Real World: Ministry of Magic  
Episode IV**

 _Summary_ : The Real World, continued. Olivie Advent Day 4.

* * *

 _[Scene opens with Ron interview. He's sitting at his desk in the Auror bullpen, finishing up some paperwork.]_

Ron: _[brightly]_ "Oh, everything's great! As you can see, I'm an Auror now, along with Harry, of course—"

Rita: "I don't know who that is. But sure, how's that going?"

Ron: "Oh, I love working with my best mate. Obviously, I mean, we already knew we make a really great team. We've always really brought out the best in each other, too, which works for us, because Harry can be very take-charge and I'm usually the cool-headed, rational one, you know what I mean?"

 _[Cuts to Ron and Harry in Auror training.]_

Ron: "Harry—Harry? Look at me, okay? Let's not go charging in anywhere, alright, mate? Let's just, you know, have a little breath, count to ten, and—"

 _[He turns, checking for something over his shoulder.]_

Ron: "Yes, okay, perfect, so now that we've assessed the situat- ah, bloody hell, he's gone."

 _[Cuts back to Ron interview.]_

Ron: "It's not a perfect system, but, you know, we're getting there."

Luna: "Really? Hm. That's not what I heard."

 _[Camera pans out to reveal Luna sitting on Rita's right, a pair of neon pink spectacles balanced near the tip of her nose as she takes notes on a bee-shaped notepad.]_

Ron: _[ruffled]_ "Excuse me, I—" _[He pauses and frowns, first at Luna and then at Rita.]_ "Sorry, but is there a reason there's so many people here?"

Luna: "Do you mean me?"

Ron: "Well, sort of."

Luna: _[kindly]_ "If I'm making you uncomfortable, I can just go back to sitting quietly just outside of camera view."

Ron: "No, it's fine. I meant more—you know. _Them_."

 _[Camera pans out further to show that on Rita's right, Gilderoy is mimicking Luna's posture, also scribbling in a notepad. He appears to be working on a primitively-drawn but not uncreative aquatic still-life. On his right, the Sorting Hat is sitting in its own chair, also wearing spectacles.]_

Sorting Hat: "First of all, it's called surveillance."

Gilderoy: _[perching awkwardly atop the chair]_ "Am I doing it right?"

Sorting Hat: "Not even remotely."

Luna: _[leaning over to speak encouragingly to Gilderoy.]_ "I think you're doing fine, Professor Lockhart."

Gilderoy: _[alarmed]_ "Are you a ghost?"

Luna: "Aw, that's sweet."

Sorting Hat: "You know, you should all be grateful I'm here. If any suspicious hats appear, I'll be the first to notice."

Ron: "Suspicious hats? As opposed to you, an unsuspicious hat?"

Sorting Hat: "Young man, know that I hear the implications of your tone, and I unequivocally reject them."

Gilderoy: "I want a fabulous hat!"

Sorting Hat: _[scoffing]_ "Bitch, please. Stay in your lane."

Rita: _[to Ron]_ "I didn't invite them, if that's what you're asking."

Ron: "That's not quite what I asked, but good to know. Comforting, at least."

Luna: "Anyway, Ron, I actually heard differently about you and Harry."

Ron: "Oh? What have you heard?"

 _[Cut to Auror training.]_

Harry: _[soothingly]_ "Ron… Ron, look at me. Stay calm, okay? You're doing fine, Ron, everything's fine, it's just a spider—"

Ron: "A spider?! That thing is a mutant, get it off—GET IT OFF ME, BLOODY HELL HARRY, IT'S THE SIZE OF A SURREY STARTER HOUSE—"

 _[Camera zooms in on the small domestic spider, which is cheerfully making its way across Ron's desk as Harry moves to pick up the piece of parchment.]_

Harry: "Honestly Ron, it's more afraid of you than you are of it—"

Ron: "THIS IS NOT THE TIME FOR CLICHÉS, POTTER!"

Harry: "Okay fine, relax, I've got him—"

Ron: _[hovering leaning over Harry's shoulder]_ "Don't _hurt_ him, Harry, be very caref- gentle, _gentle_ , Harry—you never know if he's going to want to come back for revenge—"

Harry: "Revenge?"

Ron: "Yeah. I heard spiders have uncanny facial recognition and, you know, I certainly don't want him coming back for more when I least expect it!"

Harry: "I think you might be thinking of something else, Ron. And besides, they say the average human swallows eight spiders a year, so—"

Ron: "WELL NO WONDER HE'S COME BACK, THEN! WHAT IF I'VE DECIMATED HIS FAMILY? HE'S OBVIOUSLY COME FOR A RECKONING!"

Luna: "Swallowing that many spiders is actually a myth."

Ron: _[visibly relieved]_ "Oh, bloody hell, thank g-" _[He jumps, registering her presence in the room.]_ "Wait a minute, how did you get in here?"

Harry: _[gingerly setting the spider on the windowsill]_ "She's been in here for at least twenty minutes, Ron."

Luna: "That's true."

Ron: "Oh."

Luna: "Also, you likely haven't swallowed any spiders, but there are definitely some in your earlobes setting up camp next to the wrackspurts in your brain."

Ron: _[wailing]_ "HARRY—"

Harry: _[sternly]_ "Luna!"

Luna: _[gingerly]_ "Ron?"

 _[Cuts back to Ron interview.]_

Gilderoy: _[with relish]_ "Gilderoy!"

Ron: "Well, look, I'll admit it, there've been some less than stellar moments on my part. And sure, Harry gets most of the attention in the department, surprise surprise—"

Rita: "Harry who? I don't follow."

Ron: "—and anyway, he's probably going to be made Head Auror soon, but it's fine. I'm doing great. Honestly, I really am. I mean, would I like a promotion? Sure. But I'm fine without one, and I mean, my personal life is really fulfilling. As I'm sure you know, Hermione and I have been together since the war—"

Rita: _[distastefully]_ "Yes, I'm aware."

Ron: "—which is great. She's great. It's great."

Sorting Hat: _[sarcastically]_ "Oh really? Is it _great_?"

Ron: "Yeah. That's what I said."

Sorting Hat: "Son, please."

Ron: "What? We have a connection, you know? An intimacy founded in friendship and mutual respect. Plus, she understands me like nobody else in the world."

 _[Cuts to Ron and Hermione.]_

Ron: _[shrieking]_ "OH MY GOD—"

Hermione: "Hold on, hold on—"

 _[She comes over, holding out a piece of parchment, and collects the spider on top of it before carrying it out to the door.]_

Ron: "Well don't hurt it, Hermione! It might—"

Hermione: _[interrupting]_ "Ronald, I promise you, it's not going to come after us in our sleep."

Ron: "You don't know that! How many times did Voldemort come back?! AT LEAST ONCE, and that's all it takes to wind up murdered in our beds!"

Hermione: "I'm sorry, is this still the spider murdering us in this scenario, or is this actually about Voldemort?"

Ron: _[exasperatedly]_ "Harry already _killed_ Voldemort, Hermione. _He's_ gone. The _spiders_ , on the other hand—"

Hermione: _[sighing]_ "It's not a conspiracy, Ron."

Ron: "IT'S COLLUSION!"

 _[Cuts back to Ron interview.]_

Ron: "So anyway, like I said, things are going really well for me. I work with one of my best friends, I'm happily dating my other best friend, and my sister's coming into town for the end-of-the-year Ministry quidditch game."

Rita: "Your sister? You mean the professional chaser Ginevra Weasley?"

Ron: "Yes."

Rita: "She's allowed to play in a game for Ministry employees?"

Ron: "Well, yes, considering she's also a part-time Ministry employee. Shockingly, all-female quidditch teams don't pay all that well."

 _[Cut to Ginny interview.]_

Ginny: "Yeah, I work at the DMLE from time to time handling surplus investigations for the Auror department. I've considered sucking a few dicks up the chain to try getting a few more sponsorships, but there seems to be some sort of fundamental misalignment with that. I think Cormac's got a word for it, actually."

 _[Cut to Cormac interview.]_

Cormac: "Hypolatio. As in, a combination of the words 'hypocritical' and 'fellatio.'"

Lee: "Just out of curiosity, how many of your portmanteaus involve the word 'fellatio'?"

Cormac: _[shrugging]_ "Most of the good ones."

 _[Cuts back to Ron.]_

Ron: "So yeah, every year the Auror department wins, which is fun. Honestly, the whole thing is just a little fun thing we do, which really lets us end the year on a positive note. Totally casual, just a bit of light-hearted competition between departments, and—"

Luna: "Hasn't that game been canceled?"

Ron: _[turning pale]_ "What?"

 _[Cuts to Pansy and Daphne.]_

Pansy: "Oh, the Ministry quidditch game? Yeah, it's like, some stupid thing."

Daphne: "Pretty sure nobody goes."

Pansy: "I mean, we definitely don't."

Daphne: "Right. So like, if a tree falls in the forest and nobody goes to the Ministry quidditch game, does it even need to happen?"

Pansy: "Yeah, exactly. Just easier just to cancel it, you know? Whatever. If people want to be social, then we can bring a bottle of Odgen's into work on a Tuesday. Bam, everyone's happy, and I didn't even have to learn what the twat ball is for."

Daphne: "Twat ball?"

Lee, off camera: "TWAT BALL?"

Pansy: "Right? There's the twat ball, the boners, the golden snatch—"

Daphne: "Wait. That can't possibly be right."

Pansy: _[shrugging]_ "Pretty sure it is."

Lee, off camera: "DID SHE SAY GOLDEN SNATCH?!"

Pansy: "What? So now we can't even talk about quidditch? Thanks, Shacklebolt."

Daphne: "Hold on. If that's what the actual balls are called, then maybe I've done something wrong by avoiding it this long."

Pansy: "Right, well, in any case. It's not like anyone's going to be upset about us cancelling it, right? It's just a stupid quidditch game."

Daphne: "Yeah, exactly. I mean, who cares?"

 _[A wail resounds from down the hall, along with something that sounds like 'THAT GAME IS ALL I HAVE TO LIVE FOR' and 'MY LIFE IS CRUMBLING AROUND ME,' followed by passionate sobbing.]_

Daphne: "Huh, wonder what that's about."

Pansy: _[shrugging]_ "Sounds like Weasley saw another spider."

Daphne: "He seems to see them a lot, doesn't he?"

Pansy: _[unscrewing the lid to a jar of spiders]_ "Hm? Sorry, what?"

* * *

 _ **a/n:**_ _I do write an installment a day, so, they'll all sort of arrive at different times depending on the day. Forgive me fanfic for I have sinned…_


	80. The Real World: Ministry of Magic, Ep 5

**The Real World: Ministry of Magic  
Episode V**

 _Summary_ : The Real World, continued. Olivie Advent Day 5.

* * *

 _[Scene opens with Draco and Hermione interview.]_

Rita: "So how are things going?"

Hermione: "They're, um. Well, they're really quite—"

Draco: "It's a garbage fire of inadequacy."

 _[Cut to Hermione and Minerva, joined by Albus' portrait.]_

Hermione: _[glancing over a piece of parchment]_ "Okay, so, who's teaching History of Magic now?"

Minerva: _[impatiently]_ "Professor Binns, of course."

Hermione: "Right. Sure. But just wondering, should you maybe hire a corporeal teacher? In terms of safety, for one thing, probably better to have another physical body who can actually protect students in the event of, say, a mass crisis, or perhaps an uprising by a dark lord—"

Albus: "Are you insinuating something?"

Hermione: "It's really more of an allusion than an insinuation, Professor. But yes, I'm heavily implying that you need to hire someone else."

Albus: _[boisterously]_ "UNILATERALLY REJEC-"

Minerva: "Albus, you blithering bouquet of dicks, shut your painted cockzipper and let me handle this."

Albus: _[grumbling]_ "Fine."

Hermione: _[visibly relieved]_ "Oh, Professor, I'm so glad you've decided to be reasona-"

Minerva: "UNILATERALLY REJECTED. What else've you got?"

Hermione: _[hesitantly]_ "Well, how about instead of having a groundskeeper with access to the entire campus and no legal provision to carry a wand, you let him finish his education, thereby gaining another fully qualified teacher for the school _and_ relieving a member of the faculty his unnecessary reliance on poorly-disguised trickery that's, quite frankly, fooling no one?"

 _[There is a pause.]_

 _[Then, abruptly, both Minerva and Albus erupt in laughter.]_

Minerva: _[sputtering]_ "Oh my god, Albus, you lacquered trapeze of fucks, did you hear that? Did—did you hear her? Say it again, Granger, just like that—use that same serious voice you used like it was a real thing, too, so Albus can hear it—"

Albus: _[howling]_ "NO, NO, I HEARD IT. I HEARD. I—HOLD ON. I CAN'T BREATHE—"

 _[He picks up a painted glass of pumpkin juice, fanning himself and taking a calming sip.]_

Minerva: _[still doubled over laughing]_ "Next she's going to suggest we get rid of Filch's torture room!"

Hermione: _[alarmed]_ "Wait, is that a real thing?"

 _[Albus and Minerva choke with laughter; Albus sprays his pumpkin juice all over the face of his portrait. Scene cuts back to Draco and Hermione interview.]_

Hermione: _[testily]_ "It's not a garbage fire, Malfoy. At best it's, you know, a small gas leak."

Draco: _[equally irritably]_ "Oh, sure. And this isn't total devastation, it's just a normal, unrequited crush!"

Hermione: "Wait, what?"

Draco: "Hm? What?"

Hermione: _[sighing]_ "Anyway, it's not like you've been helping. You've been incredibly unhelpful, actually."

Draco: "I have not!"

Hermione: _[eyeing the camera]_ "Roll the tape, Lee."

 _[Cuts to Draco and Hermione in the office. Their desks are located across the room from each other, facing each other at opposite ends with a vast empty section of carpet in the middle.]_

Hermione: _[loudly]_ "Malfoy, can you come over to my desk, please?"

Draco: "What?"

Hermione: _[louder]_ "Can you come here please? I need to discuss these contracts with you. Have you been keeping track of—"

Draco: "What?"

Hermione: _[clearing her throat, then shouting]_ "I SAID, CAN YOU JUST—"

Draco: "Granger, I simply cannot hear you. If you have something to say, I suggest you send it in an owl."

Hermione: _[scowling]_ "I'm not going t-"

Draco: _[cupping a hand around his ear]_ "What?"

 _[Hermione sighs, rolling her eyes and scribbling something on a piece of parchment. She folds it into an elaborate paper airplane and charms it directly onto Draco's desk. He glances at it, considering it, and then opens it, skimming the contents quickly. He then proceeds to continue doing his work.]_

Hermione: _[exasperatedly_ ] "MALFOY!"

Draco: _[looking up]_ "What?"

Hermione: "I asked you to come to my desk!"

Draco: "What, now?"

Hermione: "Yes, now!"

Draco: "I can't. I'm busy."

Hermione: "What are you busy doing?"

Draco: _[innocently]_ "I'm drafting a response letter to my department head."

Hermione: "I—" _[She growls with irritation.]_ "Malfoy, just come to my desk, I don't need a response!"

Draco: "I'm sorry, what was that?"

Hermione: "Are you serious? You can hear me just fine!"

Draco: "I know I age like fine wine, Granger, there's no need to bring it up now. It's hardly relevant."

Hermione: _[frustrated]_ "That's not what I said!"

Draco: _[with a stunning lack of shame]_ "Frankly, this is harassment."

Hermione: "MALFOY!"

Draco: "Is this entrapment? Is this a trap? I think it is. Are you luring me over there because I'm vulnerable? Because I'm your employee? Is that what this is? Because I know my rights, Granger. I'm not some piece of meat for your consumption, you know."

 _[Camera zooms out to reveal Theo's desk in the corner of the room. He sighs quietly, eyeing the camera and shaking his head.]_

Hermione: _[shouting]_ "MALFOY, COME OVER TO MY DESK IMMEDIATELY OR I WILL LEVITATE YOU HERE MYSELF!"

Draco: "Do it, Granger, I dare you—"

Hermione: _[standing up]_ "MALFOY, SO HELP ME, I WILL DROWN YOU IN A RIVER—"

Draco: _[also standing]_ "COME OVER HERE AND GET ME THEN, YOU SNIPPY DOLLOP OF MARMALADE!"

Hermione: "YOU GET OVER HERE FIRST, YOU ARROGANT SON OF AN INBRED WHORE!"

Draco: _[astonished]_ "Whoa, whoa, Granger!"

Theo: " _Jesus,_ Granger, what the _fuck—_ "

Draco: "—that's my _mother_ , Granger, holy _shit_ —"

Hermione: _[horrified]_ "I know, it just—it slipped out—"

Draco: "A step too far, don't you think?"

Theo: " _One_ step? A dozen steps at least, I mean _Christ_ —"

Hermione: _[sheepishly]_ "You're right, I got carried away. I'm sorry."

Theo: " _I'm_ sorry I had to hear it!"

 _[Cut to Theo interview.]_

Theo: _[slyly]_ "Narcissa's doing fine, by the way."

 _[Cuts back to office scene.]_

Draco: "It's fine, Granger. Honestly. It happens."

Hermione: _[relieved]_ "Thank you, Malfoy—"

Theo: "I mean it's fucked, but—"

Draco: "But we're adults now. We get it. We all lose our cool sometimes."

Hermione: "Thanks, guys."

Theo: "You should really chill, though."

Draco: "True."

Hermione: _[sighing]_ "Listen, Malfoy, can you just come here please? Just for a second, I promise."

Draco: _[holding a hand to his ear]_ "What?"

Hermione: "SERIOUSLY?"

Draco: "Hmm? Sorry, what?"

 _[Cuts back to Draco and Hermione interview.]_

Draco: "I honestly just feel so attacked right now."

 _[Camera pans out to reveal Luna and Gilderoy on his left.]_

Gilderoy: "If it helps, I think you're a smokeshow."

Draco: _[flattered against his will]_ "What? Thank you, but—"

Luna: _[leaning over]_ "Professor, I think you mean he got burned."

Gilderoy: _[cheerily]_ "Ah, yes, that's the one."

Hermione: "Hey Malfoy, where's Theo, by the way? He's supposed to be working."

Draco: _[looking around]_ "Where _is_ Theo?"

 _[Cut to the Department of Magical Games and Sports.]_

Theo: "… so are you saying it's _too_ subtle, or—"

Pansy: _[yawning]_ "How can it be _subtle_ , Nott? You're wearing a cape, you're literally just naming things that everyone _knows_ apply to vampires—but only to _European_ vampires, and just so you know, you Western-biased fiend, there are _other kinds_ —"

Blaise: "Go off, Parkinson!"

Pansy: "—and also, it's old. It's tired. Oh, another vampire prank? Really? _Really_? Another one? _Another_ vampire? Jesus. _Anoth-_ "

Blaise: _[tentatively]_ "Okay, I think he gets it."

Pansy: "Whatever. Find a new show, Theodore."

Theo: "Fuck, Pansy, who spat in your pumpkin juice?"

Pansy: _[grimacing]_ "Sorry. It's been an exhausting morning."

 _[Cut to earlier that morning, as Ron bursts into the office.]_

Ron: _[bellowing]_ "PARKINSON!"

Pansy: _[without looking up]_ "Weasley, listen, we talked about this. I'm going to need you to keep your voice at a manageable level."

Ron: "Fine, I just wanted to—"

Pansy: "Nope, lower."

Ron: _[pitching his voice deeper]_ "Parkinson, I need to talk to you about—"

Pansy: "Nope. Try again."

Ron: _[whispering]_ "Parkinson, about the quid-"

Pansy: "Weasley, I'm going to give you one more try."

 _[Ron pauses uncertainly, frowning, and says nothing.]_

Pansy: _[sighing contentedly]_ "There. That's perfect."

Ron: "But I—"

Pansy: "Nope. Get out."

 _[Cuts back to Pansy, Theo, and Blaise.]_

Pansy: "So anyway, he's trying to talk me into un-canceling the Ministry quidditch game, but that's obviously not going to happen."

Blaise: "Oh, I love that game."

Pansy: "Do you even work here?"

Blaise: "Who, me?"

Theo: "Are you talking to Blaise?"

Blaise: "Is this about me?"

Pansy: _[sighing]_ "You dicks need a new hobby."

 _[Harry sticks his head in.]_

Harry: "Hey Parkinson, do you have a minute?"

Pansy: _[without looking up]_ "Potter, we talked about this."

Harry: "I really can't keep doing this."

Pansy: _[lazily]_ "Well, there's the door—"

Harry: "Look, can you just give the quidditch game another thought? I bet if you asked Ron to help you plan it, he'd be happy to."

Theo: "Trying to keep your boyfriend happy, Potter?"

 _[Harry turns, giving Theo a wary once-over.]_

Harry: "Heard the bit you didn't want to show us was just another 'I'm-a-vampire' sketch, Nott. Kind of tired, don't you think?"

 _[Theo, ruffled, says nothing.]_

Blaise: "Ignore Nott. His prank war's going badly."

Harry: _[curiously]_ "Prank war?"

Pansy: "He's trying to launch a prank war to cure his boredom."

Harry: _[shrugging]_ "Well, always good to set achievable goals, I guess."

Theo: "Unrelated, Potter, how would you react if I gave you a box of biscuits but instead of cream, they were filled with minty toothpaste?"

Harry: "I'd say 'man, I'm underwhelmed,' I think. That's got to be pretty low on the prank spectrum of damage, right?"

Blaise: "I mean, it'd be enough to make me think twice about biscuits—"

Theo: _[scoffing]_ "Well if you're such a prank expert, Potter, what's a better one, then?"

 _[Camera pans out to reveal Luna on Theo's right.]_

Luna: "Arson!"

Harry: "That's not a prank, Luna. That's a crime."

Luna: "Oh." _[Thinks for a moment.]_ "Well, let's see. First, I think I'd rob a grave—"

Harry: "Luna, that's still—"

Theo: "Shh, shh, let her finish."

Luna: "—and then I'd take my winnings, disguise myself as a man, become an international sensation and irresistible lothario, write a book about my experience, publish it, star in the film adaptation, turn it into a television spin-off, work on it for six seasons, retire young, and then reveal myself to be an old, old woman named Bertha, and _then_ , after decades of speculation about why I did it, which I'd never reveal—and of course an entire other film adaptation—I'd reveal myself to have _actually_ been the ghost of a dead professor all along."

Blaise: "I—" _[He frowns.]_ "What the—"

 _[Camera pans out to reveal Severus Snape sitting on a collapsible lawn chair beside Luna, wearing a pair of sunglasses and sipping from the straw of a pina colada.]_

Severus: _[licking his finger and turning the page of his Quibbler]_ "Simple. Elegant. I like it."

 _[A moment of astonished pause.]_

Pansy: _[erupting]_ "WHAT THE FUCK—"

Blaise: "We thought you were dead!"

Severus: "Maybe I was. You don't know my life."

Theo: "Or death, apparently."

Luna: _[approvingly]_ "Either way, that's a good prank."

 _[Severus nudges his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose to look at her, pursing his lips distastefully.]_

Severus: "It wasn't a prank. I'm not a child, or a fool, or some sort of medieval court jester. I don't participate in pranks, or antics, or larks, or horseplay—"

Luna: "You kinda did, though."

Severus: "Don't be ridiculous."

Luna: _[beaming]_ "Aw. I've missed this."

 _[He rises to his feet.]_

Severus: "So are we done here?"

Luna: "Oh, sure."

 _[They leave.]_

Blaise: _[stunned]_ "Did—did that just—"

Harry: "So wait, was that a yes or no on the quidditch game?"

* * *

 _ **a/n:**_ _Tomorrow/Thursday may be shorter because I have a How to Win chapter to write. Psst, I told myself these would be 500 words. Eye roll at me._


	81. The Real World: Ministry of Magic, Ep 6

**The Real World: Ministry of Magic  
Episode VI**

 _Summary_ : The Real World, continued. Olivie Advent Day 6.

* * *

 _[Scene opens with Harry interview.]_

Harry: "Can I say something?"

Rita: "Depends. Who are you?"

Harry: "You know who I am."

Rita: "Well, I'm afraid you'll have to remind me."

Harry: "I'm Harry Pot-"

Rita: "Ah, yes, Harry Potstain."

Harry: "Do we really have to do this every time?"

Rita: "I doubt we'll run into each other again."

Harry: "Well, can I say my thing now?"

Rita: "Hm? Oh, I'm sorry, that's all we have time for—"

Luna: "No, let him stay. It'll be fun."

Gilderoy: "Also, be careful with soap. It only smells good."

Severus: _[licking a finger, turning the page of his Quibbler]_ "You know, you and I dueled once."

Gilderoy: "Really? Who died?"

Severus: "Academia."

Gilderoy: _[shrugging]_ "Never heard of her."

Rita: "Shut up, you imbeciles—what is it, Harry Potato? Spit it out, we haven't got all day—"

Harry: _[sighing]_ "Look, things aren't going as well for me as they look, okay? I know Ron's telling people I'm going to be the next Head Auror, but honestly that's not even something I'm even sure that I want, and—"

Rita: "What is this? Existentialism?"

Harry: "What?"

Rita: "Get back to me when someone's stolen your wife, or blackmailed you for treason, or—"

Harry: "Wait a minute. Is that actually happening to someone?"

 _[Cut to Seamus and Dean.]_

Seamus: "What's the hot goss, you say? Well, you came to the right place."

Dean: "Unfortunately."

Seamus: "I mean, I shouldn't name names, but—"

Dean: "But he's probably going to."

Seamus: "—look, let's just say there's a certain scar-faced soon-to-be Head Auror and a crimson-haired lady quidditch player who seem to be on the rocks."

Dean: "Really left a lot of room for ambiguity there, Sea."

Seamus: "Rumor is the last time she was in town she didn't even stay at his house. She just went to a hotel, like some sort of expensive prostitute!"

Dean: "That, or a hotel guest."

Seamus: "Please. Don't act like you don't know what goes on in hotels."

Dean: _[sighing]_ "Just keep going."

Seamus: "So anyway, I hear there's been trouble for a while. HUGE SECRET, by the way—"

Dean: "That you just announced to everyone."

Seamus: "For the betterment of the public! You know perfectly well I could have said a _lot_ more."

Dean: _[miserably]_ "Unfortunately, I do."

 _[Cut to Ginny and Dean.]_

Ginny: "Well, I'd say it's going fairly well, but a little problematic in the larger scheme of things. I just think the main problem is that I always just _assumed_ we'd end up together, you know? I'm just a really goal-oriented person, and he's been my goal since I was what, ten years old? So, yeah. I see something I want and I chase it. I mean, I'm literally a chaser, so that makes sense, right? But I think we're just trying to make something work that isn't totally designed to fit together. I mean yes, we're both hot, and sure, we both like quidditch and I look like his dead mum, but shouldn't there be more than that? Yes, I'm unapologetically great. Yes, he saved the wizarding world multiple times. But listen, some things are just fundamentally misaligned, you know what I mean? It's like how some people just prefer dogs to cats, or how some people _like_ going to the bathroom with the door open and other people should just _fucking chill_ —and like, maybe some people prefer to not have to big spoon all the fucking time? Maybe they want a turn at little spoon? And also, _some_ people want to be able to live the sort of life where their significant other does _not_ leave the cabinets open, or—oh, I don't know, maybe he doesn't walk into a room, take off his socks, throw them in two totally arbitrary directions, and then announce that 'daddy's home'? So I guess to answer your question, I don't know, um … maybe three times a week?"

 _[There is a long pause.]_

Dean: "Gin. Some things. First of all, this is not at all what I meant when I said 'sex.' Secondly, I'm just helping you update your paperwork for payroll. Did you really think this is what I was going to write down on your employment form?"

Ginny: "Oh, sorry, did you mean gender?"

 _[Cut back to Seamus and Dean.]_

Dean: "It's my fault. I knew the answer."

Seamus: "Yeah, plus you really shouldn't have told me about any of that."

Dean: "Right. That's another big point, thank you."

Seamus: "Anyway, let's see. Other news? I heard Snape might be a ghost."

Dean: "What? But he's corporeal."

Seamus: _[suspiciously]_ " _Is_ he, though?"

Dean: "Are you asking if I've touched him?"

Seamus: "Yeah. Obviously."

Dean: "No, of course not."

Seamus: "So then we have no concrete proof of whether he is or isn't a ghost."

Dean: "Seriously?"

Seamus: "Oh! Also, I hear Weasley's spending some quality time with the ladies of the DMGS."

 _[Cuts to Ron, Daphne, and Pansy.]_

Ron: "Look, you _can't_ cancel the game. Okay? You don't understand, I _need_ this—"

Daphne: _[exasperatedly]_ "What is the _deal_ with this game?"

Pansy: "Yeah. Why do men enjoy chasing balls around so much?"

Daphne: "Yeah! Why is quidditch considered a sport but when _I_ want to do fun things, it's considered a fetish?"

Pansy: "In your case, it's really more of a kink."

Daphne: "That seems like a patriarchy problem."

Pansy: _[sympathetically]_ "As all things are, unfortunately."

Ron: "Listen, just let me have this, okay? You don't understand what a relief it is, being up in the air with no worries except for the quaffle—"

Pansy: _[interrupting]_ "It's pronounced 'twat ball,' actually—"

 _[Cut to Cormac interview.]_

Cormac: "Twat ball sounds right."

 _[Cuts back to Ron.]_

Ron: _[dreamily]_ "—and the freedom of a life, just for a moment, without any limitations; with the soaring feeling of being aloft, plus the pure, unmitigated joy of that perfect block—"

Daphne: "Just curious, Weasley, but have you ever tried sex?"

Pansy: "Because you should."

Daphne: _[solemnly]_ "You really, really should."

Pansy: "Just like, stick your dick in something."

Daphne: "Try it out. See how it goes."

Pansy: "Just masturbate, even."

Daphne: "Yeah. Sure. Make a day of it!"

Pansy: "Run a hot bath, put some Celestina on—"

Daphne: "—picture something sexy, like your werewolf professor ripping his clothes off right before he ravages you on top of one of the tables in the Great Hall—"

Pansy: "—or that shriek of pure terror when you find another one of the baby spiders I've set loose underneath your desk—"

Ron: _[alarmed]_ "Wait a minute, what?"

Pansy: "Basically just let your imagination take you to new, orgasmic heights."

Daphne: "Yeah! And maybe after sex, he bites you a little."

Pansy: "What?"

Daphne: "Sorry, I got a bit stuck."

Pansy: _[nodding]_ "It happens."

Ron: "Look, fine, I get that this is all a joke to you, and I'm happy to jerk off if that's what you really want from me—"

Pansy: _[distastefully]_ "Jesus, Weasley, don't make it weird."

Ron: "—but the point is, if you un-cancel the game, I'll teach you how quidditch works. Okay? So you two can actually do your jobs."

 _[Pansy and Daphne exchange a skeptical glance.]_

Daphne: "I'm sorry, what's the win for us?"

Pansy: "Yeah, I'm not hearing it."

Ron: _[hopefully]_ "I'll give you flying lessons?"

Daphne: "Is that some kind of sexual innuendo?"

Ron: _[aghast]_ "No!"

Daphne: _[quietly]_ "Damn." _[Louder]_ "Then no."

Ron: _[sighing]_ "Well, fine. I guess that's best, then. I doubt Hermione would love it, anyway—"

Pansy: "Wait. Are you saying Granger wouldn't approve?"

Ron: _[hesitantly]_ "Well, I don't think so. She's kind of been on me about taking my work more seriously lately, and she keeps telling me to 'bloody let it go' about the game, but—"

Pansy: _[firmly]_ "Done. We'll do it."

Ron: "Wh- really?"

Daphne: _[nodding]_ "This is one of her masturbation fantasies."

Ron: "What, me teaching you guys quidditch?"

Daphne: "No. Her trolling Granger."

Pansy: "Yaaaas, I _love_ it—"

Ron: "She's not actually masturbating _now_ , is she?"

Daphne: _[shrugging]_ "No real way to tell."

 _[Cuts back to Seamus and Dean.]_

Dean: "Well, I look forward to seeing that devolve to lunacy."

Seamus: "I know, right?!"

* * *

 _ **Ode to a Lioness**_

 _Definitely not by Draco Malfoy  
Definitely not about Hermione Granger_

 _ **Free Verse #1004**_

Hey so  
Just a thought  
You used to enjoy my dick  
You said so  
Many times  
Very convincingly  
And I'm not generally an idiot  
So I think it was true

I know things are weird  
Some time has passed  
Some things have changed  
You probably don't know if my dick is the same  
And so maybe you don't want to try?  
Which is understandable

But it is, for the record  
My dick, I mean  
It's definitely still good  
Learned a few more tricks  
But nothing weird  
A growing experience, one might say

Which, coincidentally, is what happens to it  
When you walk in the room  
Just some food for thought

 _ **Haiku #2786**_

I am pretty sure  
We could do some real damage  
To Theo's new desk

 _ **Free Verse #1145**_

I understand that you have some issues  
With the things I did in my youth  
But the thing about youth is  
I can't do it over  
No matter how many times  
I replay it in my mind

I don't replay the murder parts  
They're uninteresting  
And fraught with gratuitous gore

But I consider myself a man of taste  
And touch  
And there is poetry to the way your lips meet mine  
And prose in the shape of your hips  
And I consider myself a collector  
Of the finest works of art

So no  
To answer your question  
I wasn't listening when you asked for my files  
And no  
I will not look over that contract  
I'm busy  
My mind is occupied with other things  
Good day

* * *

 _ **a/n:**_ _Happy birthday avenoir!_


	82. The Real World: Ministry of Magic, Ep 7

**The Real World: Ministry of Magic  
Episode VII**

 _Summary_ : The Real World, continued. Olivie Advent Day 7.

* * *

 _[Scene opens with Hermione interview.]_

Hermione: "My personal life? It's going pretty well. I'm dating Ron, as I think pretty much everyone knows by now—"

Rita: "Yes." _[Casually]_ "By the way, how did that happen?"

Hermione: "Well, it had been building for a while."

Rita: "Mm, yes, four books or so, I'd say."

Hermione: "Yeah. Plus he improved over time."

Rita: _[surprised]_ "He got less jealous, you mean? Communicated his feelings? Shared your interests? Stuck by you through difficult times?"

Hermione: "Well …" _[hesitantly]_ "Yes and no."

Rita: "Hm."

Hermione: "Mostly no."

Rita: "Right."

Hermione: _[insistently]_ "But we were kids! We had a lot of growing up to do. And anyway, it was building for a while, like I said, and then during the Battle of Hogwarts he, um. He showed genuine concern about the house elves, so I kissed him."

Rita: "Hm. So those are your romantic standards, huh?"

Hermione: "Well, I mean, I guess I was a little impressed." _[Brightly]_ "And actually, it only took three years of nagging and lectures and somewhat mediocre knitting for me to convince him to actually care about the elves, so just think what I could do with a lifetime, right?"

Rita: _[slowly]_ "… Right."

Hermione: "It was basically inevitable. We've been best friends for ages, and besides, we have loads in common."

Rita: "Like what?"

Hermione: "Well—"

 _[Cuts to footage of Ron and Hermione.]_

Ron: "Hey, have you heard from Harry yet today about brunch on Sunday?"

Hermione: "Oh, no I haven't, I'll owl him."

 _[They sip their tea in silence.]_

Hermione: "Anything interesting happen at work this week?"

Ron: _[considering it]_ "Well, Harry did fix the lumbar enchantments on my chair."

Hermione: "Oh right, he's good at those."

Ron: "Yeah, he is. That and _Expelliarmus_ are basically his bread and butter."

Hermione: _[with fond laughter]_ "Oh, Harry."

 _[Another long pause.]_

Ron: "So what about you? What's new?"

Hermione: "Oh, well I'm working with McGonagall on making some changes to school curriculum. I was going to suggest some alterations to the core classes. I mean, for one thing, I do think we need to have some sort of practicum about how things work in the wizarding world—not only for muggle-born students, of course. I would think all of us could have done with a course on understanding finances, and useful household spells and—"

Ron: _[clearly not listening]_ "Mm."

Hermione: "Well, anyway, it's just going to be an uphill battle."

Ron: "You'll do great, Mione. You always do."

Hermione: "Thanks."

 _[Another long pause.]_

Hermione: "You know, Harry told me a really funny story the other day."

Ron: _[with renewed interest]_ "Oh, did he? Harry's the best."

Hermione: "He really is."

 _[Cuts to Harry interview.]_

Harry: "I mean, I get it. I'm pretty interesting. I'd talk about me too if I weren't there."

 _[Cuts back to Hermione interview.]_

Hermione: "Okay, fine. So the thing Ron and I have in common is mostly Harry."

Rita: "Picked up on that, did you?"

Hermione: _[sighing]_ "Look, it could be worse, okay? I mean, at least we don't fight, which is all Malfoy and I ever do."

Luna: "Are you sure?"

 _[Camera pans out to reveal Luna sitting next to Hermione, gazing up at her.]_

Hermione: _[startled]_ "How long have you been there?"

Luna: "Depends. How long have you been this buried in delusion?"

Hermione: _[frowning]_ "I don't know what you mean."

 _[Camera pans out further to reveal Severus on her left.]_

Severus: _[licking a finger and turning the page of his Quibbler]_ "I'd say about four books, give or take."

 _[On Severus' other side, a finger materializes and aims itself towards his shoulder. As the camera adjusts, it is gradually made clear that Seamus has dared Dean to try to touch Severus' arm, and he sits giggling in the corner as Dean is about to make contact.]_

Severus: _[not looking up from his Quibbler]_ "Do not. Touch me."

 _[Dean sighs, retreating. Seamus is heard to say, 'but now we'll never know!' just before they both disappear from camera view.]_

Luna: "I don't actually think that's true about Draco." _[She pauses thoughtfully.]_ "Didn't you two used to—"

Hermione: _[with a feverish flush]_ "Us? No, no, of course not. Him? Me? Him and me? Together? Never." _[She laughs abruptly.]_ "Me? With—with him? The two of us? Romantically? Se- sexually? Really? Having sex while we were at Hogwarts? While we were _students_ , I mean—where would we—where would we even, in the—in the _bathroom_? In the corridors? In the library during Quid- you know what? No. _No_. That's just—that's just crazy. That's—that's just rampant sexualization of boarding school culture, frankly. Actually, it's—you know what it is? It's alternative facts. It's just. It's the lamestream media, really, is what it is. Telling all the fake news." _[She begins to sweat in earnest.]_ "It's—I would never."

 _[There is a dull thud of silence.]_

Severus: "Convincing."

Hermione: "SHUT UP!"

Luna: "I just really think there might be more to it than fighting, Hermione."

Hermione: _[grumpily]_ "Yes, and like I told you, you're wrong."

Luna: "Well, don't you two have any common interests?"

 _[Cuts to Draco and Hermione.]_

Draco: "First of all, Granger, if you're going to require a practicum in Hogwarts curriculum, then you're going to have to make sure it includes some semblance of medical training. Do you know how many times I've needed to perform stitches on Theo?"

Theo: "Spoiler: it's a lot."

 _[Cuts to Theo, Daphne, and Pansy.]_

Theo: "What? Love should be physically demanding."

Pansy: "Yes. When it's good, people should bleed."

Daphne: "Not too much."

Pansy: "Yeah. A manageable amount."

Daphne: "Well, a small amount. Right?"

 _[They silently confer.]_

Pansy: "Yeah, sure, a small-ish amount."

Theo: "Look, things happen in the heat of the moment, okay?"

Daphne: "Yes. We know from experience."

Pansy: "Yes. Not with Theo, though. Just in general."

Theo: "No, definitely not with them."

Daphne: _[brightly]_ "Not for lack of trying, though."

Theo: "I walked when they tried to make me sign a waiver."

Pansy: _[irreverently]_ "Yes, Theodore, like responsible adults, there was some paperwork involved to protect all relevant parties."

Theo: "You were going to make me sign away my rights to all of my future sperm!"

Daphne: "Only in the event of great bodily harm."

Pansy: "Which, granted, was heavily implied by virtue of having a waiver—"

Daphne: "—but in fairness to us, we didn't know you would read it."

Pansy: "Yeah, that was a real downer."

Theo: _[continuing]_ "You _also_ tried to make my safeword 'I'm a little bitch,' which is problematic on multiple levels—"

Pansy: _[interrupting]_ "Listen, the only thing that can possibly stop me when I'm in the moment is laughter at someone else's expense, okay?"

Daphne: "Right! So it was for your own safety, Theo."

Pansy: "Obviously. You utter buffoon."

Daphne: "Yeah!"

Theo: "See? This is why I'm not fucking either of you, independently or together."

Pansy: "Oh, well, to be clear, we're a package deal."

Daphne: "Yes. As in we're a deal, and we're looking for a package."

Pansy: "Meaning a penis."

Theo: "I knew what you meant."

Daphne: "Well, clarity is king."

Theo: "Did you try Blaise?"

Pansy: _[shaking her head]_ "Blaise is a hard no."

Daphne: "Yeah. I really take issue with not being the prettiest person in the room."

Pansy: "For me, it's more like … I just want someone who's going to _admire_ my pussy, you know?"

Daphne: "Right. Not look for his reflection in it."

Pansy: "Yes, exactly."

 _[They pause.]_

Theo: "What were we talking about?"

 _[Cuts back to office scene.]_

Hermione: "Stitches?"

Theo: "Oh, right, stitches."

Hermione: _[skeptically]_ "You know that's really something you should go to a healer for, right?"

Draco: "Not all of us have the privilege of _time_ , Granger. And speaking of, make sure this practicum or whatever you're calling it also has some guidance on time management because listen, when I was Prefect, all the younger students had trouble with it at first, and—"

Hermione: _[surprised]_ "Oh. I nearly forgot you were a Prefect."

Draco: _[with palpable drama]_ "Well COLOR ME ASTONISHED, Hermione Granger fails to acknowledge my preeminent intellect YET AGAIN—"

Hermione: "Well, that's a stretch. Let's not forget that Pansy was a prefect, too."

 _[Cuts to Pansy interview.]_

Pansy: "Actually, the first year I was a Prefect I started rounding up the older kids to tutor the younger ones in their free time, and by the end of the year most everyone's grades had gone up significantly." _[She pauses.]_ "Oh, and I had _hella sex_ in that crazy bathtub."

 _[Cuts back to office scene.]_

Draco: _[stiffly]_ "Well, I'm just saying—"

Hermione: "I didn't realize you cared about this, Malfoy. Do you want to help me work on it?"

Draco: _[with heavily affected disinterest]_ "On what? On the new Hogwarts curriculum, or on demeaning Parkinson? Frankly, I'm equipped for both, but I dread the results of the latter."

 _[Cuts to Pansy interview.]_

Pansy: "As I've told Draco many times, I know where he sleeps. More specifically, I know where his balls are while he sleeps." _[She shrugs.]_ "It's not a clever threat, but it's an effective one. Threatfective, if you will."

 _[Cuts to Cormac interview.]_

Cormac: _[aiming finger guns at the camera]_ "You know what I'm about, my dude."

 _[Cuts back to office scene.]_

Hermione: "Look, Malfoy, if you have an interest in this, I could really use your help. I'm sort of out of my element here, if I'm being honest. I already tried to recommend wages for the elves—"

Draco: _[irritably]_ "Oh for fuck's sake, Granger. Will you let that die?"

Hermione: _[sighing]_ "That's what the elves said, too."

Theo: "Understandably."

Hermione: _[turning to him]_ "Do you want to help too, Nott?"

Theo: _[layering toothpaste on an pried-apart biscuit]_ "Nah, I'm good."

Hermione: _[turning to Draco]_ "So are you in, Malfoy?"

Draco: _[holding a hand to his ear]_ "Sorry, what?"

Hermione: "MALF-"

Draco: _[smarmily]_ "Calm your socially liberal tits, Granger. I'm in."

 _[Cuts back to Hermione interview.]_

Hermione: "See? We have nothing in common."

Severus: "I see, said the blind man."

Rita: _[with total indifference]_ "Well, anyway. For the record, I think Lovegood wins the pool."

Hermione: _[confused]_ "Pool?"

Rita: "We were betting on what exactly brought you and Weasley together. I said a traumatic head injury."

Severus: "I suggested that it would have been brought on by the constant brushes with mortality."

Gilderoy: "I said he lured you in with his bedroom eyes!"

Lee, off camera: "I SAID DRUGS!"

Luna: _[dreamily]_ "I said wish-fulfillment by the author."

Hermione: _[turning to stare at her]_ "Wait, how is that even relevant?"

Rita: "You're right. Snape should win."

Severus: "I've been saying that since 1981."

* * *

 _ **a/n:**_ _A new How to Win chapter also posted today!_


	83. The Real World: Ministry of Magic, Ep 8

**The Real World: Ministry of Magic  
Episode VIII**

 _Summary_ : The Real World, continued. Olivie Advent Day 8.

* * *

 _[Scene opens with Dean and Seamus.]_

Seamus: "Look, you can get as snippy as you like Mister Man, but for the last time, I had nothing to do with it."

Dean: "Can you please stop calling me that?"

Seamus: "Why, do you prefer Captain Trousersnake?"

Dean: "I really, really don't."

Seamus: "Governor Balls-Ahoy?"

Dean: "I wish you would stop."

Seamus: "Well, stop accusing me, then!"

Rita: "What exactly is happening?"

Dean: _[to Seamus]_ "I wasn't accusing you. I just _asked_ , in a normal tone of voice, whether or not you were responsible for it."

Rita: "For what?"

Seamus: "And I said I wasn't! It's one thing to publicly announce things on a reality show, Lieutenant Britches, but completely another to do _this_ —"

Rita: "DO WHAT?!"

 _[Cuts to Draco and Theo.]_

Theo: "Hey Draco, did you see this interdepartmental owl?"

Draco: "What?"

Theo: "You don't have to pretend you can't hear me. Granger's still at lunch."

Draco: "Oh. Then no. What was it?"

 _[Blaise pokes his head in.]_

Blaise: "Hey, you guys see this memo?"

Draco: "I'm sorry, who are you?"

Blaise: "You don't have to do that. Granger's still at lunch."

Draco: "Ah, right. Then no."

Blaise: "It's right there on your desk. Like— _right_ there."

Draco: "Who the fuck are you? Granger?"

Blaise: "Why, has she also been trying to get you to read the things on your desk? Because if so, then maybe."

Draco: _[irritably]_ "Have you been watching us again?"

Theo: _[alarmed]_ "What do you mean again?"

Blaise: _[ignoring him]_ "You should really just look at it, Draco."

Draco: "No. Shan't." _[He glances down.]_ "What rhymes with 'crippling nostalgia'?"

Theo: "What's the context?"

Draco: "' _The things that pile on my desk remind me of the times gone by / The memories I hoarded lying wrapped between your naked thighs / I know that you'd prefer if I just did my office work / But call my sad devotion just another charming_ _quirk,'_ and then there's a bit more, but hm hm hmm here it is, _'Forgive me, too, my crippling nostalgia—'"_

Theo: "Another Granger poem, huh?"

Draco: _[defensively]_ "Of course not."

Theo: "Okay, so try 'rippling tiger alpha,' then—"

Draco: "Thematically, that is ludicrous."

Theo: "Why? Because it's not about Granger?"

Draco: "Y-" _[He pauses.]_ "No."

Theo: _[knowingly]_ "Right."

Blaise: "Well, in the meantime, I need to talk to someone about this memo."

Theo: "You don't even work here!"

Draco: "Do you mean Blaise?"

Blaise: "Are you talking about me?"

Theo: _[shouting]_ "DON'T!"

 _[Cuts to Pansy, Daphne, and Ron.]_

Ron: "Okay, so there are three chasers, and their job is t-"

Pansy: _[flippantly]_ "Don't care. Did you guys see this memo?"

Daphne: "The damaging one exposing the personal relationships of our coworkers, or the petty one in Comic Sans about not stealing peoples' food?"

 _[Cuts to Kingsley interview.]_

Kingsley: "I have one pleasure in my life, okay? I don't know if you've noticed this, but people storm in here complaining about things like, _a lot_."

Rita: "Maybe you should be better at your job, then? Just a thought."

Kingsley: "OR MAYBE SOMEONE SHOULDN'T HAVE TAKEN MY PUMPKIN SPICE CUPCAKE!"

Rita: "Pumpkin spice, really?"

Kingsley: "THEY ONLY MAKE THEM FOR PART OF THE YEAR!"

Rita: "You do know that the 'pumpkin spice' is just nutmeg, cinnamon, and—"

Kingsley: _[with a groaning percussiveness]_ "WHY can I not SIMPLY have the things that I WANT?"

 _[Cuts back to Pansy and Daphne.]_

Pansy: _[unwrapping a cupcake]_ "Definitely not the food one."

Daphne: "What's that?"

Pansy: "Dunno. Some nutmeg thing."

Ron: "It says 'Kingsley Shacklebolt' on the box."

Pansy: _[impatiently]_ "Listen, do you want me to learn to read or do you want me to learn to quidditch?"

Ron: "Well obviously I want you to learn quid- wait." _[He pauses.]_ "Did you just say _learn_ to read?"

Pansy: "It's a common expression, Weasley."

Daphne: "Yeah. Like 'don't throw the cat into the dishwasher.'"

Pansy: "Right, or 'don't kill your chickens with two stones,' or—"

Daphne: "Or 'we'll fuck that bridge when we get to it'—"

Pansy: "And 'when life gives you lemons, put it in the spilt milk.'"

Ron: "Why would you put lemons in the spilt milk?"

Daphne: _[shrugging]_ "I think it has something to do with alchemy."

Pansy: "Some things are just lost to history, Weasley. And anyway, shouldn't you already know about this, seeing as it's about your sister?"

 _[Cuts to Harry and Ginny.]_

Ginny: "Yeah, so, a memo went around to all the departments this morning revealing that Harry and I broke up about a month ago."

Harry: "We didn't know how to tell people yet. Mostly because we didn't want to tell them at all."

Ginny: "Yeah. We were just kind of hoping not to mention it until one or both of us died."

Harry: "That would have been preferable, yes, but this is fine too."

Ginny: "As you might guess, my morning's been a bit hectic since my dad received it. My mum actually sent me a howler she found out."

Harry: "I think it was just a normal owl, actually."

 _[Ginny holds it up. The charmed contents are nearly unintelligible, but the owl seems to be wailing 'ALREADY MADE HIM A JUMPER' and 'DO YOU NOT WANT ME TO BE HAPPY_ — _']_

Ginny: "It's possible. Her crying does sound a lot like screaming. She once said something about how it protects her from bears."

Harry: "In any case, we're fine."

Ginny: "Definitely. It was highly mutual."

Harry: "Yeah, and—"

 _[Blaise enters, interrupting them.]_

Blaise: "Oh, sorry, I was looking for—well, anyway. Hey, Weasley."

Ginny: "Hey Zabini."

Blaise: "Sorry, will just keep looking, but while I have you—we're actually doing a Slug Club reunion thing, if you're wanting to join."

Ginny: "Sure, sounds fun."

Harry: "Me too, or just Ginny?"

Blaise: "Oh. I forgot you were in it."

Ginny: "Yeah… I mean, he never really _was_ , though, was he?"

Harry: _[shrugging]_ "Meh."

Blaise: "What did you even do that whole year, Potter?"

Harry: "Mostly tried to prove Malfoy was a Death Eater."

Blaise: "Yeah … maybe don't bring that up at the party."

Harry: "Yep, sounds right."

 _[Cuts to Neville, Cormac, and Marcus.]_

Cormac: "Right, so, I just think that since _men_ are allowed to show their nipples, then the only possible feminist alternative would be to insist that _women_ have equal participatory rights."

Neville: "Is that for the benefit of equality, or because you personally want to see more breasts?"

Cormac: "I honestly don't understand the question."

 _[Blaise pokes his head in.]_

Blaise: "Hey, so we need to have a Slug Club reunion."

Neville: "Why?"

Blaise: "Because."

Neville: "Yep, sounds right."

Marcus: _[to Blaise]_ "Do you even work here?"

Blaise: "Which Marcus are you?"

 _[There is a pause as they register the stalemate.]_

Marcus: "Touché."

 _[Cuts to Theo interview.]_

Theo: "Okay, first of all, they left out the most important part." _[He can hardly contain his excitement.]_ "The memo was signed 'xoxo, Gossip Girl.'"

Rita: "So?"

Theo: "So?! Gossip Girl's back!" _[He looks delighted.]_ "Year of pranks, baby!"

Rita: "Wait, does that mean that _you're_ this… 'Gossip Girl' person?"

Theo: "Me? No. I've been busy with my last prank."

Rita: "How'd that go?"

 _[Cuts to Draco, taking a bite of a biscuit.]_

Draco: "What the—" _[He pauses, making a face, and glances down at the biscuit before glancing around the room.]_ "Is this mint?"

 _[Cuts back to Theo.]_

Theo: _[grinning]_ "Needless to say, it was devastating."

* * *

 _ **a/n:** You can now find my D/Hr Advent one shot, **A Gentleman's Guide to Incandescence** , in my collection of works on AO3._


	84. The Real World: Ministry of Magic, 9-11

**The Real World: Ministry of Magic  
Episode IX-XI**

 _Summary_ : The Real World, continued. Olivie Advent Day 9-11, because FFN was down Saturday night and I couldn't access it, and then last night I was tired.

* * *

 _[Scene opens with Severus and Luna.]_

Luna: "You never told me you were planning to bring Gossip Girl back."

Severus: _[not looking up from his Quibbler]_ "I wasn't. And furthermore, I didn't."

Luna: _[surprised]_ "That wasn't you?"

Severus: "Of course not. I have other things to do."

Luna: "Like what?"

 _[Cuts to Minerva in her office at Hogwarts.]_

Sorting Hat: "SOMETHING MUST BE DONE! ARE YOU HEADMASTER OR NOT?!"

Minerva: "Listen you unraveling cock-brained menace, you'll have to be marginally less hysterical. Once again, I have no idea what you're shouting about—"

Sorting Hat: "THIS IS HARASSMENT! DO YOU SEE THIS?"

Minerva: "This? It's a drawing. In crayon."

Sorting Hat: "IT'S A THREAT! IT'S A SHAMELESS CALL TO VIOLENCE!"

Minerva: "It's signed 'Bowler Hat' with the letter 'e' written backwards."

Sorting Hat: "IS THIS WHAT WE'VE COME TO? A DARK LORD RISES TO POWER AGAINST ALL ODDS AND STILL YOU FILTHY MORTALS LEARN NOTHING FROM IT?"

Minerva: "Are you genuinely using Tom Riddle as a cautionary tale to magnify a threat that's ostensibly come from… a hat?"

Albus: _[sagely, whilst smoking a painted cigar]_ "Stranger things have happened."

Minerva: _[rounding on him]_ "Name literally one."

Albus: "Well, for one thing, one previous headmaster permitted his students to be kept unconscious at the bottom of the lake while the other sea creatures blithely attempted to murder their rescuers."

Minerva: "You _do_ know that was you, right?"

Albus: _[taking another long drag]_ "Also, I believe that someone permitted dragons on campus without any sort of waiver, despite previously requiring permission slips to buy candy."

Minerva: _[through gritted teeth]_ "Also _you_ —"

Armando Dippet: _[tentatively]_ "Is no one going to mention me?"

Minerva: "—not to mention that for some reason, you chose Ron Weasley over Harry Potter for Prefect. Remember that?"

Armando: _[clearing his throat]_ "Remember me? Remember the time I overlooked obvious markers of psychopathic behaviors in a student, ultimately leading to two rounds of mass politically-driven genocide?"

Albus: _[stiffly]_ "Minnie, as I've said one thousand times, it came to me in a dream."

Armando: "Oh, are we—so, we just don't care? Is that—? Okay."

Minerva: _[to Armando]_ "For the record, that was technically also Albus."

Albus: _[coolly]_ "Yes, you piteous oaf. Stay in your lane."

Armando: "Ah, damn it."

Minerva: _[sighing to herself]_ "It's possible that this school is not particularly high-functioning."

Sorting Hat: _[militantly]_ "GATHER THE HORSES! PISTOLS AT DAWN!"

 _[Cuts back to Severus.]_

Severus: "What have I been doing? Nothing."

 _[He nudges a box of crayons out of camera view.]_

Luna: _[shrugging]_ "If you say so."

Severus: "Why, what have you been doing?"

Luna: "Oh, um—"

 _[Cuts to Ron and Rita.]_

Rita: "Where exactly are we?"

Ron: "First of all, as a reminder, nobody asked you to come."

Rita: "You'd be surprised how infrequently that stops me."

Ron: _[sighing]_ "I doubt it."

 _[Pansy and Daphne enter, joined by Oliver and Marcus.]_

Marcus: "What are you all doing at our practice field?"

Rita: "Which Marcus are you?"

Marcus: "Excuse me?"

Rita: "I can see you're a Marcus. I'd like to know which one you are."

Marcus: "Are you expecting more than one?"

Rita: "It's been known to happen."

Oliver: _[brusquely]_ "Can we just get to the point, please?"

Pansy: "Personally, I feel I've already made this clear to both of you."

Daphne: "Yes, we already explained it."

Pansy: "We demand access to your boners."

Ron: _[hurriedly]_ "She means bludgers."

Pansy: _[shrugging]_ "I said what I said."

 _[Cuts to Ron, Pansy, Daphne interview.]_

Ron: "Well, let's just say theory wasn't working very well."

Daphne: "I'm an anatomical learner."

Ron: "She means kinesthetic."

Daphne: _[shrugging]_ "I said what I said."

Ron: "Anyway, I really wasn't making any headway trying to explain it to them, so—"

Luna: "So I suggested he actually show them how the game was played."

 _[Camera pans to the left to reveal Luna sitting next to Ron. She is smiling with furtive delight.]_

Ron: _[uneasily]_ "Right. And anyway, I was just going to go outside and do it, but—"

Pansy: _[interrupting]_ "But when we do things, as a rule, we do them big."

Daphne: _[nodding]_ "Huge."

Pansy: "Right. Is a thing even worth doing if someone isn't totally bamboozled in the process?"

Daphne: "As a rule, no."

Pansy: "We have a lot of rules."

Ron: _[wearily]_ "So it would seem."

Luna: "Do you by any chance have any legal contracts, too?"

Daphne: _[brightly]_ "Well, now that you mention it—"

Ron: _[hastily]_ "Let's just play quidditch first, shall we?"

 _[Cuts back to quidditch pitch. Ron is wrangling a bludger out from its box as Marcus and Oliver stand by watching disapprovingly.]_

Daphne: "Hold on. Is that ball trying to kill you?"

Pansy: "Also, totally unrelated follow-up question: do you have any particular stance on resuscitation?"

Ron: _[with difficulty]_ "For the record, it's not trying to kill me. It's trying to kill everyone."

Pansy: "Wait. Really?"

Daphne: "That sounds dangerous."

Pansy: "Deliciously so."

Daphne: _[nodding]_ "Right. That's where I was going with it."

Pansy: "So what does it do?"

Ron: _[sweating vigorously]_ "Well, each team has a beater, and the beater's job is to—"

Pansy: _[gasping, with a forceful epiphany]_ "Smack the murder ball directly into the testicles of their sworn rivals?"

Ron: _[impressed, and then immediately anxious]_ "Yes, actually."

Daphne: "Is this a very sexy game? Because it feels very sexy."

Pansy: "Wait, hold on. Weasley, are you serious?"

 _[Ron doesn't answer, as the bludger has escaped his hold and aimed itself at Pansy. She slams it with the bat, sending it directly back at Ron, who ducks. Oliver leaps on top of it, wrestling it to the ground as Marcus tilts his head appreciatively, admiring his view of Oliver's backside.]_

Pansy: _[looking down at the bat]_ "I think like this game."

Ron: "Okay, but hold on, before you get too excited—"

Daphne: "No offense, but it's way too late for that."

Ron: _[hastily]_ "For the Ministry game it's just five-a-side, so there are no beaters."

 _[There is a pause.]_

Pansy: "IS THAT SUPPOSED TO BE SOME KIND OF HILARIOUS JOKE?"

Daphne: "Because it isn't."

Pansy: "—BECAUSE IT _ISN'T_ —"

Ron: "Well it's not like we have officials! We can't have beaters in an unofficial _Ministry_ game, people could get hurt!"

Pansy: "EXACTLY—"

Daphne: "It's like you don't even get it!"

Pansy: "—IT'S LIKE YOU DON'T EVEN _GET IT_ —"

Marcus: "We can officiate the game for you, if you want."

Oliver: _[as the bludger escapes and smacks him in the stomach]_ "Hello? A little help, please?"

Marcus: _[shrugging]_ "You're fine."

Pansy: _[to Marcus]_ "We accept your offer, whoever you are."

Ron: "Hold on a minute—"

Marcus: _[ignoring him]_ "Great. What's it pay?"

Daphne: "Well, in this case, it pays the value of us _not_ writing you up for having violated the DMGS-required handrail width."

Oliver: _[dragging himself and the bludger back to the ball case]_ "I'm sorry, what?"

Pansy: _[eyeing her fingernails]_ "Well, as you know, DMGS regulations require handrails with circular cross sections measuring 32 millimeters minimum, and as you're probably—"

Daphne: "Knowingly, I'd say."

Pansy: "Yes, right, much more litigious—seeing as you're _knowingly_ already aware, yours are far too narrow."

Ron: _[gaping]_ "This you know, but quidditch is too difficult?!"

Daphne: [ _turning facetiously to Pansy]_ "That citation would be, what, a few thousand galleons' worth of facility upgrades plus a fine, isn't it?"

Pansy: _[cheerfully]_ "Why yes, Miss Greengrass, I believe it would be!"

Marcus: "Wait a minute. Are you threatening us?"

Daphne: "Aw, that's sweet."

Pansy: "We're so pleased you noticed."

Oliver: _[growling with displeasure]_ "Fine. Let the bloody fines go, then, and we'll officiate your game."

Daphne: _[warmly]_ "That's so kind of you to offer."

Pansy: "And returning to the subject of your boners—"

Ron: _[ushering them away]_ "Actually, we should really just quit while we're ahead."

 _[Cuts back to Ron, Daphne, Pansy interview.]_

Ron: "You two really get away with everything, don't you?"

Daphne: "Oh, honey."

Pansy: "It's tragic you've only just noticed."

 _[Cuts back to Luna and Severus.]_

Luna: "I've been doing almost nothing, really."

Severus: "Clearly. Was that yesterday?"

Luna: "Yes."

Severus: "So what were you doing this morning?"

Luna: "Oh." _[She pauses.]_ "Um—"

 _[Cuts to Theo in his office.]_

Luna: "What are you doing?"

Theo: "Adjusting the humidity in the room."

Luna: "Why?"

Theo: "Makes Granger's hair frizzy."

Luna: "Oh, that's…" _[She pauses uncertainly.]_ "Slightly better than toothpaste, I guess."

 _[Harry pokes his head in.]_

Harry: "Is Hermione here?"

Theo: _[continuing to adjust the magical thermostat]_ "No."

Harry: "Oh. Okay." _[He moves to exit, and then pauses.]_ "Messing with the humidity, huh?"

Theo: _[turns over his shoulder]_ "What makes you say that?"

Harry: "Hermione's hair."

Theo: "Oh."

Harry: "Yeah. Not very creative, Nott."

Theo: _[pausing suspiciously]_ "Excuse me?"

Harry: "Well, I mean, it's fine. I suppose everyone has to start somewhere."

Theo: _[with oppressive indignation]_ "EXCUSE ME?"

 _[Luna glances between them, giggling shrilly.]_

Harry: "Well… it just seems like you could do better than just a mild inconvenience, that's all."

Theo: _[sarcastically]_ "Oh really, Golden Boy? And what would _you_ do, then?"

 _[Luna disappears.]_

Harry: "I mean, if I were to pull a prank, I think I'd go for more of a long game."

 _[Luna reappears, tugging Lee behind her.]_

Lee: _[gruffly]_ "What is it?"

Luna: "Look!"

Theo: "Oh really Potter, a long game? And what makes you think you can even pull off any sort of long con?"

Harry: _[smugly]_ "Well, I _am_ the Chosen One."

 _[Theo's eyes narrow. Harry cocks his head, beckoning.]_

Lee: _[whispering loudly]_ "OH MY GOD, I SEE IT."

Theo: "So what are you suggesting, then, Potter?"

Harry: _[thoughtfully]_ "Well, the most important thing is the victim."

Theo: "Don't tell me what's important as if I don't already know!"

Harry: _[shrugging]_ "Fine." _[He turns.]_ "I suppose I'll just go then—"

Luna, Lee, and Theo: "WAIT!"

 _[Theo glances quizzically at Luna and Lee, who pantomime zippers across their mouths.]_

Theo: "Wait. Fine." _[He sighs.]_ "What would you do?"

Harry: _[with a faint air of victory]_ "Well, has anyone been bothering you lately?"

Theo: "Hm. Well—"

 _[Cuts to the office earlier that day.]_

Draco: "LISTEN UP, YOU HEAVEN-SLAPPED SWOT-MONSTER—"

Hermione: "ME LISTEN? _YOU_ LISTEN, YOU VAMPIRIC TYRANT—"

Draco: "—IF YOU COULD MANAGE TO BE LESS ETHEREALLY IRRITATING WE MIGHT ACTUALLY GET SOMETHING DONE—"

Hermione: "—WHEREAS IF YOU COULD CONTAIN YOUR OPPRESSIVE SMUGGERY FOR APPROXIMATELY FIVE MINUTES—"

Draco: "OH, I CAN GO A HELL OF A LOT LONGER THAN FIVE MINUTES, GRANGER!"

 _[Theo glances at the camera, shaking his head.]_

Hermione: _[startled]_ "What does that mean?"

Draco: _[looking violently ill]_ "NOTHING!"

Hermione: _[furiously]_ "Then will you stop yelling, Malfoy?"

Draco: "I'm sorry, what?"

Hermione: "MALFOY, YOU COURTLY BASTARD—"

Draco: "YOU'RE ONE TO TALK, YOU SUMPTUOUS PAIN IN MY ARSE!"

 _[The camera settles on where Theo rests his head against the desk.]_

Hermione: "Fine. FINE. Let's just go with your idea, then. What even was it?"

Draco: _[cupping a hand to his ear]_ "What?"

Hermione: _[with palpable fury]_ "DO NOT—"

Draco: "I _said_ , Granger, that McGonagall should approve all class syllabi prior to the start of term, and—"

Hermione: _[aghast]_ "But that's exactly what I said, Malfoy!"

Draco: "WELL, MAYBE IF YOU'D MANAGED TO ADDRESS ME WITH A SLIGHTLY LESS ANGELIC FLUSH OF RAGE, YOU MIGHT HAVE NOTICED WE WERE IN AGREEMENT."

Hermione: "MALFOY, I SWEAR, ONE MORE WORD AND I WILL FUCK YOUR SHIT UP—"

Draco: "How?"

Hermione: "What?"

 _[Theo looks out the window, as though he is contemplating a leap.]_

Draco: "Just—how would you do it? Be specific."

Hermione: "What?"

Draco: "I mean—not for anything weird, obviously. Normal stuff."

Hermione: "Are you sure?"

Draco: _[indignantly]_ "What, I can't have private oddities now?"

 _[Cuts to Pansy.]_

Pansy: _[rolling her eyes]_ "Thanks, Shacklebolt."

 _[Cuts back to Draco and Hermione.]_

Hermione: "I—what?"

 _[Cuts back to Harry and Theo.]_

Theo: "I can think of a couple people I'd like to prank, yeah."

Harry: _[with some hesitation]_ "Well, I don't know. Hermione _is_ my best friend—"

Theo: "So? Draco's mine."

Harry: "Huh. True."

Theo: "Besides, don't tell me you've never wanted to get Granger back for something."

Harry: "Oh. Um."

 _[Cuts to old footage of Harry and Hermione.]_

Hermione: "Harry, have you done your essay for Snape's class? Stop playing chess with Ron! And anyway, if you're going to move that piece, you should really—" _[She plops down beside him, shaking her head.]_ "Honestly, are you _trying_ to lose?"

 _[Cuts to more old footage.]_

Hermione: "Harry, have you figured out the egg yet? Stop enchanting pictures of Snape with oversized breasts! They're not even anatomically correct, and—here, let me fix it—" _[She grabs at the drawing, muttering to herself.]_ "Honestly, Ron _clearly_ drew these, they're entirely without proportion—"

 _[Cuts to more old footage.]_

Hermione: "Harry, have you gotten the memory yet? Stop writing fake horoscopes with Ron!" _[She grabs the parchment from him, scribbling things out.]_ "First of all, 'you're a Death Eater, Malfoy' is hardly even subtle, you could at least embed it with a touch more nuance—"

 _[Cuts back to Harry and Theo.]_

Harry: _[tentatively]_ "I guess a little light mischief never hurt anyone."

Theo: "That's the spirit! And—sorry, just one second—" _[He turns over his shoulder.]_ "Why are you two crying?"

Lee: _[swiping at his eyes]_ "IT'S JUST—"

Luna: "This is very exciting for us."

Lee: "YOU CAN'T POSSIBLY UNDERSTAND."

Luna: "Yes. You don't know what we've been through!"

Lee: "I, SPECIFICALLY, DESERVE TO HAVE THIS."

Harry: "Have what?"

Theo: "What on earth are you on about?"

Lee: _[wailing]_ "YOU BLIND IDIOTS!"

Luna: "Where's Severus? He'd love this."

 _[Camera pans out, revealing Severus just to the right of the frame.]_

Severus: _[licking a finger, turning the page of his Quibbler]_ "I've seen worse."

Lee: "THROW ME IN THE BINS, I'M TRASH."

Theo: "Potter, should we discuss this further?"

Harry: "Sure. Hungry?"

Theo: "In general I do enjoy lunch with my mayhem, yes."

 _[They leave. Lee continues sobbing incoherently.]_

Luna: "Hm." _[She looks around the room.]_ "What should I do now?"

 _[Scene cuts to Rita and Gilderoy.]_

Rita: "Will you please just read the cue cards if you're not going to manage to act like a normal human person?!"

Gilderoy: "Joke's on you, woman! I don't know what any of that means."

 _[Luna smiles knowingly at the camera.]_

Rita: _[seething]_ "There's a not insignificant chance I might murder you, you pratting loon."

Gilderoy: _[indignantly]_ "My eyes are up here!"

Rita: "What?!"

 _[Cuts to Cormac interview.]_

Cormac: "I told Gilderoy the same thing I tell everyone. If you're ever in a difficult situation, just say 'my eyes are up here.' It seems to work perfectly well for women, _and_ then I remember where their eyes are, so all in all it's just a courteous thing to do."

 _[Cuts back to Luna and Severus.]_

Luna: "You know perfectly well what I was doing this morning."

Severus: "Unfortunately, that's very true."

Luna: _[cheerfully]_ "Oh, it's not that unfortunate. I think you derive some pleasure from it. Besides, if you aren't Gossip Girl this year, then what are you going to do with all your free time?"

Severus: _[taking a disturbingly sinister photograph of a lime green bowler hat brandishing a bloodied knife]_ "Sorry, free time?"

* * *

 _ **Free verse #116**_

I had a dream last night  
That you and I were talking  
About something stupid;  
Ancient runes

You didn't hate me  
And I didn't hate you  
Which ultimately proves  
That dreams are bollocks

But still  
We should probably kiss

 _ **Free verse #272**_

You are loveliest in a temper  
In a rage, in fact  
You can't see it  
But I make your eyes dance  
And if you saw what I saw  
You'd understand  
Why I just called Weasley a dumb twat

For one thing, he is  
But for another  
I like to watch you sparkle  
Even if it means I have to jump out of the way

 _ **Haiku #2789**_

Unresolved issues?  
That hardly seems relevant  
Love notwithstanding

 _ **Sonnet #1372**_

It seems like you should know by now  
That I am difficult at best  
Since I can tell my noble brow  
Is near perpetually distressed  
Your presence is a plague for me  
I'm in a constant sweat  
Death is coming for me soon  
But you never seem to fret  
It's almost like you've lost all sight  
Of what we used to be  
And sure, a sonnet might be trite  
But so is ignorance, you fiend  
I don't think that I ask for much in pointing out the obvious  
I simply think that we should fuck, being once such able hobbyists

 _ **Free verse #1299**_

Is this some sort of joke?  
I'm handsome  
My mother says so  
And Theo  
I don't know why they were both there  
But they agreed  
So frankly  
It must be true

 _ **Free verse #1456**_

The things that pile on my desk  
Remind me of the times gone by  
The memories I hoarded  
Wrapped between your naked thighs

I know that you'd prefer  
If I just did my office work  
But call my sad devotion  
Just another charming quirk

I suppose that it's a pity  
I suppose that it's a shame  
I still suppose the worst of me  
And I suppose it's all the same

So call it what you want to  
Call me the stupidest of fools  
I guess that's how the cookie crumbles  
Clearly I don't make the rules

Why would I indulge you this,  
My crippling nostalgia?  
Because, it's hardly any worse  
Than stiffening myalgia

Besides, I don't think you forgot me  
I suspect you feel it still  
So I'll just torment you from here  
Until you get your fill

 _ **Haiku #2943**_

Ninety-nine problems  
And if I'm being honest  
You are all of them

 _ **Free verse #1333**_

Do I pine for you?  
That's ridiculous  
I am not a tree  
I am not a cone  
I would never pine

Do I ache for you?  
That's libellous  
A scandal  
I am not a bruise  
I do not ache

Oh, semantics, you might say  
Well, I'll give you semantics  
Here's a word:  
Lustrum

It means five years  
So no  
I haven't been pining  
But yes  
Now that you ask  
I have definitely been counting


	85. The Real World: Ministry of Magic, Ep 12

**The Real World: Ministry of Magic  
Episode XII**

 _Summary_ : The Real World, continued. Olivie Advent Day 12.

* * *

 _[Scene opens with Dean and Seamus.]_

Seamus: "I have to say, Gossip Girl is really going for the jugular this time."

Dean: _[surprised]_ "How do you figure?"

Seamus: "Well, going after Nott like that is a bit harsh, don't you think?"

Dean: "It's not any worse than Potter and Ginny. Is that really the bar for jugular?"

Seamus: "That's just what it's called, Dean."

Dean: "What what's called?"

Seamus: "You know. When you sleep with older women."

 _[There is a pause.]_

Dean: "I'm sorry, but are you trying to call Nott a 'gigolo'?"

Seamus: _[scoffing]_ "I hardly think this has anything to do with the state of his neck, Dean."

 _[Cuts to Theo interview.]_

Theo: "Look, it's not a big deal. This isn't the first time I've been accused of fucking Draco's mum. Though now that I think about it, he hasn't mentioned it in a while."

 _[Cuts to Draco interview.]_

Draco: "I really just prefer to bury myself in delusion. Better for my digestion."

Rita: "You know, I suspect Granger does something similar."

 _[Camera pans out to show Hermione looking up from her desk.]_

Hermione: "What? No I don't."

Draco: _[to Rita]_ "Don't worry, she can't hear you from across the room."

Hermione: "I can hear you perfectly well, Malfoy!"

Draco: "Granger, please, I know I've been a good boy. There's no need to keep telling me."

Rita: "I don't think that's what she said."

Draco: "Impossible to tell, really."

Hermione: "Seriously, guys, I'm not delusional."

Draco: _[loudly]_ "Yes, Granger, I know I'm beautiful. MOVE ON."

Rita: _[to Draco]_ "You've really got your own thing going, don't you?"

Draco: "Listen, when your best friend might be railing your mum, you really have to bury yourself in your work. Or, ideally, your coworker."

Hermione: "What?!"

Draco: "See? I told you." _[He shrugs]_ "Can't hear anything from across the room."

 _[Cuts back to Theo.]_

Theo: "It's only speculation, anyway, same as before. And besides, it's not like Gossip Girl ever caused any lasting damage."

 _[Cuts to Justin Finch-Fletchley and Pomona Sprout interview.]_

Justin: "Actually, Gossip Girl did uncover my dependence on fluxweed-opiates. I was arrested for a hot sec there right before seventh year."

Pomona: _[patting his knee]_ "But we worked through it, didn't we?"

Justin: "Yes my sassy lady greenthumb, we certainly did."

Rita: "And what about this?" _[She gestures skeptically between them.]_ "I take it you were released from your position then, Professor Sprout?"

Pomona: _[surprised]_ "Me? No. Albus was fairly chill about it."

Albus, via his portrait: "It happens."

Rita: "I'm sorry, what happens?"

Albus: _[shrugging]_ "On occasion, feelings of a romantic nature and/or one or two penises are unleashed without regard for age, social propriety, or squick factor."

Gilderoy: "It's nobody's fault!"

Albus: "Yes, exactly."

Gilderoy: _[sadly]_ "It's hard to keep him inside the pants."

Albus: "Again, yes, that."

Rita: _[to Albus]_ "Is that—are you speaking from experience?"

Albus: _[sarcastically]_ "No, Rita. It's just a wild extrapolation of statistically significant evidence that's not remotely anecdotal."

 _[Minerva enters, startled to a halt.]_

Minerva: "What in the name of Godric's sweet melonsack are you all doing in my office?"

Justin: "Oh, hey Minnie."

Minerva: "Stop calling me that immediately."

Justin: "Cool, can do."

Pomona: "We were just sharing the story of our love."

Minerva: "You mean the brush of illegality that resulted in this maniacal union?"

Rita: "Ostensibly, yes."

Pomona: "Oh but Minerva, I thought you liked my boyfriend?"

Minerva: "Honestly? I'd like him a lot better if he wasn't always trying to smoke shrivelfigs behind the greenhouse when he thinks I'm not looking."

Justin: "I have glaucoma, okay?"

Pomona: "Yes, he's managing his condition!"

Minerva: _[sighing wearily]_ "Granger's right. This place needs a flood."

 _[Cuts to Hermione.]_

Hermione: _[tentatively]_ "I didn't say it needed a _flood_ , per se, but I did heavily imply that a swarm of locusts would not be amiss."

 _[Cuts back to Theo.]_

Theo: "In any case, it's not a big deal. So what if Gossip Girl thinks I'm some sort of cougar bait? I've heard worse things, frankly."

 _[Camera pans out to reveal Luna on his left side.]_

Luna: "Really? Like what?"

Theo: _[startled]_ "How did you get here?"

Luna: "Me?"

Theo: "Yes, obviously you."

Luna: "Oh. I thought you meant him."

 _[Camera pans out to reveal Harry on Theo's right side.]_

Harry: "Oh, hi."

Theo: "Well, I knew _he_ was there."

Luna: _[slyly]_ "Did you?"

Lee, off screen: _[high-pitched wailing]_ "TRASH!"

Harry: "Anyway, Nott, I don't really care who you are or aren't fucking."

Theo: _[airily]_ "Well, good."

Harry: "I mean, unless you _want_ to come clean—"

Theo: "Shh, shh, she's coming!"

 _[Hermione enters the office as Theo tugs Harry and Luna down, hiding them behind his desk. Hermione picks up a piece of parchment from atop her pile of papers, frowning as she scans it.]_

Hermione: "What's this?"

Theo: "Office secret santa."

Hermione: _[suspiciously]_ "I've never heard of that."

Theo: "Well, Granger, you clearly need to read your memos more carefully."

Hermione: "I read all the memos! I have them saved in a scrapbook!"

 _[Cut to Hermione interview.]_

Hermione: "This one's my favorite." _[Camera zooms in on a meticulously labeled binder.]_ "It's all the memos sent between the third week of January and the fourth week of March last year. They're all in Didot typeface and there's just a really pleasing sense of cohesion." _[She sighs happily, and then her expression darkens.]_ "But don't even get me started on the Lucinda Handwriting debacle of September 2001."

 _[Cuts back to the office.]_

Theo: "Well, clearly you're missing the fine print, Granger."

Hermione: _[sighing as she reads the parchment]_ "I have Malfoy, really?"

Theo: _[shrugging]_ "It's a small office, Granger."

Hermione: "Ugh, fine."

 _[She throws the parchment in her bag, mumbling something about 'totally ineffectual' and 'this is clearly how I die' before leaving the office again. In her absence, Harry and Luna resurface.]_

Harry: "Think she bought it?"

 _[Camera pans out to reveal Severus, who is wearing sunglasses and reclining in his lawn chair.]_

Severus: "Well, just think—if she didn't, then you two only wasted three entire hours of your miserable little lives."

Harry: _[panicked]_ "Three hours?! I have to find Ron!"

 _[He leaves.]_

Theo: _[sighing]_ "Frankly, I have no idea what I'm going to do for the next three hours."

 _[Severus looks up from where he is clipping letters of different typefaces out of various editions of the Daily Prophet. Currently, the letters are arranged to spell 'DEATH AWAITS' while a few scattered letters vaguely spell the words 'BOWLER HAT' and 'HARBINGER OF NIGHTMARES.' ]_

Severus: "Have you ever written a ransom note?"

Theo: "Not that the authorities know of."

 _[They eye each other suspiciously, and then Severus nods approvingly.]_

Severus: "Sit down, Nott."

 _[Cuts to Theo interview.]_

Theo: _[smugly]_ "Year of pranks, baby!"

* * *

 _ **a/n:**_ _Late because I was at the premiere of Watsky's 'x Infinity,' which is an album you should really listen to if you haven't already._


	86. The Real World: Ministry of Magic, ep 13

**The Real World: Ministry of Magic  
Episode XIII**

 _Summary_ : The Real World, continued. Olivie Advent Day 13.

* * *

 _[Scene opens with Cormac, Neville, and Blaise.]_

Cormac: "Fuck Flint, marry Belby, kill Aurelius."

Blaise: "What? No. We're—what? We're not even doing that right now."

Cormac: "Hm?" _[He blinks.]_ "Oh, sorry, am I supposed to be doing something?"

Blaise: _[impatiently]_ "Yes. We're working on the Slub Club reunion party, remember?"

Cormac: "Question. Who will be presenting me with the lifetime achievement award?"

Blaise: "No one."

Cormac: _[shrugging]_ "Never heard of her."

Blaise: "What exactly are you even supposed to have achieved up to this point, McLaggen?"

Cormac: "It's a lifetime _of_ achievement, Zabini. The achievement is ongoing."

Blaise: "Well, you're useless."

Cormac: _[smugly]_ "Joke's on you. I already know that."

Neville, from just outside camera view: "Blaise, I really don't think I can be helpful with this right now—"

Blaise: "And why not?!"

Neville: _[frantically]_ "Because I have to do something about all these poisonous plants!"

 _[Camera pans out to reveal that Neville's desk is surrounded by abnormally large potted plants, of at least a dozen nefarious varieties.]_

Blaise: "Holy hell, Longbottom. Who are you trying to murder?"

Neville: "They're not mine! I just came in and they were here! The weird thing is they're not even from the same genus of flora."

Blaise: "Really? _That's_ the weird thing?"

Cormac: _[pointing]_ "I'd marry that one, fuck that one, and kill that one."

Blaise: _[alarmed]_ "Jesus, McLaggen—"

Neville: "No, no. He's right."

 _[Cuts to Cormac interview.]_

Cormac: "I mean, the game definitely has a good amount of nuance, but when it comes down to it, I always know what things should or shouldn't be fucked. It's basically just a teeth rule. Like, does it have teeth? Ask first. If it says yes, then fine. If it says no, then no. If it can't speak, probably also lean towards no, just for safety." _[He pauses.]_ "Also, all of the plants were addressed to Malfoy, but that didn't seem relevant to mention."

 _[Cuts to Hermione interview.]_

Hermione: _[irritably]_ "Yeah, so, this whole 'secret santa' thing is going to be a challenge. I had good intentions at first! In fact, I was _planning_ to do something a little bit less—"

Rita: "Villainous?"

Hermione: _[shrugging]_ "Yeah, sure." _[Her expression darkens.]_ "But _then_ he had to go and be a total monster."

 _[Cuts to the office earlier that day.]_

Hermione: "What do you think about herbology?"

Draco: _[not looking up]_ "Honestly? I'm not convinced."

Hermione: _[continuing]_ "Because I was thinking that for the curricul-" _[She stumbles to a halt.]_ "Wait a minute. What do you mean you're not convinced about herbology?"

Draco: _[shrugging]_ "Just sounds like a pseudoscience, you know? Like astrology, or gravity."

Hermione: "Malfoy, gravity is definitely a real thing." _[She pauses, genuinely concerned.]_ "You _do_ know that gravity's a thing, right?"

Draco: "Look, the whole thing is based on some guy getting hit in the head with an apple. I don't know about you, Granger, but I don't know that I can trust something that begins with a concussion, even if it does involve Latin. And apples."

Hermione: _[momentarily speechless]_ "Gravity is one thing, fine, but _herbology_ , Malfoy? It's the entire basis for potions, and it's obviously crucial for care of magical creatures—"

Draco: "Look, you asked, and I gave you my answer."

Hermione: "Yes, but are you honestly just suggesting, just… a blanket no on _all_ herbology?"

Draco: _[shrugging]_ "I mean, if the shoe kicks."

 _[Cuts to Pansy and Daphne.]_

Daphne: "If the shoe kicks, definitely buy it."

Pansy: "Yes. These shoes were made for kicking."

Daphne: "Unless it's a dead man's shoe."

Pansy: "In which case, if it kicks, put it back. It's haunted."

Daphne: "Right. So basically, just don't underestimate a kicking shoe."

Pansy: "You knew it was a shoe when you picked it up."

Daphne: "Yep. So put it back down."

 _[There is a pause.]_

Pansy: "I feel like we were supposed to be doing something."

 _[Camera pans out to reveal a lengthy queue of people at their service desk.]_

Marcus: "Hello? Are you even working?"

Daphne: "Which Marcus even are you?"

Pansy: "Also, we're closed for the day."

Marcus: _[with palpable annoyance]_ "It's 9:30 in the morning!"

Daphne: "Look, when we need a snotty talking watch, we'll let you know."

 _[Cuts back to Hermione and Draco.]_

Hermione: "So, let me get this straight: no herbology. No gravity. None of it."

Draco: "Right."

 _[A pause.]_

Hermione: "ARE YOU INSANE?!"

Draco: "DON'T YELL AT ME, YOU OPPRESSIVELY WHIMSICAL MOONBEAM!"

Hermione: "What if I delivered a dozen poisonous magical plants to you, hm, Malfoy?" _[With a distinctive air of 'I told you so']_ "If you hadn't taken herbology, you wouldn't even know they were toxic!"

Draco: _[scoffing]_ "I don't need to know a plant is toxic to know not to fuck it, Granger."

 _[Cuts to Cormac.]_

Cormac: "See? Teeth rule. Tell your friends."

 _[Cuts back to Hermione and Draco.]_

Hermione: "MALFOY, YOU ARE IMPOSSIBLE!"

Draco: _[hopefully]_ "To resist?"

Hermione: "TO WORK WITH!"

Draco: "Oh. Well, in that case—" _[He holds his hand up to his ear.]_ "What did you say?"

 _[Cuts to interview with Theo and Harry.]_

Harry: "So, we've had sort of a busy morning."

Rita: "Sorry, you are … I want to say Terry?"

Gilderoy: _[excitedly]_ "Close!"

Harry: _[sighing]_ "Isn't this getting old yet?"

Gilderoy: _[to Rita]_ "It's pronounced 'Terr-ay,' but in my experience names can be very confusing."

 _[Cuts to Neville.]_

Gilderoy: "Sorry, your name is what?"

Neville: _[sighing]_ "Neville Longbottom."

Gilderoy: "Yes, yes, Longbottom. And this is…" _[He trails off, squinting intently.]_ "A normal name?"

Neville: _[exasperatedly]_ "Can I just please get rid of these plants? They're starting to burn."

 _[Cuts to Cormac.]_

Cormac: "I have rules about burning, too, but they're pretty self-explanatory. Mostly just a delicate no to anything that burns."

 _[Cuts back to Theo and Harry.]_

Theo: "Yeah, so, I sort of figured Granger was going to send something terrible, but this was a surprise." _[He shudders.]_ "Frankly, I'm starting to question how responsible she actually is."

Rita: "She once kept me in a jar."

Theo: "Did she?"

 _[Camera pans out to reveal Severus beside them dabbing a brush onto canvas. He is crafting an elegant watercolor that features a lime green bowler with sensual eyes, overlooking a vast ravine with a series of crumpled hats at the bottom.]_

Severus: "Also, she once lit me on fire."

Theo: "Right, okay, so rule number one, be careful with Granger."

Harry: "It's a good rule." _[To Theo]_ "So what exactly did you do with the plants, anyway?"

Theo: "You say that like you don't trust me to have done the responsible thing, Potter."

Harry: "Well, now that you mention it—"

 _[Cuts to Neville, who is nursing a series of nasty-looking blisters.]_

Neville: "I mean, it's really best that I got them, anyway. At least I know what to do with them, right? Someone else could have really been hurt!"

 _[Cuts back to Harry and Theo.]_

Theo: "Listen, I went with the option that would cause the least damage, okay?"

Harry: "Fine. And what about Malfoy?"

Theo: "What about him?"

 _[The camera pans out to show Draco popping up from behind his desk, looking feverishly manic. All of his drawers have been opened and everything he owns is levitating in the air, orbiting his head like a halo.]_

Draco: "IT'S GONE!"

Harry: "THE WRIST THING, AND KNOCKT- oh sorry." _[He exhales slowly.]_ "Reflexes, you know."

Gilderoy: "I understand."

Harry: "Do you?"

Gilderoy: "Yes." _[sympathetically]_ "It's hard to keep him in the pants."

Theo: _[To Draco]_ "What's gone, buddy?"

Draco: _[wringing his hands]_ "MY—MY—"

Theo: "Use your words, pal."

Draco: "IT'S—I CAN'T—"

Theo: _[innocently]_ "You're not missing a book of Granger poetry by any chance, are you, Draco?"

Draco: _[with obvious distress]_ "I DON'T WRITE POEMS."

 _[He leaves with a clatter, looking severely unhinged. Harry glances at Theo.]_

Harry: "Hm. Is it possible this is all escalating a bit too quickly?"

Theo: "Anything's technically _possible_ , Potter. That doesn't mean we should spend all day charting every possibility. I have far too many demands on my time as it is."

Rita: _[skeptically]_ "Working hard, are you?"

Theo: _[shrugging]_ "Hey. I could be worse."

 _[Cuts to Daphne and Pansy.]_

Daphne: "You know, I'm really warming up to this whole quidditch thing."

Pansy: "I know, right? I feel like it's doing me a lot of good professionally."

Daphne: "Yes. And my skin feels clearer, too."

Pansy: "Right. There's just something about investing in my career that's really cleansing my aura."

Daphne: "I'm so proud of us."

Pansy: "Me too!"

 _[Camera pans out to show Ginny waiting in line at the service desk.]_

Ginny: "So … are you guys going to fill out this permit form, or—?"

Pansy: "Honestly? Probably not."

* * *

 _ **a/n:**_ _Happy birthday to my love UnicornShenanigans! A haiku for you, my review haiku queen:_

 _Today you were born  
Look how the stars are shining!  
We're all glad you're here_


	87. The Real World: Ministry of Magic, Ep 14

**The Real World: Ministry of Magic  
Episode XIV**

 _Summary_ : The Real World, continued. Olivie Advent Day 14.

* * *

 _[Scene opens with Dean and Seamus.]_

Seamus: "You know, I will say that whoever Gossip Girl is this year, they're really missing that poetic touch from last time. It used to be more of a sly meandering into the point, you know what I mean?"

Dean: "Whereas now, it's more like the dropping a point-laden anvil."

Seamus: "Which is great in many ways, obviously."

Dean: "Of course. Efficiency, for one."

Seamus: "Yes, very efficient. Just get in—"

Dean: "—strongly suggest that the Slug Club is some sort of incestuous sex organization—"

Seamus: "—and get out."

Dean: "Right. Efficiency."

Seamus: _[nodding gravely]_ "Efficiency."

 _[Cuts to Neville, Cormac, and Marcus.]_

Cormac: _[thoughtfully]_ "I'm going to say fuck me, marry Marcus, and kill Neville."

Neville: "Yeah, that sounds about right."

Marcus: "I'd fuck you, Longbottom."

Cormac: "Really? So then you'd marry me?"

Marcus: "Well… that is one option, yes."

Cormac: "But then you'd have to kill yourself."

Marcus: "A coincidence, I'm sure."

Neville: _[to Rita]_ "Sorry, what was the question?"

Rita: "I asked what you think about the latest Gossip Girl allegations."

Marcus: "What, that we're sex fiends?"

Cormac: "Oh, was that a Gossip Girl note? Weird. I thought they were just renaming the department."

Marcus: "You thought they were renaming the department to 'members of the Slug Club past establish sex den for members present'?"

Cormac: _[shrugging]_ "Hey man, I don't oil the machine, I just fuck her til she comes."

Marcus: "That's ... progressive?"

Cormac: "I like to think so."

Neville: "For the record, we're pretty sure that note doesn't apply to us."

Rita: "Who else would it apply to?"

 _[Blaise pokes his head in.]_

Blaise: "Okay, so for the reunion, do we think seven minutes is enough? What about like, fifteen minutes in heaven? I just feel like seven is sort of a lot of pressure to perform, you know what I mean? Actually, maybe twenty minutes, just to be safe." _[He pauses.]_ "How long if I'm factoring in possible cunilatio?"

Cormac: "Is Mercury in retrograde?"

Blaise: "What? No."

Cormac: "Are there roller skates involved? Or any heavy machinery?"

Blaise: "I—no. Definitely not."

Cormac: "Any gluten allergies?"

Blaise: "Not that I know of."

Cormac: "How many buttons?"

Blaise: "On her, or on me?"

Cormac: "Total."

Blaise: "Um. Two?"

Cormac: _[shrugging]_ "Then sure, twenty minutes."

Neville: "Hold on. Isn't this party being held at work?"

Blaise: "Yes. But do I even work here?"

Cormac: "Who, you?"

Marcus: "Are you talking about you?"

Neville: _[frowning]_ "I no longer feel like I understand this."

Rita: "Wait, _does_ he work here?"

Neville: "Who, Blaise?"

Cormac: _[approvingly]_ "Back in it. Nice."

Neville: "Thanks." _[He sighs contentedly]_ "It felt right."

Blaise: "Also, do we think black tie?"

Marcus: "I thought this was just a casual get together."

Blaise: "Well, right, it was. But then someone pointed out that we picked the same day as the Ministry quidditch game, so I figured we should probably have it afterwards. Plus, you know." _[He shrugs]_ "I just look better in dress robes."

Neville: "Who exactly are you trying to impress, Zabini?"

Cormac: "Me, I assume. In which case, don't worry. I'm looking, and I like what I see."

Blaise: "I—no. Thank you, but no."

Cormac: "I didn't actually offer."

Blaise: "Oh."

Cormac: _[scoffing]_ "Believe me, when I offer, you'll know."

 _[Cuts to Cormac interview.]_

Cormac: "It's because there are several legally binding contracts involved."

 _[Pans out to reveal Daphne and Pansy on either side of him.]_

Pansy: "It's just the smart thing to do, honestly."

Daphne: "Nobody wants to be held liable for unforeseeable damages."

Pansy: "Unforeseeable by the victim, obviously."

Daphne: "By which she means partner."

Pansy: _[frowning]_ "Why, what did I say?"

 _[Cuts back to office scene.]_

Rita: "So hold on. You're throwing a reunion party just so you might have a chance to sleep with someone?"

Blaise: "Well, I considered writing a book of poetry and accosting them slowly over time, but recent events have proven that to be a somewhat vulnerable way of going about things."

 _[Cuts to Draco interview. His hair is standing on end and he is twitching slightly.]_

Draco: "Okay, so here's my theory— _ghosts_."

Rita: "Is… is there more?"

Draco: _[whispering]_ "Ghost thieves."

 _[Cuts back to Blaise.]_

Blaise: "I'm thinking I made a good call, all things considered."

Rita: "Right. And the person you're doing all this for?"

Blaise: "Oh. Um—"

 _[Cuts to Ginny interview.]_

Ginny: "I mean, I'm not going to lie. I've definitely wondered about how this whole reunion thing is going to go now that Harry and I are publicly broken up. Blaise and I used to have sort of an affinity for broom cupboards, if you know what I mean."

Gilderoy: "Sorry, is that a reference to sex or murder?"

Ginny: "What?"

Gilderoy: "It's just that when I don't understand something, it's usually about sex or murder."

Ginny: _[apprehensively]_ "Who have you been talking to about murder?"

 _[Cuts to Hogwarts.]_

Sorting Hat: "—and when all these SPINELESS COWARDS have finally stepped aside and relinquished MY MORTAL ENEMY from his WRETCHED SANCTUARY OF COWARDICE, I'll have him swimming with the fishes before I've even finished my afternoon Earl Grey."

Gilderoy: _[tentatively]_ "Sorry, is that a sex thing?"

 _[Cuts back to Ginny interview.]_

Gilderoy: "Turns out hats don't have sex."

Ginny: "Right."

Gilderoy: "They appear to be super into homicide, though."

Ginny: _[thoughtfully]_ "Well, in fairness to you, 'swimming with the fishes' wouldn't be the weirdest sex euphemism I've ever heard."

 _[Cuts to a montage of interviews.]_

Daphne: "Taming the strange."

Luna: "Joint session of congress."

Harry: "Opening the Chamber of Secrets."

Neville: "Spelunking down under."

Seamus: "Detention in the Forbidden Forest."

Minerva: "Fifteen minutes of disappointment."

Theo: "The disappearing wand trick."

Draco: "Servicing Venus."

Albus: "Wrangling the cyclops."

Gilderoy: "Honestly? No one will tell me."

Cormac: "Spaghetti time!"

Hermione: "Ouch, my hair is stuck."

Blaise: "Ain't nothin' wrong with a little bump and grind."

Ron: "Am I doing this right?"

Pansy: "It's called fucking, you amateurs." _[She pauses.]_ "But I'm sure the golden snatch applies here somehow."

* * *

 _ **a/n:**_ _A short one today, as I really, really need to sleep. Resounding thanks for following along!_


	88. The Real World: Ministry of Magic, Ep 15

**The Real World: Ministry of Magic  
Episode XV**

 _Summary_ : The Real World, continued. Olivie Advent Day 15.

* * *

 _[Scene opens with Minerva and Albus' portrait in Kingsley's office.]_

Minerva: "Do you even have any idea what's going on in this Ministry, Shacklebolt?! Granger's trying to require accreditation! She wants teachers to be credentialed! She's demanding standards! Measures!"

Sorting Hat: "VENGEANCE!"

Albus: _[flustered]_ "It's like she's trying to turn the school into some sort of—some kind of—"

Kingsley: "School?"

Albus: "YES, EXACTLY. Like some sort of—"

Kingsley: "Fiduciary bureaucrat?"

Albus: _[forcefully]_ "THE WOMAN MUST BE STOPPED!"

Sorting Hat: _[with tangible mania]_ "THE DAWN OF RIGHTEOUSNESS IS UPON US!"

Kingsley: "You guys really need to refine your agenda. Candidly, it seems like it's going in a few different directions."

Albus: "To be honest, we've definitely already discussed it."

Sorting Hat: "It's my fault. I get carried away."

Albus: "It's fine."

Sorting Hat: "I appreciate that. I feel heard."

Albus: "Hm?"

Minerva: "Listen, you just need to put a stop to it, Kingsley, _immediately_. Just—move Granger to a different department or something."

Kingsley: _[hesitantly]_ "It can't be _that_ bad, can it?"

Minerva: "ROLL THE TAPE, JORDAN!"

Lee, outside camera view: "YOU'RE NOT THE BOSS OF ME!"

Minerva: "JORDAN, THIS ISN'T THE TIME FOR ROLEPLAY."

Lee: _[sighing]_ "Fine."

 _[Cuts to Hogwarts.]_

Hermione: "I understand that many of the professors here have excellent academic track records, Professor, but they also have quite a number of issues."

Minerva: _[haughtily]_ "Like what?"

Hermione: _[enumerating on her fingers]_ "Professor Sinistra and Professor Trelawney run an illegal gambling ring out of the Astronomy tower. Professor Flitwick has an outstanding warrant for his part in a diamond heist in Munich. Madame Hooch is using school funds to sell students' shoes to foot fetishests via owl post. Madame Pince has actually been dead for three years and her Inferius is currently running the library. Oh, and Filch is just three bags of sand piled on top of each other wearing a housecoat."

Minerva: _[scoffing]_ "Please. And how would you possibly know about any of this?"

 _[Cuts to Hermione at Grimmauld Place.]_

Winky: _[slurring her words into a bottle of butterbeer]_ "And… and did Winky _tell_ yous, Binns and the Bloody Baron be—" _[She pauses, hiccuping.]_ "They be swimming with fishes every Wednesday when they be thinking Winky is asleeping. But Winky is not asleeping." _[She shudders.]_ "Winky is awakened."

Harry: "You mean woke?"

Winky: _[nodding somberly]_ "Winky is _lit._ "

Hermione: _[with palpable concern]_ "Harry, what's going on?"

Harry: _[turning to face her]_ "Hm? Oh, right, sorry, Kreacher brought Winky over when I asked him to come chat about one of my cases."

Hermione: "Why?"

Harry: "Well, I've started using house elves as informants, did I tell you? Worked out well when we needed to find Mundungus, so I figured I'd keep doing it. Nobody notices them, so, like, I barely have to do any work."

Hermione: "No, I mean—why is Winky here with Kreacher?"

Kreacher: _[gravely]_ "It be spaghetti time, Miss."

 _[At that, Winky stumbles to her feet, winking outrageously at Hermione and dragging the butterbeer behind her. Scene cuts back to Hermione and Minerva.]_

Hermione: "Oh, right. It might also be worth mentioning that some of your house elves have drinking problems."

 _[Cuts back to Kingsley's office.]_

Minerva: "So as you can see, you really need to get your house in order, Shacklebolt."

Kingsley: "What?!"

Luna: "Oh! Maybe you should try going undercover."

 _[Kingsley jumps in alarm as the camera pans out to reveal Luna standing behind him, gingerly massaging his shoulders.]_

Kingsley: "FOR THE LOVE OF—"

Sorting Hat: "—BLOOD FEUDS AND RETRIBUTION!"

Kingsley: _[frustratedly]_ "— _how_ do you keep getting _in_ here—"

Luna: _[absentmindedly digging her elbow into a knot in Kingsley's shoulder]_ "Well, I'm just thinking—what better way to see how the Ministry is doing than going undercover to find out? Seems perfectly reasonable to me."

Kingsley: "I really wish you would stop touching me."

Luna: _[lightly pounding his upper back with the blades of her hands]_ "Well, set achievable goals, I always say."

 _[Scene cuts to Harry and Theo interview.]_

Rita: "So what exactly did you tell Granger? I'm still not understanding the purpose of this prank war."

Harry: "It's not really a prank war so much as a charming scam. You know, like… a whimsical beguilement."

Rita: "Well thank you, Herbert Parsnip, but I don't think I asked for clarification on the verbiage."

Harry: _[to Theo]_ "Actually, what _did_ you tell her, Nott?"

Theo: "Hm? Oh, I told her that secret santa is a weeklong series of alternating gift exchanges."

Rita: _[skeptically]_ "And she believed that?"

Theo: _[shrugging]_ "She really didn't have a choice."

 _[Cuts to Theo and Hermione.]_

Hermione: _[confused]_ "Wait. So I gave Malfoy a gift yesterday, and he gives me one today, and then I give him another one tomorrow?"

Theo: "Yes. And this goes on for several more days."

Hermione: "But that doesn't make any sense."

Theo: _[pointing to the parchment]_ "The memo was printed with a Ministry seal, Granger. _And_ it's in Didot font."

Hermione: "That's true." _[She sighs.]_ "Well, I suppose the markers of authenticity _are_ inarguable."

Theo: _[patting her shoulder]_ "Exactly."

 _[Cuts back to Theo and Harry.]_

Theo: "She's really not that complicated."

Rita: "I genuinely worry about literally everyone who works here."

Harry: _[resignedly]_ "Well, speaking of working here, I should probably go back to doing my job. Kingsley's been going undercover to all the offices, so I suppose I should try to pretend like I want this Head Auror position."

Theo: "Oh, is he doing that? I didn't realize he was having a sneakaround. I should have offered to join." _[He shrugs.]_ "You know. It being the year of pranks and all that."

Harry: "Well, he seems really proud of his disguises, so try not to say anything if you see him."

Theo: "No promises."

Harry: "Right. Bye, then."

 _[Harry leans forward, brushing his fingers against Theo's arm. Theo leans in at the contact, cupping his free hand around a furtively concealed smirk.]_

Rita: _[blinking at Harry]_ "Did—did you just… _caress_ him?"

Harry: _[innocently]_ "Hm?"

Theo: "Who?"

Rita: "I just…" _[With furrowed disbelief]_ "I just honestly don't understand how you didn't think I would see that."

Theo: "See what? I don't even know who this person is. Herbert Parfait, was it?"

Harry: "Parsnip, actually."

Theo: "Right. And also, he's not even remotely Draco's mother."

Harry: "True. Not even a little. Though we were possibly equally obsessed with him at one point in time."

Theo: "That's fair."

Rita: "No it isn't. That's mad."

Theo: "Yes, well, that's the world. Bye, then."

Harry: "Bye."

 _[Harry leaves.]_

Rita: "Well. What now?"

Theo: "Work, I suppose."

Rita: "Working hard, are you?"

Theo: "I've done some things, yes."

 _[Cuts to earlier that day in the office.]_

Hermione: _[holding a hand tentatively to her mouth]_ "What is this?" _[She looks up at the camera, her eyes wide.]_ "Who put this here? It's—" _[She swallows, glancing back down at the slim leather-bound volume, and whispers quietly to herself.]_ "He wrote this for me?"

 _[Cuts back to Theo interview.]_

Rita: _[drily]_ "Ah, and is that all you did today?"

Theo: "Eh, more or less."

 _[Cuts to Hogwarts.]_

Sorting Hat: _[shrieking]_ "WHAT IS THIS?"

 _[Minerva jumps in place, turning to glare at it.]_

Minerva: "What is it now, you shriveling stewed prune?"

Sorting Hat: "WHO PUT THIS HERE?"

Minerva: "Hold on, what the—" _[She breaks off, frowning.]_ "Is this a ransom n- ah, nope, okay, it's signed 'Bowler Hat,' clearly this is—"

Sorting Hat: _[wailing]_ "HE WROTE THIS FOR ME!"

 _[Cuts back to Theo.]_

Theo: "Fine." _[He shrugs.]_ "More 'more' than 'less,' I suppose."

Rita: "... right."

Theo: "Hey man, I could be worse."

 _[Cuts to Pansy and Daphne.]_

Pansy: _[thoughtfully]_ "I think I'd fuck a troll over a goblin."

Daphne: "Really? But trolls just seem so, you know. Needy in the bedroom."

Pansy: "Right, I get that, but there's no way a goblin would let me stab him in the heat of the moment. That's just—I just don't see that happening, frankly."

Daphne: "Right. That's fair. So would you kill the goblin, then?"

Pansy: "No, I'd definitely marry the goblin. Can you imagine the jewelry? I'd probably Imperius him to forget our anniversary just to be sure I got a tiara out of it." _[She pauses.]_ "Or maybe really fancy handcuffs."

Daphne: _[nodding]_ "Okay, see, I think I'd kill the troll, and I definitely see your argument about the metallurgy with the goblin—"

Pansy: "Right, yeah."

Daphne: "—but that leaves fucking the centaur, and I'm just not sure how feasible that is."

Pansy: "Which part?"

Daphne: "Well, I'm just not sure I buy into the whole divinist angle, you know what I mean? Like, is he going to fuck me and then go on for weeks about our astrological compatibility? That's just really not what I'm there for. I worry that there could be some clinginess involved."

Pansy: "Hm, true. So what then, kill the centaur?"

Daphne: "I actually think marry the centaur. I'll fuck the goblin, it's fine."

 _[Camera pans out to show that Kingsley is standing at the service counter. He is wearing a fake mustache and a lime green bowler hat, looking horrified to the very core of his being before he slowly backs out of the office.]_

 _[Cuts to Kingsley interview.]_

Kingsley: _[whispering]_ "I've made a terrible mistake, and now I am shaken."

Luna: _[patting his shoulder]_ "I think you mean 'shook,' but good try."

 _[Cuts back to Pansy and Daphne.]_

Pansy: _[brightly]_ "Oh, right, so speaking of fucking goblins—"

Daphne: "Yes, speaking of, back to the topic at hand."

Pansy: "Right. So, where do we stand on potentially fucking Weasley?"

Daphne: "How did that lead into this conversation, by the way?"

Pansy: _[frowning in thought]_ "I think it started with 'things we would literally never do' and then transitioned into 'actually, things we might do upon further reflection,' which brought us approximately here."

Daphne: "Right. So where did we land on that?"

Pansy: "We didn't."

Daphne: "Ah, right. Because goblins."

Pansy: "Right. And I'm not sure it matters, anyway. Weasley _is_ currently dating Granger, and I suppose it's probably one of those weird monotonous relationships, isn't it?"

Daphne: "You mean monogamous?"

Pansy: "Why, what did I say?"

Luna: "That doesn't seem like it'll last, though, does it?"

 _[Camera pans out to show Luna standing behind Pansy, pensively braiding her hair.]_

Pansy: _[thoughtfully]_ "Well, that's true. But I'd rather not take the scraps of a relationship, you know what I mean? Even if it is for the benefit of my uninhibited sexual pleasure."

Daphne: _[tentatively]_ "He _does_ meet our standards, though, doesn't he?"

Pansy: "Which standards?"

Daphne: "Well, for one thing, he seems fairly comfortable with being ruthlessly dominated by women, to the point of it altering his entire psyche and possibly damaging him well into adulthood."

Pansy: "Mm, true. And he does take instruction well."

 _[Cuts to Ron and Pansy.]_

Ron: "Okay, so one more time, there are three chasers—"

Pansy: _[interrupting]_ "Weasley, I've decided something."

Ron: "Oh god."

Pansy: "No, it's fine, it's good."

Ron: "I doubt it."

Pansy: "Are you ready?"

Ron: "No."

Pansy: "Okay, here it is: I've decided you're going to be the next Head Auror."

Ron: _[taken aback]_ "Why?"

Pansy: _[shrugging]_ "I think I need friends in high places."

Ron: "Why don't you just befriend people in high places, then?"

Pansy: "Weasley, please. When I want you to be a cunt, I'll strip you down and grab a dildo. In the meantime, do be quiet."

Ron: "Am I allowed to ask questions?"

Pansy: _[pausing]_ "Fine. You can ask three questions."

Ron: "Okay, first question: can I have more questions?"

Pansy: "No. Next?"

Ron: "Are you going to make me do anything illegal?"

Pansy: "Probably. Last one."

Ron: "How is this haircut?"

Pansy: "Bad. So, are we clear?"

 _[Cuts back to Daphne and Pansy.]_

Daphne: "He really does check a lot of boxes."

Pansy: _[sighing]_ "He really, really does."


	89. The Real World: Ministry of Magic, 16-17

**The Real World: Ministry of Magic  
Episode XVI-XVII**

 _Summary_ : The Real World, continued. Olivie Advent Day 16 and 17, because it is finally the last race of Mr Blake's regular season, but the weekend has made me immensely tired.

* * *

 _[Scene opens with Ron and Hermione.]_

Rita: "So, what's new with you two?"

Ron: "Not much, really. Working, I suppose."

 _[Cuts to earlier that day in the Auror office.]_

Harry: "Right, so, we have a fairly high-profile case of organized pixie thefts in Knockturn Alley—"

Pansy: [ _interrupting]_ "Are the pixies being stolen, or are they doing the stealing?"

Harry: "Well, I'm not—" _[He pauses.]_ "Sorry, why are you here?"

Luna: "It's a valid question."

Harry: "Luna? Why are y-" _[He sighs.]_ "You guys know this is a _closed_ meeting, right?"

Pansy: "I rather think it isn't, Potter. And anyway, it doesn't matter. Disregard my initial question, just write down that Weasley volunteers."

Ron: _[startled]_ "What? I do?"

Pansy: "Yes. He'll be there with balls on."

 _[Cuts to Cormac.]_

Cormac: "I feel that one's pretty self-explanatory."

 _[Cuts back to Auror office.]_

Ron: "Why am I volunteering?"

Pansy: "Because."

Ron: "Oh."

Pansy: "Also, put these on."

Ron: _[skeptically]_ "Are these leather trousers?"

Pansy: _[shrugging]_ "We're just trying things out."

Daphne: "Personally, I wanted you to wear a deerstalker, but Pansy won the toss."

Harry: _[frowning]_ "I'm just realizing there are no other Aurors in this room."

Luna: "Look at you, Harry! Observation."

Gilderoy: _[solemnly]_ "Observation and voyeurism are similar but different things."

Luna: _[cheerfully]_ "Yes, very good, Professor!"

Ron: "Wait. Couldn't I just wear the hat and the trousers at the same time?"

Pansy: "Of course not."

Daphne: "You can't run two experiments at the same time, Weasley."

Pansy: "It's a matter of attribution."

Daphne: "Besides, I never said anything about pants."

Harry: "So… should I just leave, or—?"

Luna: "Do you have somewhere else to be?"

Harry: "Not really."

Luna: _[patting the seat beside her]_ "Come sit, then."

Harry: _[resignedly]_ "Okay."

 _[He sits.]_

Ron: "Hold on. What exactly is the experiment?"

Daphne: "Ooh, sorry, can't tell you."

Pansy: "It's a blind study."

Ron: _[alarmed]_ "Am I going blind?"

Daphne: "I wouldn't worry about it."

Pansy: "Off you go, Weasley. You have pixies to wrangle."

Luna: "Or recover. As yet undetermined."

Harry: _[eating popcorn]_ "I don't actually know, to be honest."

Ron: _[as he is being shoved out the door]_ "Wait, but then how am I supposed to—"

Daphne: "Bye, Weasley!"

Pansy: "Take what's yours!"

Luna: "Manifest destiny!"

Gilderoy: "And if the door says 'ladies,' knock first!"

 _[Cuts back to Ron and Hermione.]_

Ron: "I think I might possibly be some sort of political puppet?" _[He frowns.]_ "But that can't be right—"

Hermione: _[fidgeting, her ankle dancing as she crosses her legs tightly]_ "Well, you certainly haven't been doing anything else of note."

Ron: _[startled]_ "What's that supposed to mean?"

 _[Cuts to Hermione reading aloud.]_

Hermione: "I've seen beauty in your absence / I've known privilege all the same / I know the sun still rises / But I am gutted like a flame / For all that I have loved you / For how deeply I've adored / How bitter my devotion / Now my love's all but abhorred." _[She pauses, sniffling.]_ "The world continues turning / I sleep and then I wake / You exist somewhere beside me / Never mine to give or take." _[She pauses again, swiping at her eyes.]_ "Imagine me from time to time, while badly do I suffer / Transfigure me to weathered stone, that time may make me tougher."

 _[She looks up at the camera, pained, and glances back down, turning the page.]_

Hermione: "I worship you best from my knees / I am holiest from there / Call me penitent in sorrow / Call my name while I despair—"

 _[She breaks off, bursting into tears.]_

Hermione: _[between bouts of muffled sobbing]_ "The last four pages were literally about my breasts and I've been crying on and off for forty-five minutes!"

 _[Cuts back to Hermione and Ron.]_

Hermione: _[stiffly]_ "Just out of curiosity, Ronald, how would _you_ describe my hair?"

Ron: "Um. Brown?"

 _[Cuts back to Hermione reading aloud.]_

Hermione: "… as tangled as our circumstance / As unruly as my heart / As brilliant as a sunbeam / As delicate as art." _[She pauses, wailing.]_ "THAT MAJESTIC BASTARD!"

 _[Cuts back to Ron and Hermione.]_

Ron: "No, wait, your hair is—" _[He pauses.]_ "Pretty? No, wait, trick question." _[He grins broadly.]_ "I value you for your brain, because your hair is not a reflection of your intellect."

Hermione: "Oh, just SHUT UP."

 _[She promptly storms out. Ron stares after her, puzzled, and then sighs.]_

Ron: "You know, all of the women in my life are being very confusing at the moment."

Rita: "Well, Miss Parkinson and Miss Greengrass certainly seem to have taken an interest in you."

Ron: "True, Daphne seems to have warmed to me. I'm still not sure about Pansy, though." _[He shifts uneasily]_ "Sometimes she seems like she's saying a nice thing, but I'm never fully convinced she _isn't_ holding a knife, you know what I mean?"

 _[Cuts to Pansy and Daphne.]_

Daphne: "That's the thing about being in Pansy's life. You never really know for sure if she likes you."

Pansy: "Well, I don't know. Eventually I think you sort it out."

Daphne: "We're certainly permitted our suspicions."

Pansy: "Yes. And in the event of confusion, I've written down all my opinions on people, with instructions to be read aloud at my funeral."

 _[Cuts to Pansy reading aloud from a notebook.]_

Pansy: "To Potter: I didn't actually want the Dark Lord to murder you. I probably would have managed to live with myself if he had, but it was really more of an in-the-moment expression of concern for my own well-being, and therefore almost not at all about you. Hope that makes you feel better. If it doesn't, I don't care. To Theo: I have almost no thoughts about you. Don't take that as an insult, but also don't take it as a compliment. It means nothing, which is coincidentally what you have meant to me. To Granger: I know it must have seemed like you annoyed me, and perhaps that I was rude to you out of some sort of inherent, baseless dislike. This is correct. Please know that nobody has ever annoyed me more than you, and that I have never had a reason. Some things just are. Also, in case I didn't get to say it while I was alive, please also know that the brown skirt you seem to like is the most terrible thing I've ever seen and I've set it on fire. Oh, note to Daphne: please see that this is done. Thank you. And also, I did genuinely like you, but don't tell anyone, because it's embarrassing."

 _[Cuts back to Pansy and Daphne.]_

Daphne: "That's very thoughtful of you."

Pansy: _[nodding]_ "I like to think so."

 _[Cuts back to Ron interview.]_

Ron: "Well, anyway. I should probably go. Apparently I'm up for a promotion, and I think my girlfriend might be cross with me, so I suppose I should probably apologize."

Rita: "What are you planning to apologize for?"

Ron: _[thinking]_ "Well, from experience, I've either unjustly blamed her cat, failed to ask her to the Yule Ball, or left her stranded on a horcrux hunt."

Rita: "Just… any one of those things?"

Ron: "I'll probably apologize for all of them, just to be safe."

Rita: "Fair enough. Oh, and I take it you haven't seen Gossip Girl's latest memo?"

Ron: _[frowning]_ "No. What's it say?"

 _[Cuts to Seamus and Dean.]_

Seamus: "Well, between you and me and everyone, Weasley's quite the hot topic this morning."

Dean: "Yes. Apparently he's competing with Harry for the Head Auror job? Which I'm not sure he knows about. It doesn't seem like something he'd do on purpose."

Seamus: "Well, he did beat out Potter for Prefect, didn't he?"

Dean: "Yeah, but I'm pretty sure Dumbledore said that came to him in a dream."

Seamus: "I'm sure Kingsley has dreams too. He has a whimsical disposition, I think."

Dean: "Are you suggesting that Dumbledore had a whimsical disposition?"

Seamus: "Well he had a twinkle in his eye, didn't he? So it was definitely either whimsy or a vaguely dangerous mania."

Dean: "Right, true. Oh, and speaking of Kingsley, I've been meaning to ask—do we think that he might be Gossip Girl?"

Seamus: "Why do you say that?"

Dean: "Because he's been sitting here for three hours pretending to be a potted plant."

 _[Camera pans out to show Kingsley standing in a large ceramic pot. There are several leaves and twigs taped to his clothing. He sighs, rises to his feet, and drags the planter along behind him as he exits the office.]_

Seamus: "Well, that's new."

Dean: "Sorry, what was the question?"

 _[Cuts back to Ron and Rita.]_

Ron: "Huh. I've never really been the subject of gossip before. Usually that's Harry's thing."

Rita: "Who?"

Ron: _[with painfully slow deliberation]_ "Is this what it's like to be successful?"

Rita: "I wish I could say no, but in my experience, this is pretty much it."

 _[Pansy walks past the doorframe, coming to a sudden halt and pausing to poke her head in.]_

Pansy: "Weasley, aren't you supposed to be working?"

Ron: _[startled to his feet]_ "Yes, right, sorry—"

 _[He leaves. Pansy glances at Rita, arching a brow in disapproval.]_

Pansy: "Is there a reason you're speaking to him?"

Rita: "Yes. And I know what you're doing, you know."

Pansy: _[skeptically]_ "Oh really?"

Rita: "Obviously. You're not the first woman to try to prop up a useless man for her own selfish purposes, you know."

Pansy: "Hey, he's not totally useless!" _[She shrugs.]_ "I assume, anyway."

 _[Cuts to Pansy reading aloud.]_

Pansy: "To Weasley: You're not totally useless. I assume." _[She glances up.]_ "I update these on a biweekly basis, so, you know. All of it is subject to arbitrary change."

 _[Cuts back to Pansy and Rita.]_

Pansy: _[suspiciously]_ "Besides, who exactly have _you_ propped up, Skeeter?"

 _[Cuts to camera footage of an empty corridor, with a male and female voice audible from the other side of a closed door.]_

Woman: "Look, we need to up your screen time, okay? For some reason the audience loves your idiotic non sequiturs, much as I utterly loathe them. If we're going to parlay this pile of steaming swamp-trash into something that's beneficial for both our careers—by which I mean mine, obviously—then we need to grab your middle-aged housewife demographic and milk it for all its worth." _[A pause.]_ "Try following the blonde nonsense girl around. She seems to pop up everywhere."

 _[There is a rustle of clothing, and then the sound of a dress being zipped up.]_

Man: "If I do, then can we do this again? You have an absolutely spectacular—"

Woman: _[interrupting]_ "I know I do, and no. Absolutely not. This was a mistake, and it's not happening again."

 _[A pause.]_

Man: "Does that mean tomorrow?"

Woman: _[with irritation]_ "Yes. Obviously."

 _[Luna's face appears in front of the camera.]_

Luna: _[curiously]_ "What are you doing, Lee?"

 _[Camera jostles to the floor and cuts back to Pansy and Rita.]_

Rita: "I didn't mean me, you nasty twit. It was a metaphor."

Pansy: _[sniffing]_ "Please. I think you mean metawhore."

 _[Cuts to Cormac.]_

Cormac: "Metawhore: when a person sleeping with another person for profit likens one situation to another in a way that isn't literally true, but helps explain an idea or make a comparison." _[He brightens.]_ "Alternately, a self-referencing slutbag!"

 _[Cuts back to Rita and Pansy.]_

Rita: "Fine. You stay out of my lane, I'll stay out of yours. Deal?"

Pansy: "Deal."

 _[Cuts back to Pansy reading aloud.]_

Pansy: "To Rita Skeeter: I almost never keep my promises."

 _[She closes the book, smiling serenely at the camera.]_

* * *

 _ **a/n:**_ _Someone sent me a facebook post the other day from Nikki, who is having a tough time. I'm not in any facebook groups, but a note from me to you: I hope you are doing okay, and I am here for you in spirit (and also in the form of terrible jokes!)_


	90. The Real World: Ministry of Magic, Ep 18

**The Real World: Ministry of Magic  
Episode XVIII**

 _Summary_ : The Real World, continued. Olivie Advent Day 18.

* * *

 _[Scene opens with Theo and Harry.]_

Theo: "Honestly? I really thought this prank would be much more satisfying."

Harry: "That's true. It's been pretty quiet, and like—vaguely whimsical?"

Rita: "Whimsical?"

Harry: _[to Theo]_ "Is there a better word for it?"

Theo: "Hm. There's definitely an element of quaintness."

Harry: "Sort of a… frolicsome effervescence?"

Theo: "It's kind of frothingly irritating, actually. Like, for example, take the third day—"

 _[Cuts to footage of the office.]_

Draco: "Granger, what is this?"

Hermione: _[blushing]_ "Hm?"

Draco: "This, Granger. This—this thing. What is it?"

Hermione: "It's an enchanted coffee mug, Malfoy. It keeps your coffee hot for twelve hours."

Draco: _[bluntly]_ "What for?"

Hermione: "Oh, well, um—" _[She pauses, flustered.]_ "I just noticed you're always using reheating charms in the afternoons or getting up to refill your cup, so I thought I'd charm one for you."

 _[There is a pause.]_

Draco: _[suspiciously]_ "I don't understand."

Hermione: "Oh, it's, er." _[She is furiously crimson.]_ "It's a gift, Malfoy."

Draco: "For what?"

Hermione: "For secret sant-"

 _[She breaks off as Theo, who is sitting at his desk in the corner, lets out a loud, hacking cough.]_

Hermione: "Sorry, anyway, like I was saying, it's my turn to exchange a gift for sec-"

 _[Theo abruptly begins coughing again.]_

Draco: _[with oppressive bewilderment]_ "I don't understand, Granger. You're giving me something… nice?"

Hermione: _[sheepishly]_ "Well, after you gave me that book of p-"

 _[Theo makes a loud, unpleasant retching sound.]_

Hermione: "Sorry, one second—Nott, are you dying?"

Theo: "Hm? No, I'm fine."

Hermione: "Right. Anyway, Malfoy, since you gave me that book of poe-"

 _[Harry enters, shoving the door open with a bang. The others slowly turn to stare at him.]_

Harry: "Oh, hello."

Hermione: "Hi Harry. Do you need something?"

Harry: "Hm? What? No, carry on."

Hermione: "Oh. Well, as I was saying, after I read the p-"

 _[Theo and Harry cough loudly in unison.]_

Draco: _[with disgust]_ "Do you want to grab some coffee, Granger? Apparently if we stay here much longer, we'll both get the plague."

Hermione: "Oh." _[She pauses, considering it.]_ "Yes, alright."

 _[Cuts back to Theo and Harry interview.]_

Theo: "There were some logistical issues, so for ease of use, we put a taboo on the words 'secret santa' and 'poetry.' But don't worry, we fixed it so that they wouldn't die."

Harry: "The trade-off being that they would, however, be instantly swarmed by bees."

Theo: "Yeah. Taboos aren't great charms, to be honest with you. There's a definite underlying hint of darkness that you really can't shake."

Harry: "Right. So anyway, we thought day four might be more interesting, but—"

Theo: " _But,_ much to our joint dismay—"

Lee, from off-screen: _[wailing]_ "OTP!"

Theo: _[grimly]_ "—it was not."

 _[Cuts to office footage.]_

Hermione: "What's this?"

Draco: "Hm?"

Hermione: _[exasperatedly]_ "Malfoy, do _not_ start with me—"

Draco: "What's what, Granger? There's no need to get so beatifically shrill."

Hermione: "What's this tree, Malfoy?"

Draco: "Which tree?"

Hermione: "This one."

 _[Camera pans out to reveal a willow tree draped in blossoming enchanted flowers, many of which have fallen onto Hermione's desk and buried her paperwork beneath a snowy layer of petals.]_

Draco: "Oh, that?"

Hermione: "Yes. This."

Draco: "It's a wishing tree."

Hermione: "What?"

Theo: _[with confusion, and palpable disappointment, as if he were hoping for something much worse]_ "What?!"

Draco: "It's a wishing tree. If you take one of the flowers, you can make a small, unobtrusive wish. A reasonable one, though—like possibly fewer bees."

Hermione: "Oh, true." _[She grimaces.]_ "I had no idea there were so many bees in the Ministry."

Draco: "Right. So anyway you just, er, make a wish, and—" _[He waves a hand.]_ "It'll come true, provided it's not, you know. Alchemy, or something theoretically impossible, like understanding the answer to why you're dating Weasley."

Hermione: _[with surprised awe]_ "Malfoy, this is so poet-"

 _[Theo ducks preemptively, covering his head.]_

Hermione: "-ic."

 _[Theo pops back up, relieved.]_

Hermione: "Really, almost as thoughtful as that book of poe-"

Theo: _[as a loud, warning buzzing sound commences]_ "Oh no."

 _[Cuts back to Harry and Theo.]_

Harry: "It's possible we're responsible for a global bee shortage."

Theo: "Possible, but unlikely."

Harry: "Right. And anyway, we changed the taboo again, so it's fine."

Theo: "Yes. We also added the word 'bees' to the list, just in case."

Rita: "So what happens now if they use any of those words?"

Harry: "Hm? Oh, they die."

Theo: "He's joking. They won't die."

Harry: "We're pretty sure, anyway."

Theo: "TBD."

Harry: "No, but what _will_ happen is they'll be forced into a simulation in which they have to fight each other to the death."

Theo: "But not actually die."

Harry: "We're pretty sure, anyway."

 _[Cuts to Draco and Hermione. They are in the throes of a fencing competition, which has destroyed the entire office. After an expert series of parries and feints, Draco taps Hermione in the chest with his sabre and they stop, both removing their helmets and attempting to speak between breaths.]_

Draco: "What is that, another tie? 2-2?"

Hermione: "Yes, I think so. That was a good one, actually."

Theo: _[from beneath a desk]_ "Maybe you guys should like, stop speaking to each other. Try getting some work done, maybe?"

Draco: "Well, wait. We _were_ working, weren't we?"

Hermione: "Yes, I think so, and then we got interrupted."

Draco: _[puzzled]_ "What were we talking about?"

Theo: _[rubbing his temple]_ "Oh boy."

Hermione: "Well, I was just saying that I wasn't expecting much from you, but that book of poetr-"

Draco: _[with a strike of fervor]_ "EN GARDE!"

 _[She breaks off as the simulation once again takes effect and both she and Draco resume their combative stances, replacing their helmets on their heads. Theo sighs, climbs into what appears to be a fort made from a pile of bookshelves, and continues doing his work.]_

 _[Cuts back to Theo and Harry.]_

Harry: "I'm not ready to call it a failure yet, but I'm not ready to call it a success, either."

Theo: "They do seem to be getting along, at least."

Harry: "That's true."

Theo: "How's Weasley taking it?"

Harry: _[frowning]_ "I haven't seen him in a while, now that I think about it. I think he might be undercover, actually."

 _[Cuts to footage of Ron. He is painted bright blue.]_

Ron: _[whispering]_ "I'm infiltrating a pixie ring for whereabouts of the stolen goods. Or pixies, actually—TBD. Either way, they are notoriously judgmental creatures, so I've had to spend most of the day working on blending in properly and rising to the top of their social hierarchy. Luckily, Pansy's been very helpful with that."

 _[Cuts to Pansy interview.]_

Pansy: "It's really easy, actually. All societies are essentially the same. Step one: be beautiful. If you can't be beautiful, be rich. Step two: find the current leader and damage them psychologically. If that's going to take too long—or, if in the rare event of proper leadership they can't be destroyed by virtue of insults and passive-aggressive comments about their intellect and/or weight, rise to the top incrementally. Win over each member. This can take some time, so lacking all else, the ideal situation is for everyone to find themselves in oh, I don't know—say, for example, a dangerous hostage situation, wherein you can win the respect of the group by expertly negotiating their release."

 _[Cuts back to Ron and the pixies. Daphne enters, dressed in an elaborate silver tiara and hoisting a large muggle chainsaw.]_

Daphne: "You are all my prisoners!"

Ron: _[in fluent pixie]_ "Chill, guys, I've got this. I'll negotiate our release."

 _[Cuts back to Pansy.]_

Pansy: _[shrugging]_ "Look, Weasley isn't beautiful or rich. Knowing which cards to play is an equally important strength for social domination."

 _[Cuts back to Harry and Theo.]_

Harry: "Huh. Well, I'm sure he's fine."

Theo: "Cool. Brunch, then?"

Harry: "Oh, sure. Let me just grab my brunch cape."

Theo: "I thought you weren't into capes."

Harry: "You know, I thought I wasn't? But for some reason I just felt like I needed one."

 _[They exit the corridor, passing by a life-sized poster of Cormac enthusiastically wearing a cape that reads 'Mimosa Time.' Meanwhile, footage cuts to Hermione interview.]_

Hermione: "I have to say, I'm surprised by how well things are going with Malfoy. I mean, granted, I'm very sore and I keep inexplicably losing my train of thought, but we've been getting quite a lot of work done, too."

 _[Cuts to office footage.]_

Draco: "You know, I think Hogwarts could stand to have some non-magic classes in its curriculum."

Hermione: _[surprised]_ "Really?"

Draco: "Sure. I mean why aren't there art classes? Or photography, or music, or literature? And there's no expository writing classes, which means half the students that go there have about the same spelling capacity as the average concussed troll—"

Hermione: "That's true, and I have some experience with concussed trolls." _[She pauses and then, thoughtfully, and with surprised pleasure:]_ "You know, I actually think this is great idea, Malfoy. I think I may have underestimated your interest in liberal arts."

Draco: "Who said I had any interest in your artsy liberalism, Granger?"

Hermione: "You like to write, don't you?"

Draco: _[scoffing unconvincingly]_ "And how would you know that?"

Hermione: "Well, after seeing your book of po-"

Draco: _[with a groan of obvious fatigue]_ "EN GARDE!"

 _[They both reach sluggishly for their helmets, feeling blindly for their sabres. Footage cuts back to Hermione interview.]_

Hermione: _[nursing a sore bicep]_ "In any case, maybe I was wrong about us not working well together."

 _[Camera pans out to reveal Luna on her right side, drinking a mimosa.]_

Luna: "Yes, but the important thing is that I _wasn't_ wrong."

Hermione: "Hey, where'd you get that?"

Luna: _[sipping loudly]_ "It's kind of invitation-only."

Hermione: "Oh."

 _[Camera pans out further to reveal Gilderoy on Hermione's left side, also drinking a mimosa.]_

Gilderoy: "This juice makes me feel things!"

 _[Camera pans out further to show Severus lying on a beach towel in the middle of the floor, drinking his mimosa from an elaborate straw. He is wearing a 'Mimosa Time' cape.]_

Severus: "I feel like I'm forgetting something."

 _[Camera cuts to Hogwarts.]_

Sorting Hat: "Come out, come out, Bowler Hat. You said three o'clock sharp, and here I am, ready for a reckoning!" _[The hat brandishes a large shotgun, aiming it into the darkened corridor.]_ "THIS IS THE EYE OF THE STORM, MY FRIEND!"

 _[Cuts back to office footage.]_

Severus: "Eh." _[He shrugs.]_ "Probably wasn't important."


	91. The Real World: Ministry of Magic, Ep 19

**The Real World: Ministry of Magic  
Episode XIX**

 _Summary_ : The Real World, continued. Olivie Advent Day 19.

* * *

 _[Scene opens with Marcus, Neville, and Cormac.]_

Marcus: "Longbottom, you've got to do something about these nightmare plants. They're crowding my desk. And also, they're poisonous and I might die."

Neville: "Oh, they just need to be re-potted, that's all. They're in those rebellious teen years where all they want is to establish possession over their surroundings."

Marcus: "What, like a dog pissing on trees?"

Cormac: "First of all, that's totally obscene. And secondly, it's more like humping."

Marcus: "For fuck's sake, McLaggen—"

Neville: "No, no, he's right. There's a definite layer of sexual underpinning."

Cormac: _[loftily]_ "That's called missionary, Longbottom. And should you really be doing that with your plants?"

Neville: "No, I probably shouldn't."

Marcus: "I—hold on. You shouldn't and you _aren't_ , right?"

Neville: "Pass."

 _[Ginny enters.]_

Ginny: "Oh, hey guys. Is Zabini around?"

Marcus: "No, not at the moment. Why?"

Ginny: "Well, I got his invitation to the Slug Club reunion and I was coming to RSVP, but I actually have a few questions first."

Cormac: "Well, to answer your first question: no, we probably shouldn't."

Ginny: "I don't—what?"

Cormac: "Unless you really want to. In which case—" _[He shrugs.]_ "Fine."

Ginny: "Is this about sex?"

Cormac: "No, those are just my standard answers to the usual first round of questions with regard to crudités. If you have questions about sex, though, I'm going to need more details. For example, will there by any operation of heavy machinery?"

Ginny: "I highly doubt it."

Cormac: "Well, then the answer is a gracefully ambiguous maybe."

Ginny: "Look, I'm just—I just don't understand, like, any of this. I mean, why is this event black tie? Isn't it just half a dozen people? And why is it being held at Hogwarts? I really thought it was just going to be, you know, inside the Ministry somewhere."

Neville: "Well, Blaise moved it to Hogwarts after he found out that the Ministry quidditch game was going to be held there."

Ginny: _[surprised]_ "What? Is that Pansy's doing?"

Marcus: "Actually, I believe Parkinson wanted to build a stadium specifically for it, but apparently that budget request wasn't approved."

 _[Cuts to Seamus and Dean.]_

Seamus: "Look, I wanted to make it work."

Dean: "We just couldn't get around the unforgivable excess."

Seamus: "You say unforgivable, I say necessary."

Dean: _[skeptically]_ "You say _necessary_?"

Seamus: "Well, worth watching, at least."

Dean: "Better."

 _[Cuts back to the office.]_

Neville: "I also heard Pansy had nude statues commissioned of her and Daphne for it."

 _[Cuts to Pansy and Daphne.]_

Pansy: "What? Nude statues for a quidditch game? Longbottom should be fired, that would be completely insane."

Daphne: "Yes. Who would do that, honestly?"

Pansy: _[scoffing]_ "Ridiculous."

Daphne: "That statue was for our living room."

Pansy: "Yes, because we aren't unhinged narcissists."

Daphne: _[nodding]_ "We're private ones."

Pansy: "By the way, did we tell you? We're moving in together."

Daphne: "By which we mean Pansy got evicted."

Pansy: _[shrugging]_ "Potato, potato. Apparently not all landlords can handle a little bit of lip these days."

Daphne: "You told him you were going to 'cock-slap him so hard his dentures would fall out of his cunt purse,' and then you cursed all the items in his kitchen to periodically explode."

Pansy: "Yes, and like I said, apparently not all landlords can handle that."

 _[Cuts back to the office.]_

Ginny: _[tentatively]_ "This all seems a little bit excessive. Is this all Zabini's doing?"

Neville: "There's really no way of knowing."

Marcus: "We don't even know if he works here."

Cormac: "Who, Blaise?"

 _[Cuts to Marcus and Oliver.]_

Marcus: "Actually, we were the ones who thought it would be best if we just had the quidditch game at the Hogwarts pitch, since it is technically the closest to an operational infirmary."

Oliver: "Yeah. In terms of crisis management, Hogwarts is probably the best place to be."

Marcus: "Plus, it's pretty safe. I mean, people have only died there…" _[He pauses, considering it, and frowns.]_ "Okay, well, retraction: a lot of people have died there."

Oliver: _[quickly]_ "But not of quidditch injuries."

Marcus: "Yes, right, saved it. They definitely died from murder labyrinths and bathroom snakes, not quidditch."

Oliver: "Right. So anyway, we figured that's the best place for it."

 _[Cuts back to office footage.]_

Marcus: "I guess there are worse places to be. Plus it _is_ a bigger venue, which might be necessary, seeing as it seems like everyone is bringing a date."

Cormac: "Hold on. How did you get back here so fast?"

Marcus: "What?"

Ginny: "Wait—I'm not bringing a date. Should I be?"

Neville: "I'd ask you to go with me, Ginny, but I'm bringing Luna."

Ginny: _[surprised]_ "Oh, I didn't know you two were—"

Luna: "He doesn't mean me."

 _[Camera pans out to reveal Luna perched on Neville's desk, stroking the leaf of a garishly violet plant.]_

Neville: "That's Luna."

Ginny: "I know that's Luna."

Neville: "No, I meant that."

 _[Camera pans out further to show Gilderoy leaning over, attempting to lick the leaf of what is quite obviously a poisonous herb.]_

Neville: _[sternly]_ "Hey, what'd I _just_ say?!"

Gilderoy: _[sighing]_ "No licking."

Neville: "Exactly, _no licking_ —"

Gilderoy: _[sulkily]_ "I hate that rule."

Ginny: "Seems like a pretty good rule, honestly."

Gilderoy: _[sniffing disapprovingly]_ "Red-mouth pretty-tits seems to disagree."

 _[Cuts to Rita glancing in a small silver compact, applying her signature crimson lipstick. She catches the camera behind her and turns, sparing it a glare.]_

Rita: "Jordan, what the ever-living fuck do you want?"

 _[Camera abruptly jostles, cutting back to the office.]_

Ginny: "Well, whatever. See you guys there, I guess. Oh, and Kingsley, I'll have my notes for that Knockturn investigation on your desk by three this afternoon."

 _[Camera pans out to reveal Kingsley standing beside the bookcase near the door, holding a variety of coats.]_

Kingsley: _[gruffly]_ "Thank you."

Ginny: "No problem."

 _[She leaves.]_

Neville: _[thoughtfully]_ "You know, I did find it a bit odd that the coat rack didn't say anything to me this morning."

Marcus: "Sorry, you thought _that_ was weird?"

Neville: "Well, usually it says something to compliment me when I set my coat on it. Something like 'that ass looks tooooight in them trousers' or 'damn son, noice cardie,' or—"

Cormac: _[interrupting]_ "That's not the coat rack. That's me."

Neville: "I—what?"

Cormac: "Coat racks don't talk, Longbottom."

Neville: "Yeah, but—"

Cormac: "And hey, listen, I appreciate your work attire. I dig your whole business casual, bureaucrat-on-the-brink vibe, you know?" _[He shrugs.]_ "No hobo, obviously."

Marcus: "Did you just say 'no hobo'?"

Cormac: "Yeah, I mean. I have my own clothes. I'm not homeless. I just appreciate how Longbottom wears his cardies, so, you know—no hobo."

 _[Cuts to Seamus.]_

Seamus: "Meh. Sounds gay."

 _[Cuts back to office.]_

Cormac: "What?"

 _[Cuts to Kingsley interview.]_

Kingsley: _[whispering]_ "So listen, I've been in this office for over four hours."

 _[He gestures over his shoulder. Behind him, camera pans out to show Neville quietly tending to his plants while Marcus repeatedly shoves an encroaching branch away from his paperwork. Cormac is rapidly scribbling something on a piece of parchment.]_

Kingsley: _[turning back to the camera]_ "Frankly, I'm very proud and relieved to report that during that time, nothing life-alteringly disturbing was said or done in my presence."

 _[Camera pans to the office scene behind him.]_

Cormac: "Guys, question. Would it be better to fuck a boggart?"

Marcus: "Better as opposed to what? _Not_ fucking it?"

Cormac: _[scoffing]_ "Don't be ridiculous."

Neville: "A boggart is just a manifestation of your fears, McLaggen. What would you even be fucking?"

Cormac: "Myself, only with smaller calves."

 _[Camera returns to Kingsley.]_

Kingsley: _[sighing]_ "Nevermind. Forget everything I've ever said."

* * *

 _ **a/n:**_ _I can't believe we're on day 19? What even the fuck? By the way, this ends on December 24, but a new one shot will post on the 25th, because as far as I can tell the true meaning of Christmas is the selfless offering of unmitigated filth._


	92. The Real World: Ministry of Magic, Ep 20

**The Real World: Ministry of Magic  
Episode XX**

 _Summary_ : The Real World, continued. Olivie Advent Day 20.

* * *

 _[Scene opens with Dean and Seamus.]_

Seamus: "So, get this: apparently Weasley and Granger are, much like my preferred method of whisky consumption, on the rocks."

Dean: _[scoffing]_ "Sea, don't be ridiculous."

Seamus: "What? I didn't make this up, Dean. According to Gossip Girl's memo this morning, they're really not doing well."

Dean: "Okay, fine, but you definitely don't take your whisky on the rocks."

Seamus: _[indignantly]_ "Sometimes I do, Dean. You don't know everything. Sometimes I'm in a different room from you." _[He pauses.]_ "Or, you know, somewhere else in the same room."

Dean: "Okay, first of all, you don't even drink whisky, and I know that for a _fact_. The last time I tried to pour you some you told me to 'get out of here with my toxic masculinity' and 'bring you a Cosmopolitan as Godric Gryffindor intended,' which can't possibly be right—"

Seamus: "Honestly, don't you read? It's notably his signature drink."

Dean: _[sighing]_ "I really don't think that's like, in _any way_ canon."

Seamus: "None of this is, Dean. And more's the pity for it, frankly."

Dean: "True."

Seamus: "Anyway, I have to say, I was getting bored with that whole Granger-Weasley pairing. I'm glad we finally get to see what else is out there. I mean, will Granger finally get with Potter? We've been talking about _that_ possibility for years. Or hey, who knows, maybe Weasley will get with Potter." _[He shrugs.]_ "Weirder things have happened, right?"

Dean: "I really don't think they have. And do you really think they were all just biding their time until they could swap around?"

Seamus: "I really don't see any other reason for it."

 _[They pause.]_

Dean: "Eh. Fair enough."

 _[Cuts to Ron and Hermione.]_

Rita: "So, I take it you both have seen the latest from Gossip Girl?"

Ron: "Yes, we have, and one of us is taking it very poorly."

Hermione: _[stiffly]_ "I assume by that you mean me?"

Ron: "What? No. You've been here for two minutes, I have no idea how you're taking it. _I'm_ taking this very badly."

Hermione: _[with stark indignation]_ "What? Are you saying this is somehow worse for you than it is for me?"

Ron: "Of course it is. I mean, do you even know how hard the last couple of days have been for me?"

 _[Cuts to Ron, Pansy, and Daphne.]_

Ron: "Right, so, it turns out that Harry's little so-called 'pixie theft' was actually a massive magical narcotics bust tied to a kidnapping ring, so technically the pixies were both stealing _and_ being stolen."

Daphne: "Yes, and naturally the first thing we did was accidentally implicate Weasley by making him the leader of what we didn't realize was the equivalent of a dangerous armed mob."

Pansy: "In my defense, the whole thing seemed very normal. There were maybe one or two mentions of murder and abduction but, to be honest, that's pretty standard in all my conversations." _[She shrugs.]_ "What can I say? I like what I like."

Ron: "Well, anyway, I got arrested for a second there—"

Daphne: "But luckily, we'd had the foresight to change his emergency contacts to us."

Ron: "That, and Harry was the one who did the arresting, so he sort of already knew I wasn't a pixie mob boss."

 _[Cuts to Harry.]_

Harry: "Honestly, I did stop to question it for a second. I'm not suggesting that I believe Ron's a dangerous criminal, of course, but I definitely _am_ suggesting that he had a worrying amount of control over those pixies."

 _[Camera pans out to show Pansy eyeing her fingernails next to him.]_

Pansy: "Oh, that was me—I taught him how to more effectively threaten their families. At first he was just trying to intimidate them with, I don't know, some line about swimming with the fishes? And I was like Weasley, I can't believe I'm saying this, but sex really doesn't seem like the answer at this particular moment."

Harry: "Oh." _[He shrugs.]_ "That makes sense."

 _[Cuts back to Ron, Pansy, Daphne.]_

Pansy: "We had also changed the details of his medical records, so it's sort of unfortunate that he was only arrested and not, you know, stabbed."

Daphne: "You mean fortunate, right?"

Pansy: "Eh. I said what I said."

Ron: "Hold on, you did _what_?!"

Pansy: "In my defense, I just wanted to see what would happen."

Ron: "That's not a defense!"

Daphne: "I'm sure we'll have another chance, though."

Ron: "What?"

Pansy: _[brightly]_ "Well, that's true. There's a lot of other ways for him to get gravely injured, I suppose."

Daphne: _[cautioning]_ "Only if he breaks up with Granger, though."

Ron: "What?"

Pansy: _[surprised]_ "Really, Daphne? What is this supposed to be—morality?"

Daphne: "Well, yeah. I mean look, I may not have any ethics, but I do have some scruples."

Ron: "What?"

Pansy: _[shrugging]_ "Well, all I have are urges, so—"

Daphne: "Still. He'll have to break up with Granger or it's not an option. Okay?"

Ron: _[frantically]_ "What's not an option?"

Pansy: "Ugh, fine." _[She sighs heavily.]_ "Well, break it off then, Weasley. What are you waiting for?"

Ron: _[uneasily]_ "You're not talking about my bones, are you?"

Daphne: "Only one of them. And that's really more of a euphemism than anything."

Ron: "Oh."

Pansy: "By the way, how was Azkaban?"

Ron: "I didn't actually have to go to Azkaban. I turned over the evidence I'd gathered during my undercover operation."

Pansy: _[disappointed]_ "Oh."

Daphne: _[to Pansy]_ "I take it Potter didn't accept your bribe then, Pans?"

Pansy: "Apparently not!"

 _[Cuts back to Ron and Hermione.]_

Ron: "So yeah, I've had a rough couple of days."

Hermione: _[irritably]_ "And what do you think I've been doing, then?"

 _[Cuts to footage of Draco and Hermione's office. Their desks are no longer situated across the room; now her desk is pushed against his, and their paperwork is sprawled over both surfaces.]_

Hermione: _[eyeing the paperwork thoughtfully]_ "Okay, so I think we've finalized all the curriculum requirements, plus we've updated the safety manuals, so all that's left are the emergency walk-throughs I have to do, and then—"

Draco: "I can do those with you if you want, Granger."

Hermione: _[surprised]_ "Really?"

Draco: "Well, yeah, of course."

 _[She stares at him.]_

Draco: "What?"

Hermione: _[furiously]_ "WHAT THE _FUCK_ , MALFOY?!"

Draco: "EXCUSE ME, YOU PETAL-FACED WREATH OF MAGNIFICENCE?"

Hermione: "Don't do that. DO NOT DO THAT AGAIN—"

Draco: "DO WHAT AGAIN?!"

Hermione: "YOU KNOW WHAT YOU DID YOU HORRIBLE, CONCEITED, MONSTROUSLY BREATHTAKING WORDSMITH—"

Draco: "LISTEN UP YOU CELESTIAL EMPRESS, I DON'T KNOW WHY YOU'RE SHOUTING AT ME—"

Hermione: "I'M SHOUTING? _YOU'RE_ SHOUTING, YOU PORCELAIN-SKINNED INVEIGLER—"

Draco: "IF YOU HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY, GRANGER, THEN JUST COME OVER HERE AND SAY IT TO MY FACE!"

Hermione: "FINE! HOW CLOSE IN YOUR FACE DO YOU WANT ME?!"

Draco: "JUST LAY IT ON ME, GRANGER!"

Hermione: "I—" _[she pauses, frustrated.]_ "I CAN'T! I'M DATING RON!"

Draco: "AND WHOSE FAULT IS THAT?!"

Hermione: "YOURS!"

Draco: "YOU'RE RIGHT. I SHOULD HAVE JUST KILLED HIM WHEN I HAD THE CHANCE!"

Hermione: _[hastily]_ "No, no, wrong direction—"

Draco: "What? Sorry, just got sort of swept up in it—"

Hermione: "YOU WEREN'T SUPPOSED TO BE A DEATH EATER, MALFOY! YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO JUST—YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO—"

Draco: "WHAT, LOVE YOU?!"

Hermione: _[torn]_ "Well—YES!"

Draco: "WE NEVER DISCUSSED THAT! HOW IS THIS POSSIBLY MY FAULT?"

Hermione: "DID YOU FORGET ABOUT THE MURDER THING?"

Draco: "THAT WAS MURDER-ADJACENT AT BEST AND YOU KNOW IT!"

Hermione: "THAT ISN'T EVEN A THING!"

 _[Cuts to Cormac.]_

Cormac: "Oh, murder-adjacent is definitely a thing. It's when someone gets inadvertently murdered, but you just happened to be standing next to it."

Draco, from out of camera view: "No, no, it's—"

 _[He stomps over, stooping to whisper in Cormac's ear.]_

Cormac: _[listening intently]_ "Mhm, mmhmm, okay so you tried to kill Dumbledore but didn't, because you almost killed Weasley instead? Mm, right, yes, okay—and you definitely poisoned some mead? And—Imperius curse? Oh. Hm. Definitely some intent there but, mmhmm, yes, I see." _[Draco steps away and he nods.]_ "Yes, okay."

Draco: _[hopefully]_ "Okay?"

Cormac: "What? Oh, no. Sorry, I mean to say that in that case, murder-adjacent is definitely not a thing."

Draco: "What the _fuck_ , man?"

Cormac: _[shrugging]_ "I don't make the rules, Malfoy. I just comment unnecessarily on them."

 _[Cuts back to Draco and Hermione.]_

Draco: "SO WHAT NOW, THEN? IT'S JUST 'NOT A THING' AND I'M TOO LATE?"

Hermione: "YES! IT'S NOT A THING, AND YOU'RE TOO LATE!"

Draco: _[swallowing]_ "Oh."

 _[They pause.]_

Hermione: "You know I'm with him, Malfoy." _[She sighs.]_ "You should have said something five years ago."

Draco: _[frustrated]_ "YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE THE BRIGHTEST WITCH OF YOUR AGE, GRANGER!"

Hermione: "THAT LITERALLY MEANS NOTHING! A HOGWARTS DROPOUT SAID THAT TO ME! AND A WEREWOLF, AND AN ESCAPED CONVICT—"

Draco: "SO WHAT, THEN?"

Hermione: _[exhaling]_ "So nothing."

 _[They pause for several minutes.]_

Draco: "So." _[He clears his throat.]_ "Should we just do those walk-throughs tomorrow?"

Hermione: _[uncomfortably]_ "Yeah, sure. That sounds fine."

 _[Cuts back to Ron and Hermione.]_

Ron: "Look, I don't know what you've been doing, Mione. Working?"

Hermione: _[irritated]_ "Do you even know what I do?"

Ron: "I—" _[He pauses.]_ "It's something about paperwork, isn't it?"

Hermione: "Ron! Seriously?"

Ron: "What?! It's not like you take any interest in activities I like! Do you even know where I was the past three days?"

Hermione: "I don't know. Quidditch?"

Ron: "That's? That's not a place."

Hermione: "Oh pipe down, Ronald. If this is about a spider again, I swear—"

Ron: "Seriously?"

 _[She rises to her feet, storming off.]_

Ron: "I ALMOST GOT ARRESTED!"

 _[Cuts to Harry.]_

Harry: "I did consider taking Ron to Azkaban just to see what it would be like. Plus Pansy offered me a lot of money, and I may be rich, but I'm not stupid."

Theo: "Well, carting Weasley off to wizard prison would have fit in nicely with the year of pranks."

Harry: "Is that really a prank, though? Or just like, a vaguely terrible thing to do?"

Theo: _[shrugging]_ "You tell me."

Harry: "Well, in general, this whole prank war business is not entirely a success. You might have been right about me not being any better at them."

Theo: _[resting a comforting hand on his shoulder]_ "Hey, don't beat yourself up over it."

Harry: "I wasn't. I'm fine."

Theo: "Oh. Oh good."

 _[He reluctantly removes his hand.]_

Harry: "You can put that back, if you want."

Theo: "Oh."

 _[He replaces his hand.]_

Harry: "Besides, there's still time, don't you think?"

Theo: "Eh, it's not promising, but sure. I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt."

Harry: "Thanks. How's your other prank going, by the way?"

Theo: "Hm?"

 _[Cuts to Hogwarts.]_

Sorting Hat: _[hysterically]_ "HE HAS MY WIFE!"

Minerva: _[sighing]_ "For the _last time_ you cunting swine, you don't have a wife."

Sorting Hat: "BECAUSE HE TOOK HER!"

Minerva: "He's a _hat_ —"

Sorting Hat: "HE'S A MONSTER!"

 _[Cuts back to Theo and Harry.]_

Theo: "Eh, it's pretty much on schedule."


	93. The Real World: Ministry of Magic, 21-22

**The Real World: Ministry of Magic  
Episode XXI-XXII**

 _Summary_ : The Real World, continued. Olivie Advent Day 21-22.

* * *

 _[Scene opens with Severus and Luna.]_

Luna: "What have you been up to? You've been rather quiet."

Severus: _[painting a lime green bowler leading a threatening army of knife-wielding Santa hats]_ "Oh, just getting into the holiday spirit."

Luna: _[surprised]_ "Holiday spirit?"

Severus: "Yes. You know. That thing that seems to infect everyone like a virus."

 _[Cuts to Cormac interview.]_

Cormac: "Coincidentally, 'holiday spirit' is also what I call my penis."

 _[Cuts back to Severus and Luna.]_

Luna: "I didn't realize you were so enthusiastic about Christmas, Severus."

Severus: "Does that surprise you?"

Luna: "A bit, yes. The words 'jolly' and 'festive' don't really spring to mind as things I would expect you to enjoy."

Severus: _[scoffing]_ "You're referring to the commercialities of the holiday. But Santa Claus is, of course, a scam."

Luna: "You know, people often say that. But they say the same things about nargles and flu shots, so—"

Severus: "Well, in this case, they're correct. The myth of 'Father Christmas' comes from Odin, the Norse god, and the traditional corresponding Viking celebrations of the winter solstice, i.e. the demonic plunging of the world into much deserved, near-unceasing darkness, casting all the wretchedness of humanity into a burdensome void of nothingness at the whims of our apathetic overlords." _[He sighs contentedly.]_ "A charming time of year."

Luna: "Right, yes."

Severus: _[continuing]_ "As I was saying, Odin was of course a ghastly specter who would lead some of his uncivil god friends, a handful of ghosts, and all his various celestial sword-whores on a grisly hunt above the rooftops, terrifying children and forcefully breaking into their homes to leave them threatening gifts of toys and candies."

Luna: "Hm. So, I suppose the proper words to describe the holiday spirit would be…"

Severus: "Oppressive. Dispiriting. Bleak."

 _[Cuts to Cormac interview.]_

Cormac: "Yeah, that sounds right."

 _[Cuts back to Severus and Luna.]_

Severus: "Not to mention the implication of blind obedience to a capricious, terror-inducing deity in exchange for the promise of sweets."

Luna: "Oh."

 _[She looks somewhat lost, as though the very core of her beliefs has been called into question. Severus, meanwhile, offers her a box of candy.]_

Severus: "Fizzing Whizbee?"

Luna: _[accepting it]_ "Oh!"

 _[Cuts to Dean and Seamus interview.]_

Rita: "So, have you two read the new memo from Gossip Girl?"

Dean: "I have a question. Why do you always ask us about Gossip Girl?"

Seamus: "Yeah! Riddle us that, Miss Thing. You make it sound like all we do all day is sit around here talking about our colleagues!"

Dean: "It's incredibly prejudicial, you know."

Seamus: "Yeah! Do you realize how much you've given into gratuitous stereotypes by repeatedly asking us _specifically_ to discuss it?"

Rita: _[confused, and artfully offended]_ "Excuse me?"

Seamus: "I mean, of course _we're_ expected to be the ones gossiping, aren't we? Because this whole thing is a small-minded, discriminatory, heteronormative cockfest of an exercise, isn't it?"

Dean: "Yes. Frankly, it speaks volumes that you would regularly choose to pose this question to the two of us over everyone else who works at this office."

Seamus: "Yes! Just because we are an _openly Irish_ couple—"

Dean: _[haltingly]_ "Wait, no. What?"

Seamus: "Hm?"

Dean: "I—that's, no. First of all, I'm not Irish."

Seamus: "Openly ginger, then."

Dean: "No."

Seamus: "Openly prone to arson?"

Dean: "Also no, but—closer?" _[He considers it.]_ "No. Nope. That's still not right."

Seamus: "Openly conservative."

Dean: "No, I was trying to say that we—wait." _[He frowns.]_ "You're a conservative?"

Seamus: "I _notoriously_ oppose big government, Dean. You know this."

Dean: _[bemused]_ "But Sea, you work for the government."

Seamus: "Yes, and I think I've made it very clear my work here is almost entirely an exercise of self-loathing."

Dean: "Well, fine. But still, as we were saying—"

Seamus: _[to Rita]_ "Listen you bigoted hussy, just because we are two men in a loving, supportive venture capitalist startup does _not_ mean we are the only people who can be consulted about Gossip Girl."

Dean: "That's still not—" _[He shrugs.]_ "You know what? What he said."

Rita: "Fine. Forget I asked, then."

 _[They pause.]_

Seamus: "Okay, but did you guys read it, though? It was juicy as _fuck_."

Dean: "It really, really was."

 _[Cuts to Theo and Draco in the office.]_

Theo: "Hey, did you see Gossip Girl's latest memo?"

Draco: _[absentmindedly]_ "Yeah, yeah, yeah. I'll read about Finnegan and Thomas' torrid sex life later, Theo."

 _[Cuts to Seamus and Dean.]_

Seamus: "Oh, yeah! We're also gay!"

Dean: "Slipped your mind, did it?"

Seamus: "There are just so many other ways I define myself, Dean."

Dean: "Such as?"

Seamus: _[ticking them off on his fingers]_ "Entrepreneur. Maverick. Animal lover. Coffee drinker. Leather enthusiast. Connoisseur of artisan cocktails. I could go on; I mean 'habitual consumer of dick' has to be what, twentieth on the list?"

Dean: _[gently]_ "Okay, right, but in terms of relevance—"

Rita: "Basically what I get from this is that you're rightfully accusing me of belittling you to a pair of gossipy queens."

Dean: "Yes, that."

Seamus: "Ohhhhh." _[He pauses.]_ "How _dare_ you?!"

 _[Cuts back to Draco and Theo.]_

Theo: "Draco, bud, I really think you should read it."

Draco: "Well, I can't. I'm late for these Hogwarts walk-throughs and Granger's going to give me one of her horrifyingly arousing lectures any minute."

Theo: "Yes, true, but before you go—"

Draco: "Love you, mean it—"

Theo: _[hastily]_ "Yes yes I love you too, but—"

Draco: "BYE!"

 _[He leaves. Theo heaves a sigh.]_

Theo: "So, anyway. I take it you needed something, then, Minister?"

 _[Camera pans out to reveal Kingsley standing in the corner wearing a camouflaged suit of armor. He flips up the visor, looking grim.]_

Kingsley: "What exactly does this department do for the Ministry, Nott?"

Theo: "Um, well, the prank war is sort of headquartered here."

Kingsley: "Is that the explanation for this office being in literal shambles?"

 _[There are discarded sabres on the floor. Most of the furniture is irrevocably damaged.]_

Theo: "Yes and no."

Kingsley: _[dubiously]_ "Yes _and_ no?"

Theo: "Fine. More 'yes' than 'no,' but—"

Kingsley: "What about the changes to Hogwarts curriculum? Those are Miss Granger's doing, correct?"

Theo: "And Draco's, yeah."

Kingsley: "And you've been… ?"

Theo: "Fine, thank you. And yourself?"

Kingsley: "I meant more along the lines of what you've been doing."

Theo: "Oh, well I recently learned how to flambé. Great for parties. Less great for love-making, but you know, there's a sensitive balance."

 _[Cuts to Pansy.]_

Pansy: _[shrugging]_ "It happens. This is why we have liability waivers."

 _[Cuts back to Theo and Kingsley.]_

Kingsley: "Okay, so let me get this straight: your department doesn't do anything at all, except for a weird loophole Miss Granger found in an old contract containing a clause that enabled her to take complete bureaucratic control of Hogwarts."

Theo: "Yes."

Kingsley: "So all this work— _all_ of it has been for the school?"

Theo: "Yes."

Kingsley: "Hm. And how much of it was done by you?"

Theo: "Sorry, do you mean this stuff?"

 _[Camera pans over to Theo's makeshift fort of desks and bookshelves.]_

Kingsley: "No. This stuff."

 _[Camera pans to a small pile of paperwork on Hermione's desk.]_

Theo: "Oh. Yeah, none of it."

Kingsley: "You do realize you're essentially useless, then, don't you?"

Theo: "I've heard that before, yes. But don't say it too many times or you'll incite my daddy issues, Minister, and I simply don't have time for an unhealthy sexual attachment to you right now."

Kingsley: _[tutting quietly]_ "I'm afraid this is unacceptable, Theodore."

Theo: "That's another thing my father used to say to me, sir! You've got a real knack for it."

Kingsley: "I have to say, I'm rather disappointed."

Theo: "You sound just like him!"

Kingsley: "I'm going to leave before this gets worse."

Theo: "Dad, is that you? No, no, I'm kidding. I mean, it _is_ verbatim his usual abandonment threat, but I do totally see how in this particular instance leaving would be completely necessary."

 _[Cuts to Kingsley interview as he walks through the halls.]_

Kingsley: "Well, clearly we're going to have to trim the fat around here. I've been to every office at this point and granted, there's a spectacular mess going on in all of them, but the Department of Magical Contracts and Tortfeasor Comeuppance is definitely going to have to be absorbed into something else, if not severed outright." _[He pauses outside the door to the Auror office, pushing the door open.]_ "Luckily I still have Potter to count on, right?"

 _[Harry looks up from his desk, a bit startled at Kingsley's entrance.]_

Harry: "Need something, Kingsley?"

Kingsley: "No, nothing Harry, nothing. Carry on." _[Sighing happily, he turns to the camera.]_ "Isn't it nice to have one office that runs smoothly?"

 _[Behind him, Theo's head pops up from underneath Harry's desk. Harry shoves him back down and smiles awkwardly as Kingsley turns to beam approvingly at him.]_

Luna's voice, from beneath the desk: "Ooh, what are we doing under here?"

Theo's voice: "What?! How did you—"

Gilderoy's voice, also beneath the desk: "Hey, I was here first!"

Theo's voice: "How long have you been there, exactly?"

Gilderoy's voice: _[morosely]_ "Shrill voice nipple queen says I'm not allowed to say."

Kingsley: _[frowning]_ "Sorry Harry, did you say something?"

Harry: "Hm? Oh, nope! Just filing some paperwork, you know. The usual. Anxious to get out of here, you know how it is."

 _[There is a thud beneath the desk.]_

Kingsley: "Well, I'll leave you to it, then. I'm sure you'd like to leave before the festivities tomorrow—must be full of holiday spirit, eh, Harry?"

Theo's voice: "Oi. Phrasing."

 _[Cuts to Cormac.]_

Cormac: "For the record, I call it that because it always comes too early and never lasts as long as you'd like. And also, it drains your wallet." _[He pauses, brightening.]_ "And people have written songs for it!"

 _[Cuts back to Harry and Kingsley.]_

Harry: "I wouldn't say I'm full of holiday spirit at the moment." _[He clears his throat, half-smiling.]_ "Though I expect I'll be accosted with it later."

Kingsley: _[curiously]_ "Oh?"

Harry: "Well, we'll see. Who knows? Maybe I'll pass on some of my own holiday spirit instead. Inject it into a few other—" _[He cuts off, doubling over, as there is a loud clatter beneath the desk.]_ "I didn't mean—not an _actual_ few, I was just—it's a _saying_ , but anyway—" _[He exhales, shaking his head.]_ "Just the one person, sorry."

Luna's voice: "Aww!"

Kingsley: _[confused]_ "Well, I would think you'd want to spread your holiday spirit around to everyone you meet, Harry, not just one person."

Harry: "Well, sometimes I think so too, Kingsley, but I think society generally prohibits it."

 _[Cuts to Daphne and Pansy.]_

Daphne: "It's the goddamn patriarchy, man."

Pansy: _[eyeing her fingernails]_ "Thanks, Shacklebolt."

 _[Camera pans out to show Kingsley standing behind them, arms folded.]_

Kingsley: "So are you two planning on working, or—?"

Daphne: "Oh, let's see. Pans?"

Pansy: "Hm, hm, hm…" _[She rolls a die.]_ "Well, it came up 'masturbate for an hour,' so yeah, we will. Probably in an hour."

Kingsley: "Did you say 'probably'?"

Daphne: "Definitely. Maybe."

Pansy: _[nodding]_ "That sounds right."

 _[Cuts back to Kingsley interview.]_

Kingsley: _[wearily]_ "Unfortunately, we do really need their department."

 _[Cuts to Hogwarts.]_

Minerva: "Where is your insufferable partner in tyranny, Mr Malfoy?"

Draco: "Who, Granger? I don't know. She's normally oppressively punctual."

Minerva: "She's a real thorn in my side, that one."

Draco: "I know. Personally I'm hoping to have her excised."

Minerva: "Like a tumor?"

Draco: "Ah, no. What's the one for when you're possessed by spirits?"

Sorting Hat: "EXORCISM!"

Draco: "That's the one, thanks."

Sorting Hat: "EXPULSION OF DEMONIC PLAGUES AND THE CURSES WHICH WREAK HAVOC UPON YOUR LINE!"

Draco: "Yeah, cool. Sure."

Albus, via his portrait: "For the record, I'm looking forward to being rid of Miss Granger's shenanigans myself."

Minerva: "Oh shut up, you thigh-skimming jizz harmonica. You're not even really here! I've always had it harder than you."

Albus: "Oh, please. When? When you were dropping babies on muggles' doorsteps, or when you were haplessly counting on a pair of pre-pubescents to help a hippogriff escape?"

Minerva: "When I was your deputy! I was always the one sending out the letters, dealing with the errant children, sorting through the class schedules, doing all the _real_ work—whereas _you_ , the actual headmaster, just sat there and—"

 _[She comes to an abrupt halt, her eyes widening.]_

Draco: "Professor?" _[He leans forward, snapping his fingers in front of her face.]_ "Professor, did you just have a stroke?"

Albus: "Try holding a mirror under her nose."

Sorting Hat: "Yes, try that, or FEASTING UPON THE ENTRAILS OF YOUR ENEMIES!"

Draco: "Professor, if you're dead, this really isn't going to look good for me." _[He pauses, frowning.]_ "Though I think it _would_ be classically murder-adjacent, but I'll have to double-check. To be honest, I don't think I really have a handle on the definition."

Minerva: "First of all, I'm alive, you trumpeting moron."

Draco: "Oh. Well, phew."

Minerva: "But secondly, I _did_ just have a stroke—"

Draco: "Yikes."

Minerva: "—only it was of GENIUS!"

Draco: "Oh." _[He pauses.]_ "Eh, still bad."

 _[Behind them, the door opens and Hermione enters.]_

Hermione: _[out of breath]_ "Malfoy, I'm sorry I'm late, but I have to tell you someth-"

Draco: "WHAT IS IT NOW, YOU RESPLENDENT MOONFLOWER?"

Hermione: "CAN YOU NOT YELL AT ME? I'M TRYING TO HAVE A NORMAL CONVERSATION WITH YOU—"

Draco: "THEN BY ALL MEANS _CONVERSE_ , YOU PULCHRITUDINOUS DROP OF AMBROSIA!"

Hermione: "LISTEN YOU DERANGED SLICE OF MANIA—"

Draco: "OH, SO I'M JUST THE _SLICE_ , AM I?"

Hermione: "YOU'RE THE ENTIRE LOAF, MALFOY!"

Draco: "WELL THEN BUTTER ME UP, GRANGER, I'M TOAST!"

Albus: "Are you understanding any of this?"

Minerva: "Don't talk to me, I'm having an epiphany. And what are you doing here?"

Albus: "Me? I live here!"

Minerva: "Not you, you asinine dick maraca. _Him_."

 _[Camera pans out to reveal Gilderoy perching on the corner of Minerva's desk, voraciously tickling her desk plant.]_

Gilderoy: "Epiphanies and orgasms are similar but different!"

Albus: _[shrugging]_ "Well, he's not wrong. A good epiphany will certainly make your toes curl if you do it right."

 _[Cuts to Pansy.]_

Pansy: _[skeptically]_ "Toe-curling? That's it?" _[She scoffs.]_ "He's doing sex wrong."

Harry: "What are you doing in here?"

 _[Camera pans out to reveal she is in the Auror office.]_

Pansy: "Oh. I was looking for Weasley."

Harry: "Why?"

Pansy: "To discuss him being on our team for the match tomorrow, of course."

Ron: "What?"

Pansy: "Oh, there you are."

Ron: "You're sitting on my lap."

Pansy: "Am I?"

Ron: "Yes. You just came in here and sat down."

Pansy: "Oh. I thought you were a chair."

Ron: "I'm not."

Pansy: "Well, good to know."

Ron: "What's this about being on your team?"

Harry: "Yeah, Parkinson. You know that all the Aurors play on the Auror team."

Ron: "It's kind of why I look forward to it, in case you missed that whole thing. You know, because I like winning, and the Aurors always win?"

Pansy: "Wait a minute. Are you saying the not-Aurors lose?"

Harry: "It's at least being heavily implied, yes."

Pansy: _[darkly]_ "Well, I hate that. I hate it. I don't like it. I'm—I hate it."

Ron: _[whispering]_ "Harry, I'm frightened—"

Harry: _[hastily]_ "Well hold on, Parkinson. I mean, there's a first time for everything, I suppose."

Pansy: _[thoughtfully]_ "Hm. That's true. That _is_ how virginity works."

 _[Cuts to Hermione and Daphne.]_

In unison: "Virginity is a social construct of the patriarchy to assign irrelevant values to women as currency."

 _[They glance at each other.]_

In unison: "Awww!"

 _[Cuts back to Pansy.]_

Pansy: "Well, how about this, then: Weasley, you play for our team, and if you win, you get the Head Auror position. If Potter wins, he gets it."

Ron: _[scoffing]_ "There's no possible way that Harry would ever agr-"

Harry: "Done."

Ron: _[squawking]_ "What?!"

Pansy: "Excellent!"

Harry: "Sounds good to me. Also, if you get Ron, then I call Nott."

Pansy: "Done!"

Ron: "Wait a min-"

Pansy: "No, shut up Weasley, it's good. Nott's a horrific quidditch player. He might actually die during the game, and that's a win for everyone."

 _[Cuts to Theo and Harry interview.]_

Theo: "She's right. I'm pretty terrible at it." _[He turns to Harry.]_ "You know, it's almost like you're _trying_ to lose, Potter."

Harry: "Hm, me?" _[He shrugs.]_ "Hey, I still have Ginny, plus the other Aurors are much better than Pansy and Daphne, seeing as I'm pretty sure they haven't actually played before and possibly still don't know the rules."

Theo: "Still. That's a pretty generous bet, you know."

Harry: _[innocently]_ "Well, maybe I'm just full of holiday spirit, Nott."

 _[Cuts to Cormac interview.]_

Cormac: "Potter? No. I mean sure, it happened once in a dream, but who hasn't had that dream, am I right?"

* * *

 _ **a/n:**_ _For sally. And for_ _annabell213's first trip to the UK today!_


	94. The Real World: Ministry of Magic, Ep 23

**The Real World: Ministry of Magic  
Episode XXIII**

 _Summary_ : The Real World, continued. Olivie Advent Day 23. Yes, I know it's late. EVERYTHING IS A MESS. Enjoy this for now, and the concluding Day 24 post will be here shortly.

* * *

 _[Scene opens with Hermione interview.]_

Hermione: "So, I'm sort of having a small issue."

Rita: _[not unkindly]_ "Is it your hair?"

Hermione: "What? No."

Rita: "Well, then you're having two issues, but continue."

Hermione: "Okay, so, there's something I need to tell Malfoy, but I just can't seem to find the right time to do it." _[She sighs.]_ "Historically, I really struggle with timing."

 _[Cuts to footage of Hermione from second year.]_

Hermione: "Hey, have you seen Harry? Or Ron? It's important. I just found out that the creature in the Chamber of Secrets is a basilisk."

Cormac: "Coincidentally, 'basilisk' is also what I call my penis."

Hermione: "Yeah so, that's cool, but could you maybe tell them? I have a feeling it's going to come after me soon because, you know. Muggleborn and all that."

Cormac: "Roger that, Granger."

 _[She leaves. Harry and Ron enter the corridor.]_

Cormac: "Oh, hey, Granger wanted you to know something."

Harry: "About what?"

Cormac: "My dick."

Ron: "Interesting. Go on."

 _[Cuts back to Hermione.]_

Hermione: "In retrospect, I probably should have clarified which part I wanted him to tell."

Rita: "Riveting. So is this about Gossip Girl's memo from yesterday, then?"

Hermione: _[fidgeting]_ "Yes. I have to be honest, I really thought Malfoy would, um. Comment on it? But then yesterday was sort of a bad day for him in general, I think."

 _[Cuts to footage from the walk-through.]_

Draco: "Okay, so, in terms of emergency exits—"

Hermione: "Malfoy, listen, before we go any further, I really need to talk to you about something."

Draco: "Is it about the staircases?"

Hermione: "No. Wait. Why?"

Draco: "Because I really feel like we've been going in circles. Didn't we just pass this portrait of Dumbledore?"

Hermione: "That's not Dumbledore, that's Professor Lockhart in a wig. And also, it's not a painting, he's just standing there."

Gilderoy: "The scary one said to make myself useful."

Draco: "Do you mean McGonagall?"

Gilderoy: "Is that the brown shouty one?"

Draco: "I genuinely don't know."

Gilderoy: "The one who likes murder?"

Hermione: "Well, this is appropriately troubling, but anyway, as I was saying—"

 _[An owl drops in with a letter addressed to Draco, releasing it into his hands.]_

Draco: "Hold that thought, Granger. This is marked with the Minister's seal."

Hermione: "Right, but just really quick—"

 _[The letter leaps from Draco's hands, unfolding itself and clearing its throat to speak in Kingsley's voice.]_

Kingsley: "To Draco Malfoy: the Department of Magical Contracts and Tortfeasor Comeuppance is hereby disbanded. You are asked to kindly relinquish your Ministry badge by the end of the day. Happy holidays!" _[There is a brief sound of rustling papers.]_ "Mafalda, how do I turn this off? Yes, I know the message would be better delivered in person, but who has the time—yes, yes, I realize it's the holidays. In fact I _said_ happy holidays, didn't I? No, it's not the same as adding 'lol' to the end of a passive-aggressive owl. Why? Because it _is_! The 'lol' is just a bald-faced _lie_ , Mafalda. Nobody's laughing out loud and we all know it—yes, I'm aware it still reeks of disingenuity, but I'm allowed to say _something_ , aren't I? Yes, I know I just fired him, but that doesn't mean I oppose him as a person. Can I not wish to be rid of someone professionally while also wanting them to enjoy the holidays in some, I don't know— _abstract_ way? It's not my fault his job is redundant! I didn't _invent_ the Ministry. Mafalda—come on. Come on, Mafalda. Faldy, come on sweets, don't look at me like that. Come here. I didn't mean to upset you, I'm sorry. Why don't you just sit here and—" _[A loud shuffle.]_ "FUCKING HELL, how did you get in here again?! This is a matter of national security! What do you mean the thing is still recording?" _[Another shuffle.]_ "Oh, for fuck's sake—"

 _[The letter dissolves into nothing, leaving Hermione and Draco in silence.]_

Hermione: _[gently]_ "Malfoy, I'm so sor-"

Draco: "Wait a minute. WHAT?!"

 _[Cuts back to Hermione interview.]_

Hermione: "So yeah, it was kind of, um, not the proper thing to bring up right after he'd just been fired, you know? Seemed like a selfish thing to do."

Rita: "Didn't you _also_ get fired?"

Hermione: "Oh, I had actually already quit my job that morning. That's why I was late." _[She grimaces.]_ "Not that McGonagall seemed to know that."

 _[Cuts to Hermione and Minerva footage.]_

Minerva: "Granger, I've decided something."

Hermione: "Oh?"

Minerva: "I'm going to ruin your life."

Hermione: "Oh."

Minerva: "And I'm going to do it by offering you a job."

Hermione: "What?"

Minerva: "You heard me. Rather than let you stick your greedy little Ministry fingers where they don't belong, I'm going to make the school's business _your_ business. You feel me?"

 _[She leans back, sliding on a pair of sunglasses and fist-bumping Albus' portrait behind her.]_

Hermione: "I'm sorry, what's the job?"

Minerva: "Deputy headmistress."

Albus: "Otherwise known as official bitch-ass ho!"

 _[Next to him, Armando Dippet's portrait lets out a loud whoop of agreement.]_

Minerva: "Would you driveling imbeciles please shut your gaping dickholes?"

Albus: "Fine. But only because we want to, and not because you said so."

Armando: "Yeah!"

Minerva: _[grumbling]_ "Fine."

Albus: "You'll get to say things like that soon, Minnie. It's the best."

Armando: "It really is."

Minerva: _[sighing]_ "I'm sure."

Hermione: "Okay, so I really don't understand what's happening. Did you just ask me to be deputy headmistress of Hogwarts?"

Minerva: "Yes. Responsibilities include: general responsibility, 80% of the work and 5.7% of the credit, total command of school functions while receiving approximately 15% of my salary, and obviously all relevant labor implied therein. I will, of course, maintain uncontested veto power and the freedom to ship my students at will."

Hermione: "I'm sorry, did you say 'ship' them?"

Albus: "Yes! How else do you think you went to the Yule Ball with Viktor Krum?"

 _[Cuts to Year 4 footage.]_

Albus: "You're going to ask Miss Granger to the Yule Ball. I've seen you watching her in the library and I like it. I ship it. It is decided."

Viktor: _[with his hands up]_ "Is—is that a gun?"

 _[Cuts back to Minerva and Albus.]_

Minerva: "Basically, Granger, it finally occurred to me that I've been doing everything wrong. I wanted the privileges of being headmaster, but because I didn't have a second-in-command, I was having to do all the work, too. Obviously that has now been rectified."

Hermione: _[tentatively]_ "May I ask what's in it for me?"

Albus: "No, you can't!" _[To Minerva]_ "See, Minnie? This is why it's fun."

Minerva: "Oh, hold on. I'll tell you what's in it for you, Miss Granger."

Hermione: "Okay, so—"

Minerva: "But only because I want to, and not because I'm in any way obligated."

Hermione: _[sighing]_ "Fine."

Minerva: _[impressed]_ "You're right, Albus. That _is_ fun."

Albus: "Yaass, bitch!"

 _[Cuts back to Hermione interview.]_

Hermione: "She eventually explained that I'd be able to continue improving the school's safety and curriculum if I wanted. I'd just be doing it as part of Hogwarts' faculty instead of as a Ministry employee."

Rita: "Oh. So is that why you quit your job?"

Hermione: _[blushing]_ "Oh, no, actually, it isn't. I had quit because, um." _[She pauses sheepishly.]_ "Well, because dating within Ministry departments is frowned upon."

 _[Cuts to Pansy and Daphne.]_

Daphne: _[frowning]_ "Wait. Is it?"

Pansy: "Huh. Not sure I knew that."

Daphne: "Well, should we quit?"

Pansy: "Why, so as to avoid being _frowned upon_?" _[She scoffs.]_ "Please. I frown upon at least thirty people a day and none of them have come even _close_ to dying yet."

Daphne: "Unfortunately."

Pansy: "Yeah, exactly."

 _[Cuts to Seamus and Dean.]_

Seamus: "Yeah, we know about that rule too."

Dean: "But as you might have guessed, nobody ever asks us if we're dating."

Seamus: "We told them that this is platonic hand-holding. What are they going to do, disagree?"

Dean: "Yeah. Plus we also convinced them that 'bro kisses' were a thing, so, you know. Lost cause, pretty much."

 _[Cuts to Cormac.]_

Cormac: "What? Bro kissing is totally a thing." _[He turns over his shoulder.]_ "Hey Longbottom, bring that tight ass over here."

Neville: "What's up?"

Cormac: "We kiss, right?"

Neville: "Sure. Platonically, obviously."

Cormac: "Exactly."

Neville: "That, and sometimes our mouths get bored."

Cormac: "Yes, and then we progress to 'bro makeouts,' which is similar but more complex."

Neville: "Exactly. You know, when my plants are busy."

 _[Camera pans out to Marcus, who glances up sharply.]_

Marcus: "What did you just say, Longbottom?"

Neville: "Nothing."

Cormac: _[to Marcus]_ "Bro kiss, my dude."

Marcus: _[resignedly]_ "Yeah, fine. Later."

 _[Cuts back to Hermione interview.]_

Rita: "Ah. So the rumors are true, then."

Hermione: "That Ron and I broke up? Yeah, that's true."

Rita: "Gossip Girl seemed pretty excited about it."

Hermione: "Yeah. She seems to have not enjoyed us very much."

Rita: "Nobody does."

Hermione: "What? Some people do."

Rita: "Stupid people."

Hermione: _[frowning]_ "That's—I really don't think that's—"

Rita: _[interrupting]_ "Anyway, I take it that's what you wanted to discuss with Draco?"

Hermione: "Well, yes. But unfortunately the rest of the day didn't go much better."

 _[Cuts back to Hogwarts footage.]_

Draco: "I can't believe it. I'm fired? I almost _never_ get fired. Not even Voldemort fired me. Granted, I came close to death a couple of times, but _fired_?"

Hermione: _[gently]_ "Isn't it better to be fired than, I don't know—murdered?"

Draco: _[scoffing]_ "Believe me, Granger, I'd much rather be permanently dead than temporarily undignified. It's like you don't even know me."

 _[Another owl flies in, dropping a letter in Draco's hands.]_

Hermione: "Oh. Uh oh. I don't know if you should open that one."

Draco: "Why? It's just from Pans-"

 _[The letter leaps from his hands, shouting at him in Pansy's voice.]_

Pansy: "DRACO MALFOY, HOW DARE YOU?! WHAT KIND OF NERVE—I CAN'T EVEN—YOU COME INTO MY HOUSE AND JUST—NO, NO, DAPHNE, I'M FINE. I'M FINE. PUT THE VIBRATOR AWAY, I'M CALM. OKAY, WHERE WAS I? RIGHT—DRACO. HOW DARE YOU GET YOURSELF FIRED?! I'VE ALREADY ARRANGED FOR YOU TO BE ON MY QUIDDITCH TEAM, AND NOW YOU CAN'T EVEN PLAY? BECAUSE YOU'RE NOT?! EVEN IN THE MINISTRY ANYMORE?! HONESTLY, IT'S LIKE YOU DON'T EVEN CARE ABOUT MY NEEDS. NO, DAPHNE, PUT IT AWAY, THOSE AREN'T THE NEEDS I'M TALKING ABOUT RIGHT NOW. DAPH, I'M SERIOUS, I—OKAY, FINE. JUST—QUIETLY. I'M STILL WORKING ON THIS HOWLER. YES, OKAY, RIGHT THERE. OOOOH YES, THERE, MM YES GOOD, OKAY, WHERE WAS I—OH YES. DRACO, YOU SELFISH MOTHERFUCKER, HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO WIN N- OH, MMMM YEP. YEAH, LIKE THAT. NO, WAIT, LOWER. YES, THERE. THANK YOU. OKAY, YOU KNOW WHAT? JUST TURN IT OFF, I THINK I'VE SAID EVERYTHING. NO, NOT THAT, KEEP THAT GOING, I MEANT TURN THE—YES, THE RECORDING, OKAY—"

 _[The letter dissolves in the air, leaving Hermione and Draco in silence.]_

Hermione: _[tentatively reaching out]_ "Malfoy, are you—"

Draco: "WHAT the FUCK?!"

 _[Cuts back to Hermione interview.]_

Hermione: "So yeah. It was sort of a day of more pressing things, I think."

Rita: "Sounds to me like you're kind of a pussy, actually."

Hermione: "What?"

Rita: "Hm?"

Hermione: "Well, look. It could have been worse."

Rita: "Could it, though?"

Hermione: "I mean, at least there were no bees."

 _[Draco appears, brandishing a sabre.]_

Draco: "EN GARDE!"

Hermione: _[sighing as she puts on her helmet]_ "Oh no."

* * *

 _ **a/n:**_ _Be back in a few hours with more nonsense!_


	95. The Real World: Ministry of Magic, Ep 24

**The Real World: Ministry of Magic  
Episode XXIV**

 _Summary_ : The Real World, concluded. Olivie Advent Day 24. Merry Christmas!

* * *

 _[Scene opens with Ron interview.]_

Ron: "So, the Ministry quidditch game was pretty, um… _interesting_ this year, I guess you could say."

Rita: "That's putting it lightly."

 _[Cuts to footage from the game.]_

Pansy: "Okay, so, on the Auror team, we have Potter, she-Weasley, Theo—" _[She pauses.]_ "Okay, he doesn't even work for the Ministry anymore, but fine, whatever."

Harry: _[shrugging]_ "I gave him a day pass."

Pansy: "Sounds fake, but I don't care. So anyway there's you guys, some other Aurors, whatever, blah blah. And on _my_ team, we have me, Daphne, Weasley, and also these professional quidditch players."

 _[Marcus, Oliver, and Viktor Krum line up behind her, arms folded.]_

Harry: "I thought you guys were officiating?"

Pansy: "They were, but then I remembered that I really don't care about rules."

Oliver: "And I assume this goes without saying, but we were coerced."

Viktor: _[grumbling]_ "I hate this school."

Daphne: "Oh, hush. You all liked it."

Marcus: "We didn't _not_ like it, but that's not the point."

Harry: "Wait a second. These three don't work for the Ministr- well, depending on whichever Marcus that is, I guess—"

Marcus: _[confused]_ "What?"

Pansy: _[airily]_ "Well, Potter, I also gave _them_ day passes."

 _[Harry and Pansy eye each other carefully. Harry sighs.]_

Harry: "Fine."

Pansy: _[gleefully]_ "Let's play!"

 _[Cuts back to Ron interview.]_

Ron: "Spoiler alert: we won. Though it does feel a bit like an empty victory?"

Rita: "Understandable."

Ron: "But anyway, can we get back to this meeting?"

 _[Camera pans out to reveal he's in Kingsley's office.]_

Rita: "Oh, sure. Carry on."

Kingsley: "Sorry, so Ron, you were saying that you and Harry made a bet, and now you're Head Auror because you won a highly illegal quidditch game?"

Ron: "Er, yes."

Kingsley: _[thoughtfully]_ "Well, I suppose you did just have that big pixie bust. You aren't totally unqualified."

Luna: "Aww! That's sweet."

 _[Camera pans out to reveal her perched at the edge of Kingsley's desk. He jumps.]_

Kingsley: "How the actual fuck do you keep getting in here?"

Luna: "Who, me?"

Kingsley: "Yes, you!"

Luna: "Oh. I thought you meant him."

 _[Camera pans out to reveal Severus on Kingsley's other side, eating a plate of spaghetti.]_

Kingsley: "OH MY GOD—"

Severus: "Relax." _[He swats a hand away, and the camera shifts to reveal Seamus and Dean once again attempting to poke him.]_ "And also, you two need to stop touching me."

Seamus: _[sighing morosely]_ "I just want to KNOW—"

Severus: "Fine. You want to know the truth? I'm a ghost."

Rita, Ron, Kingsley, Seamus, Dean, and Blaise: "WHAT?!"

Luna: "Ooh, when did you get here, Blaise?"

Seamus: "Who, Blaise?"

Dean: "Do you mean Blaise?"

Kingsley: "Do you even work here?"

Ron: "Who, Bl-"

Blaise: _[to Ron]_ "Don't, Weasley. You'll ruin it."

Ron: _[sighing]_ "Fine."

Blaise: "But to answer your question, I don't actually work here."

Rita: _[surprised]_ "What? Are you a ghost too?"

Luna: "No. Only Severus and I are ghosts."

Rita: "Wait a minute. What?!"

Luna: "Yeah. I've been dead for three years. That's how I keep getting in here undetected."

 _[There is a moment of stunned silence.]_

Kingsley: "Well, I'm… guiltily relieved?"

Luna: "That's nice."

Ron: _[awkwardly]_ "Super sorry about your death though, Luna."

Luna: "It's fine."

Rita: "I'm actually not sure how we didn't notice this before."

Luna: _[sympathetically]_ "Well, you're all fools."

 _[Cuts to Luna and Severus interview.]_

Luna: "For the record, we're definitely not ghosts."

Severus: "Yes. We're very much alive."

Luna: "Kingsley just has terrible security."

Severus: "The _worst_. Also, we personally disabled all the wards."

Luna: "Yes. That, and everyone who works in this Ministry is, as I've mentioned, a fool."

Severus: "Yep."

Luna: _[brightly]_ "Hey, we should burn it down!"

Severus: "We should."

Luna: _[shrugging]_ "Later, maybe."

Severus: _[kindly]_ "Well, we'll see where the afternoon and/or the inevitable revolution takes us."

Luna: "Right. Anyway, where were we?"

Severus: "Spaghetti time?"

Luna: "Spaghetti time!"

 _[Severus offers her a fork, holding up his plate of spaghetti.]_

Theo: _[popping his head in]_ "Year of pranks, baby!"

 _[Cuts back to Kingsley's office.]_

Rita: _[to Blaise]_ "Hold on. If you don't work here, then what exactly do you do?"

Blaise: "Oh, I'm a showrunner. I've been poking around here looking for ideas, and I think I found one. Get this— _Gossip Girl_. It's a show about someone who pretends to be an anonymous source in order to get the attention of the person they're secretly in love with."

Rita: "Sounds stupid."

Blaise: "You can be in it, if you want."

Rita: "Sounds genius!"

Lee, from out of screen view: "HOLD ON A MINUTE—"

 _[Cuts to Theo and Harry interview.]_

Theo: _[to Harry]_ "You know, this whole Gossip Girl thing did seem suspiciously convenient this time around. I mean, it's almost as though you and I wouldn't be together if not for Gossip Girl."

Harry: "Sure. Almost."

Theo: _[shrugging]_ "Well, anyway. I guess she's done now? I haven't seen anything new since yesterday."

Harry: "You sure? This memo came this morning."

 _[He hands Theo a piece of parchment.]_

Theo: "Oh." _[reading aloud]_ "Will you go out with me, xoxo Gossip Gi- hold on." _[He pauses, looking at Harry with confusion.]_ "Is this—did you—" _[He falters again, stunned.]_ "Potter, are _you_ Gossip Girl?"

Harry: _[innocently]_ "Well, you said you wanted a prank war."

 _[There is a long pause.]_

Theo: "You motherfucker. You _motherfucker_ , you are the fucking king of pranks."

Harry: "Thank you. I know."

Theo: "Well wait, hold on. What happened with our other prank? You know, with Draco and Granger?"

Harry: "Oh, right, that. That wasn't really a prank. It was more of an ambiguous 'break up Ron and Hermione because they keep making me tag along and I'm tired of couple's brunch' sort of thing than a prank."

Theo: "Right, sure, but what happened?"

Harry: _[to the camera]_ "Lee, can you roll that?"

 _[Cuts to footage from the girl's bathroom at Hogwarts.]_

Moaning Myrtle: "Still not playing in the quidditch game, huh?"

Draco: "This time is _different_ , Myrtle. And anyway, what rhymes with 'crippling sensation of guilt'?"

Myrtle: "Rippling temptation of filth!"

Draco: _[considering it]_ "Well, I suppose that's not totally off base—"

 _[Hermione enters, out of breath.]_

Hermione: "Malfoy!"

Draco: "WHAT IS IT, YOU DESPOTIC SPRING BREEZE—"

Hermione: "Just—stop for a second, okay? Don't say anything."

Draco: _[indignantly]_ "Well that's terribly rude, you golden-flushed sun princess—"

Hermione: "I just need to get this out, okay? Can you—" _[She swallows hard.]_ "Just listen, okay?"

Draco: "Fine. What is it?"

 _[Hermione shakily unfolds a piece of parchment, clearing her throat.]_

Hermione: _[reading aloud]_ "I hate the way you talk to me / And the way you cut your hair / I hate the way you drive my car / I hate it when you stare."

Draco: _[bewildered]_ "Car? What in the name of Salazar's emerald phallus is a car?"

 _[Cuts to Hermione interview.]_

Hermione: "Yeah, so, I kind of borrowed this poem." _[She sighs.]_ "Look, I'm not very creative, okay? Besides, he'll never know."

 _[Cuts back to Draco and Hermione.]_

Hermione: "I hate your big dumb combat boots / And the way you read my mind—"

Draco: _[interrupting]_ "Combat boots? Granger, these boots are from Twilfitt and Tatting's and I've been comfortably assured by my mother and Theo that they suit my aesthetic perfectly. Also, I've never once used legilimency on you, but if you'd like me to start—"

Hermione: _[continuing]_ "—I hate you so much that it makes me sick / It even makes me rhyme."

Draco: _[sighing]_ "Well, that's accurate."

Hermione: "I hate the way you're always right / I hate it when you lie / I hate it when you make me laugh / Even worse when you make me cry." _[She sniffles a little, and Draco visibly softens.]_ "I hate it when you're not around / And the fact that you didn't call / But mostly I hate the way I don't hate you." _[She pauses, wiping her eyes, and glances up at him.]_ "Not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all."

 _[There is a pause.]_

Myrtle: "Honestly? That was terrible."

Draco: _[uncertainly]_ "Granger, I don't understand. I thought you said—"

Hermione: "I broke up with Ron."

 _[Cuts to Ron interview.]_

Ron: "Okay, first of all it was mutual, but—"

Pansy: "Shut up, Weasley."

Ron: _[hastily]_ "Right, sorry, as you were."

 _[Cuts back to Draco and Hermione.]_

Draco: _[disbelieving]_ "You—you did?"

Hermione: "Yes." _[She takes a deep breath.]_ "And there's something else."

Draco: _[tenuously optimistic]_ "What?"

Hermione: "I've been made Deputy Headmistress at Hogwarts, which puts me in charge of hiring. And—" _[She exhales.]_ "And I'd like to offer you a job as an English professor, if you're up for it."

Myrtle: _[scoffing]_ "What, _this_ guy? He can't even write a poem without my help!"

Draco: "Myrtle, what rhymes with 'go away'?"

Myrtle: "Flow balle- ah, nope, I heard it. Continue."

Hermione: "So, um. Would you do it?" _[She fidgets.]_ "To clarify, it would mean that we'd both be working here."

Draco: "Together, you mean?"

Hermione: "Er, yes. It would mean we would be, um, close-proximity work associates."

Draco: "Mmhm, yes, I see." _[He pauses, considering her.]_ "And is there anything else you'd like to ask me, Granger?"

Hermione: _[furiously flushed]_ "Er, I don't. I, um." _[She trails off.]_

Draco: "Granger." _[He sighs.]_ "You stupid, stupid sun goddess."

Hermione: "WHAT?"

Draco: "DON'T YELL AT ME. WE'RE HAVING A MOMENT."

Hermione: "WE'RE _ALWAYS_ HAVING A MOMENT!"

Draco: "AND IT DIDN'T OCCUR TO YOU THAT THAT MIGHT MEAN SOMETHING?"

Hermione: "IT DID, BUT—" _[wailing]_ "BUT I'M THE DUMBEST GIRL IN SCHOOL, MALFOY!"

Draco: "OKAY, NOW YOU'RE JUST BEING RIDICULOUS—"

Hermione: "BOOKS! AND CLEVERNESS! THERE ARE MORE IMPORTANT THINGS—FOR EXAMPLE, MY EMOTIONAL QUOTIENT IS PITEOUSLY LOW, AND—"

Draco: "GRANGER, YOU RESPLENDENT FOOL, I'M GOING TO KISS YOU NOW."

Hermione: "You are?"

Draco: "Well, if you want me to. I mean, if you'd rather not, then—"

Hermione: "DON'T RUIN IT, YOU BEAUTIFUL HELLSCAPE!"

Draco: "GOD, I LOATHE YOU."

Hermione: "I LOATHED YOU FIRST!"

 _[They kiss.]_

Myrtle: "Aww!"

 _[The kissing escalates voraciously.]_

Myrtle: "Okay, gross. That's enough. I died a virgin." _[She pauses.]_ "Actually, you know what? Keep going, I died a virgin. I'd like to see where this goes."

 _[Cuts back to Theo and Harry.]_

Theo: "I think that prank went well, actually."

Harry: "What about the other one?"

Theo: "Hm?"

 _[Cuts to Hogwarts. The Sorting Hat is laughing maniacally, lightning striking in the background as he stands over the lime green bowler hat, which hangs precipitously from the window.]_

Sorting Hat: _[dramatically]_ "DAS… VI… DANIYA!"

 _[The bowler hat falls below, swept on the wind and into the lake while the Sorting Hat continues its haunting cries of laughter.]_

Theo: "Ehem."

 _[Camera pans out to reveal Theo and Severus sitting behind the Sorting Hat.]_

Severus: _[licking his finger, turning a page of the Quibbler]_ "You know he has a horcrux, right?"

Sorting Hat: _[abruptly choking]_ "What?"

Theo: "A horcrux. You know, an object imbued with his soul? He'll just come back to life."

 _[There's a long pause.]_

Sorting Hat: "NOOOOOOOOOO!"

 _[Cuts back to Theo and Harry.]_

Theo: "Oh, right, that one. It's on hiatus, I guess? Depends how long a horcrux hunt takes. I think it's going to be a few months' worth of camping, though, so I've got some time."

Harry: "That sounds right. And what are you planning to do now that you've been fired?"

Theo: "What, like for money? I'm independently wealthy."

Harry: "Oh. Right."

Theo: "What about you? Now that Weasley's been made Head Auror instead of you, I mean."

Harry: "Oh, I quit my job. Turns out I'm also independently wealthy, and more importantly, I hate being an Auror."

Theo: "Yeah, that was becoming increasingly apparent."

Harry: "Well, anyway." _[He gestures to the parchment in Theo's hand.]_ "Are you going to answer Gossip Girl's memo or what?"

Theo: "Are you just going to continually refer to yourself as Gossip Girl?"

Harry: "I might. I think it suits me."

Theo: "Fair. What's your offer?"

Harry: "Well, we're rich, we're young, and we're magic. We could travel the world?"

Theo: "Hm. How about a caper of some sort?"

Harry: "That works too."

Theo: "I feel like I would enjoy committing an elaborate heist."

Harry: "Year of crime?"

Theo: "Year of crime!"

Harry: "Well, we should probably stop filming this, then."

Theo: "Oh, right, good shout."

 _[Cuts back to Kingsley's office.]_

Blaise: "So anyway, I'm going to leave now. First of all, I have to get back to Hogwarts for that Slug Club reunion, and secondly, this show is over. I hired all the camera people for my new show."

Lee: "YOU DID WHAT?!"

Blaise: "Also, it's probably going to come out soon that Rita and Gilderoy are like, a thousand percent fucking."

 _[Cuts to Pansy interview.]_

Pansy: _[innocently]_ "What's that? Stay in my lane?" _[She smirks.]_ "Bitch, they're _all_ my lanes."

 _[Cuts back to Kingsley's office.]_

Rita: "What?! Me and—and _Lockhart_? That's—that's false. In fact, that's slander. Actually, that's—"

 _[Gilderoy pops up from beneath her dress, gasping for air.]_

Rita: _[sighing]_ "That may or may not be valid."

Kingsley: _[skeptically]_ "May or may not?"

Rita: _[shrugging]_ "More 'may' than 'may not,' but—"

Luna: _[to Gilderoy]_ "How was it, Professor?"

Gilderoy: "Like a savory pie!"

Lee: "EVERYONE GET OUT!"

 _[Cuts to Slug Club reunion gala at Hogwarts.]_

Minerva: "Granger, why are there so many cunting baboons in my house?"

Hermione: "Don't worry, Professor. I'll take care of it."

Minerva: "YOU CERTAINLY WILL, DEPUTY BITCH ASS."

Hermione: _[sighing]_ "Is that—should I just get used to that, or—"

Minerva: "Come on, Albus. We're going to sing karaoke and try on poison rings."

Albus, via his portrait: "Yeah!"

 _[They leave. Camera pans over to Blaise and Ginny.]_

Blaise: "Oh, hey Weasley. So I heard there's going to be some sort of sexy game later."

Ginny: "That wouldn't happen to be—" _[She glances down at the programme.]_ "'Seventy-five to ninety minutes in heaven,' would it?"

Blaise: _[slyly]_ "That's the one. And I mean, who knows, maybe we'll get each oth-"

Ginny: "Hey, want to just ditch this and have sex?"

Blaise: "I—what did you just say?"

Ginny: "This party is lame. I'd rather be fucking you."

Blaise: "Oh."

Ginny: "We could have dinner first, if you want. You know, if you want to date or something." _[She tilts her head, considering it.]_ "You don't like, throw your socks on the floor without warning, do you?"

Blaise: "I only wear Italian loafers. I don't own socks."

Ginny: "Perfect. So, you in?"

Blaise: _[surprised]_ "I guess I am, yeah."

Ginny: "Well, good. I'm glad all I had to do was ask."

Blaise: _[clearing his throat]_ "Yeah… pretty weird if someone had actually like, paid a fortune to have an unnecessary party as an elaborate scheme. Or, you know. Something."

Ginny: "What? That's insane. Who would do that?"

Blaise: "No idea."

 _[They leave. The camera pans over to where Cormac, Marcus, and Neville are standing together in the Great Hall.]_

Marcus: "Let's give Longbottom another turn. I'm convinced one of these days he's going to get it."

Neville: "Pomona Sprout, Justin Finch-Fletchley, and Filius Flitwick."

Marcus: _[pleasantly surprised]_ "Whoa, weird. That was actually pretty norm-"

Neville: "…have all been arrested for various counts of smuggling and racketeering."

Marcus: "-al. Nevermind." _[He pauses.]_ "But since you brought it up: fuck Pomona, marry Filius, kill Justin."

Cormac: "That sounds right."

Neville: "Anyway, it turns out McGonagall needs a new Herbology professor, so I think I'm going to come teach at Hogwarts. At the very least, it'll give me a place to put my plants."

Marcus: "That's true."

Cormac: "Oh." _[He looks disappointed.]_ "Well, I'm going to miss your sassy cardies, Longbottom."

Neville: "Well, you could probably come if you want, McLaggen. They do need a new Charms professor, after all."

Cormac: _[brightly]_ "I _am_ uniquely average at Charms."

 _[Cuts to Cormac interview.]_

Cormac: "Coincidentally, that's also one of my euphemisms for fucking."

 _[Cuts back to Slug Club reunion.]_

Neville: "Yeah, so, you should apply. And then we can keep bro-fisting."

Marcus: "Do you mean fist-bumping?"

Cormac: _[gleefully]_ "Nope!"

 _[Camera pans over to Draco and Hermione.]_

Draco: "Granger, it's simple. If the Defense Against the Dark Arts position is still cursed, then we'll just create another class and call it 'The Dark Arts Can Fuck Right Off.' Simple, job done."

Hermione: _[groaning]_ "Malfoy, we can't possibly call it that. Do you even hear yourself?"

Draco: _[holding a hand to his ear]_ "Sorry, what?"

Hermione: "ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!"

Draco: "OKAY, LISTEN UP, YOU SHOUTY VIXEN—"

 _[She cuts him off with a kiss. Camera pans to Theo and Harry chatting together as Rita approaches them, dragging Gilderoy behind her.]_

Rita: "Well, needless to say, it gives me great pleasure to finally get out of this hell hole. Goodbye forever, Harley Porthouse—"

Gilderoy: _[to Rita]_ "Ooh, sweetheart, it's pronounced 'Har- _lay_ ,' but we'll get there."

Harry: "Bye, Rita. How did Lee take the news, by the way?"

Rita: "I'm not sure he noticed, honestly."

Gilderoy: "Is that the crying one?"

Theo: "What?"

Gilderoy: "The crying one. You know, the one who dies?"

 _[Camera pans out to reveal Lee sniffling next to Theo and Harry, intermittently sobbing 'OTP' and 'JUST THROW ME IN A RIVER' as he lets out a loud wail.]_

Harry: "Ah, yes. He's dead. It's happened before."

Theo: "I wouldn't worry about it."

Luna: "Yes. In fact, many of us are dead."

Severus: "And we're all doing just fine."

Lee: "OH, JUST SHUT THE CAMERA OFF, WOULD YOU?!"

Harry: _[glancing around]_ "Hold on a minute. Where's Ron?"

Lee: _[wailing]_ "WHO CARES?!"

 _[Camera jostles, and then footage cuts out.]_

 _[Scene reopens with three people in a bedroom, none of their faces visible. The camera has clearly been placed on something approximately waist-level, and a golden statue of two naked women is visible on the left.]_

Woman's voice: "Okay, we're good to go. You ready?"

Man's voice: "Wait, hold on. Is that a camera?"

Woman's voice: "Just try to ignore it, okay? Just relax."

Second woman's voice: "Or don't. Doesn't really matter. You already signed the papers. You're in this for a long-term contract."

Man: "Well, okay, I guess—"

 _[There is a rustle of clothing.]_

Woman 2: "HOLY SHIT. Is that your dick?"

Man: "I—yes?"

Woman 1: "Oh my god. Oh my _god_ , it's—"

Woman 2: "Listen, I never cry, but—"

Woman 1: "It's _beautiful_."

Woman 2: "It's fucking majestic."

Woman 1: "I've seen some amazing things in my life, but this is—this is breathtaking."

Woman 2: "It's sort of like… when you see the sunrise for the first time?"

Woman 1: "Honestly? I really think I could conjure a patronus right now."

Woman 2: "We wouldn't even need one. The dementors would take one look at that dick and fucking _weep_."

Man: "...thank you?"

Woman 1: "I mean, I _suspected_ , but—"

Woman 2: "I didn't. I am genuinely surprised. Thank god we didn't kill you."

Man: _[alarmed]_ "Wait a minute, when was that on the table?!"

Woman 2: "Shut up. We're busy."

Woman 1: "I honestly still can't get over how pretty it is."

Woman 2: "I know, it's—it's like, _delicate_ , almost? But also austere, like a deer in the forest."

Man: "You're actually crying, aren't you?"

Woman 2: "It's just—we worked really hard for this."

Woman 1: "Yeah. We broke, like, a lot of laws to get here."

Woman 2: "Right. And it was a pretty big gamble, too."

Woman 1: "Totally. You could have had a pencil dick."

Woman 2: "Or like, a stubby one. And sure, girth is more important than length, but still. Nobody wants a goblin dick."

Woman 1: "Or an elf dick."

Woman 2: "Could have had a ghost dick, even."

Woman 1: _[shuddering]_ "True."

Man: "What the hell is a ghost dick?"

Woman 1: "It's not important."

Woman 2: "The point is, I'm just really, really proud of us."

Woman 1: "Yes. Immensely."

 _[They sigh contentedly.]_

Man: "So, um. Should we get to it, then?"

Woman 1: "What, sex? Yes, definitely."

Man: "Oh. Okay, cool."

Woman 2: "Buckle up, dickhead. We're going for a ride."

Woman 1: _[whispering]_ "XOXO."

 _[Footage runs out.]_

* * *

 _ **a/n:**_ _Tomorrow I'll add my D/Hr Advent fic to the collection and then that new one shot I've been relentlessly teasing. Merry Christmas and happy holidays! You're all an utter blessing, and I thank you endlessly for being here._


	96. A Gentleman's Guide to Incandescence

**A Gentleman's Guide to Incandescence**

 _Pairing:_ Dramione (Draco Malfoy x Hermione Granger)

 _Universe:_ Post-War, EWE

 _Rating:_ T for language, suggestion

 _Summary:_ Written for the 2017 D/Hr Advent and the prompt "traditions." A thousand thanks for the nomination and inclusion in this event, and a few more to SallyJAvery for her ever-reliable eyes on this!

In sum: it's not like they're going to burn the place down.

* * *

 _ **Christmas Eve**_

 _[Hogwarts headmistress Minerva McGonagall settles into her seat behind the desk, giving a weary, contemplative sigh. She looks immensely tired, as if the weight of the world is upon her, and given the volume of parchment on her desk, her weariness is not soon to be abated. One by one, each of the Hogwarts professors discuss the horrors they have witnessed.]_

 _[Cut to Theodore Nott, History of Magic.]_

 **Minerva:** "To the best of your ability, Theodore, please describe the events of this morning in your own words."

 **Theo:** "Unrepentant fervor. Mass unmitigated panic. Rampant displays of horticultural inadequacy. Apocalyptic disarray. Putrefying, unadulterated, atroph-"

 **Minerva:** "Maybe not those words, Nott."

 **Theo:** "In fairness, you did say to the best of my ability. If you wanted a subpar answer, you should have been more specific."

 **Minerva:** _[visibly exhausted]_ "You know what? You can go."

 _[Cut to Professor Neville Longbottom, Herbology.]_

 **Neville:** "Honestly, I'm just thankful nobody was too badly hurt, given the scope of the damage. And if I'm being candid, Headmistress, the whole thing came out of nowhere."

 **Theo:** _[scoffing]_ "Please. I knew this was going to happen."

 **Minerva:** "Nott, who let you in here?"

 **Theo:** "Hm?"

 _[Cut to Professor Harry Potter, Defense Against the Dark Arts.]_

 **Harry:** "Wait. What's going on?"

 **Minerva:** _[distractedly]_ "One moment, Potter, excuse me—Nott, why are you here for Potter's interview? I distinctly recall dismissing you."

 **Theo:** "I have no memory of any such thing, and frankly Professor, given those cheeky new tartans you've got on, I think the more relevant question is why you're here _alone_ for Potter's interview—"

 **Minerva:** "That's quite enough, Nott."

 **Theo:** "Fine."

 **Minerva:** "But thank you for noticing. These robes are, in fact, new."

 **Harry:** _[with obvious confusion]_ "Hold on—I don't understand. Is this some kind of investigation? Is someone in trouble, or—"

 **Theo:** "Yes."

 **Minerva:** "No, no, of course n-"

 **Theo:** "She means yes."

 **Harry:** "Well, if I had to identify a starting point, I'd say it all really began around the first of the month, when Professor McGonagall announced she would be choosing a deputy."

* * *

 _ **24 Days Earlier**_

"Now," Minerva began, "as you know, for the past five years I have not felt it necessary to appoint a deputy headmaster or headmistress. Now that our faculty has been satisfactorily replenished, however, I feel it's time to begin passing off some of my responsibilities, so as to better prepare the castle for its next generation of growth."

Draco Malfoy, Professor of Potions, glanced briefly to his left, surreptitiously eyeing the frizzy-haired woman who had served as his constant competition for the past five years (and then some). Meanwhile, Hermione Granger, Professor of Transfiguration, steadfastly avoided the contact, opting instead to stare obtrusively at the small decorative houseplant on the headmistress' desk.

"You've both risen admirably throughout your tenure here," Minerva continued, "and I feel confident that one of you will be well-suited for my position when I eventually retire. Which one of you that will be, however, is entirely dependent on how well you undertake this particular month." She paused, giving them an unreadable, searching glance. "As you know, it has long been tradition at Hogwarts for professors and staff to prepare the castle for the holidays. This year, I'd like for the two of you to manage the decorations."

 _Decorations?_ Draco thought with an inward scoff, glancing again at Hermione. She, having opted to return his glance this time, spared him an unsavory scowl, and Draco made a mental note to charm the boards of her classroom floors to squeak again as soon as he was able.

"Yes, Headmistress," they replied in unison.

They'd both understood there would be some sort of test awaiting them, but still, Draco had thought it would be something a bit more challenging. How hard could some trees and a few floating candles actually be?

"Any questions?" Minerva prompted. "Do feel free to come to me if you need any help."

"I think we can handle it," Hermione assured her.

"It's not like we're going to burn the place down," added Draco.

"Well," Minerva remarked approvingly, "then I very much look forward to letting you both take the reins on this one."

 **oOo**

"Listen up, people," Draco announced to the remainder of the faculty. "As you may have heard, Granger and I are in charge of decorating the castle this year—"

"—which we'd like to accomplish with as little fuss as possible," Hermione supplied.

"Entirely without fuss, actually, if possible," Draco added. "In fact, anyone guilty of contributing anything within the realms of 'fuss' will be subjected to boundless mockery and, if necessary, swift and ruthless corporeal punishment."

At that, Hermione cleared her throat, nudging him. "That seems harsh," she remarked under her breath, affording him a dubious glance.

"If I were aiming for harsh," Draco muttered back, "I'd have threatened to subject them to one of your endless lectures, wouldn't I?"

"I have a question," Theo announced before she could retort, rising to his feet. "Yes, hello," he offered to the room, "Theodore Nott, History of Magic—"

"We know who you are, Theo," Hermione sighed.

"Just to clarify, are you going to be handling this yourselves? Because if I understand correctly, it's _you_ two that McGonagall will be watching," Theo reminded them, "and therefore, this is hardly the usual 'delegate-to-the-staff' situation, is it?"

"Excuse me?" Draco demanded.

"I think what Nott's trying to say," Harry began, only to be interrupted by a loud cough from Theo. "Right, sorry—Harry Potter, Defense Against the Dark Ar-"

"WE KNOW," Draco growled.

"Anyway, I think what Nott's saying is that you'll have to, you know, up the ante a bit," Harry suggested, and behind him, the other teachers slowly nodded their agreement. "You don't really think McGonagall would choose the future of this school based purely on _Christmas decorations_ unless it was some sort of test, would she?"

"Yes, exactly," Theo agreed, snapping his fingers. "You're going to have to wow her. Awe her. _Seduce_ her, even—"

"Mm, too far," Harry warned, shaking his head.

"—by whatever method fits within the realm of your respective comforts, that is," Theo amended hastily, "but still, the point stands. This is no ordinary year, is it?"

Draco glanced uncertainly at Hermione, who was already looking questioningly back at him.

"Traditionally, we've always done the decorations the same way," she ventured, half to herself, and Harry pointedly cleared his throat.

"Yes," he permitted knowingly, "but how is McGonagall supposed to decide which of you is better if you do precisely what the school's always done?"

Draco looked at Hermione again, who sighed.

"I hate to say this," she began, and Draco grimaced.

"This is the first time I'm saying this," he agreed, "but I think Potter's—"

"— _right_ ," they announced in unison, both withering at the prospect.

"Oh sure," Theo drawled, falling back into his seat. "Since nobody _else_ contributed anything—"

"Maybe we do have to prove ourselves a bit," Hermione remarked to Draco. "But we can manage that, can't we?"

" _I_ certainly can," Draco muttered under his breath, and she spared him a tart grimace, waiting expectantly. "Fine. What do you say, Granger?" he prompted gruffly, holding his hand out. "Shall we just collaborate on this one? If you can keep up, that is," he couldn't help adding, and was immediately rewarded with her uninhibited scowl.

"Oh, it's on, Malfoy," she muttered, accepting his proffered hand with a violently threatening grip.

 **oOo**

"Nice work," Harry muttered to Theo. "I really hate charming those candles."

"Personally, I loathe the wreaths," Theo agreed. "Who knew it'd be so easy to talk them into it?"

"I have to say, I'm a bit worried," Neville admitted, his face a tinge green. "Yuletide plants can be somewhat unpredictable, and neither Hermione or Draco listen particularly closely when I discuss—well, _anything_ with them—"

"Oh, cheer up, Longbottom," Theo cut in gleefully. "Luxuriate in your sudden influx of free time, would you?"

"Besides," Harry added, shrugging. "It's not like they'll burn the place down."

"That's true," Neville warily agreed, glancing mournfully over his shoulder.

* * *

 **Theo:** "I don't think it actually started there. Had to've been later, right?"

 **Harry:** "Well, I guess technically it started with the library, then, didn't it?"

 **Minerva:** "What happened in the library?"

 **Theo:** "Two words: popcorn fiasco."

 **Harry:** _[nodding gravely]_ "Popcorn fiasco."

* * *

 _ **20 Days Earlier**_

It wasn't a secret that Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy didn't get along. In fact, Hermione was fairly certain that he had been responsible for tampering with the anti-squeak charms on her classroom floors, and for convincing the hinges on her cupboards to fall open at random intervals throughout the day. She'd already checked for door-imps. At this point, the only possible explanation was the continued existence of Draco Malfoy.

It wasn't as if she were wholly innocent, of course. She'd enchanted the laces of his oxfords so vigorously he'd taken to wearing loafers under his robes, and for two entire days she charmed his personal cauldron to turn all of his potions an illuminated fuschia, prompting a near-successful (and much-deserved) descent into madness. The silent feud had been relatively ongoing since they'd both been hired after their eighth year at Hogwarts.

Unfortunately, it also meant that Hermione couldn't come to him for help once she realized just how vast the castle really was.

"What are you doing?" she heard behind her, nearly toppling from her ladder as she charmed a wreath of holly onto the corner of a bookshelf.

"I'm clearly decorating, Malfoy," she retorted, not bothering to look at him until the wreath had been tilted satisfactorily to one side. "I've charmed the wreaths to ask little yuletide riddles," she added, unable to prevent a bit of boasting. "Seemed appropriate for the library."

"Delightful," Draco drawled, leaning against the shelf as she descended the ladder. "But I meant _that_ ," he clarified, pointing to the Cornish pixies who were vacantly stringing popcorn garlands in the corner.

"Ah, well, I hardly have enough hands to handle this myself," Hermione informed him. "The library is _much_ larger than your east corridor, so—"

"They're pixies, Granger," Draco interrupted snottily. "Or do you not recall what happened during our last pixie run-in?"

"I've given them each a low dose of Best Behavior potion," Hermione retorted. "I've still got—" She glanced down, checking her watch. "About half an hour, and I'll have them returned to the classroom by then—"

"You didn't happen to take that from my potions stores, did you?" Draco asked, glancing apprehensively at the electric blue creatures before turning to stare questioningly at her. "Specifically, you didn't happen to take it _without asking_ , correct?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'll make you some more, Malfoy, if it really matters so much. In the meantime, I have everything here under control, so—"

"I only bring it up," Draco persisted loudly, "because after Theo took two of my Sober-Up vials last month without asking, I put an accelerator on anything that's removed without my express permission. But as you say, I'm sure you've got everything under control," he remarked blithely, turning on his heel just as Hermione reached out with a grimace, grabbing his collar.

"How much of an accelerator?" she demanded, glancing over her shoulder at the pixies and pausing, horrified, as one gave a worryingly coherent blink. "How much time do I have before it wears off, then?"

"I think you already know the answer," Draco informed her, and she glared at him, considering momentarily whether or not he ought to be strangled before feeling a light flick of pressure against the back of her head.

"Oh hell," she whispered. "Did one just throw popcorn at me?"

Draco nodded grimly.

"Yes, and frankly, you might want to—DUCK!" he shouted, yanking her to the ground as a swarm of pixies suddenly reanimated behind them, pelting both of them with kernels ripped from the newly-hung garlands as they struggled to crawl for cover beneath a table.

"Well," Draco growled, fumbling for his wand and groaning as a pixie immediately ripped it from his grasp, "this is a mess, Granger—"

"You might have _warned me_ you put extra enchantments on your potions!" Hermione snapped, pulling herself up and aiming her wand only to have it smacked directly back into her face, knocking her gracelessly into Draco's lap. "Did it not occur to you to, I don't know, _announce_ it in some way?" she demanded, shoving him away and then promptly dragging him back as a shield the moment another stream of popcorn aimed itself directly at them.

"Ah yes," Draco retorted, managing to duck the arm motion from a gleefully slap-happy pixie only to get smacked in the face by a book instead. "Because asking me in advance is just _so_ unreasonable," he muttered, tumbling backwards against Hermione's chest.

"QUIET," demanded Madame Pince, just before a group of pixies picked her up by her shoulder pads, depositing her atop the shelves marked 'Opera' and drowning her shouts of opposition with a dozen mismatched arias from an avalanche of displaced books. "THIS—IS—A _LIBRARY_ —"

Hermione aimed her wand from behind Draco, finally managing to get a clear shot. " _Immobulus_!" she shouted, and the pixies froze in place, their many handfuls of popcorn abruptly suspended mid-flight.

Hermione paused, panting, before realizing that the restriction on her lungs was the result of Draco Malfoy leaning against her; she immediately gave him a shove, crawling out from under the table.

"Well," she pronounced breathlessly, eyeing the wreaths that lay tattered and strewn across the floor. "I'd say that went rather poorly."

Draco shuffled out behind her, plucking a piece of popcorn from her hair and tossing it in his mouth before shrugging.

"A bit half-baked," he agreed, sauntering away. "But look at it this way, Granger," he added over his shoulder, removing his wand from a floating pixie's grasp and pausing only long enough to smirk at her. "At least you didn't burn down the school."

* * *

 **Harry:** "They both smelled like butter for at least a week. And frankly, I don't think Madame Pince will ever care for opera again, which is a real travesty. Irma does a mean _Habañera_ when she's got enough Buck's Fizz in her—"

 **Theo:** "Though, really, the library incident was nothing compared to the stripping."

 **Minerva:** "Stripping?"

 **Harry:** "Well, I don't know. 'Stripping' might be an exaggeration."

 **Theo:** "No it isn't."

 **Harry:** "Yeah, no, he's right. It isn't."

* * *

 _ **13 Days Earlier**_

Unsurprisingly, Draco wasn't particularly good at decorations. It was mostly charms and enchantments, and frankly, he didn't care for levitation spells. They reminded him of—who else?— _Granger_ , who had come back from her pixie fiasco to expertly (and without mishap, Cornish or otherwise) arrange her half of the Great Hall's Christmas trees.

Still, Draco assumed that McGonagall would want to see proof of his magical prowess beyond the set of skills he taught, so he set himself to work with the first floor suits of armor, hoping to accomplish something resembling brilliance.

"Okay," he declared, stepping back expectantly. "So, how about a yuletide dance?"

The armor obeyed, launching into a brief but technically proficient Irish reel.

"Excellent," Draco determined, feeling smugly proud. "And you?" he prompted, turning to another set. "Charades?"

The armor held up three fingers.

"Three words," Draco supplied indulgently.

The armor mimicked the opening of a book.

"Book," said Draco.

The armor pointed upwards.

" _Hogwarts, A History_ ," provided a swotty voice behind him, and Draco turned, glaring at Hermione as she approached.

"I would've gotten it if you hadn't rudely intruded," he informed her, and she shrugged.

"Is there a theme to this?" she prompted. "Or have you simply Imperiused a bunch of empty metal?"

"They're supposed to enact Christmas-related activities," Draco supplied smartly, wondering if she weren't secretly impressed. "Which will vary from person to person. Although hopefully not to the degree of my French cousins," he determined distractedly, "because I'm pretty sure their idea of Christmas is something along the terribly deviant lines of—"

"Wait, Malfoy, don't!" Hermione urged suddenly, grabbing his arm.

"—getting naked and running through the gardens while aiming wild de-feathering spells at my father's best peacocks," Draco finished, and then frowned, glancing down at where her fingers had wrapped tightly around his sleeve. "What exactly is this, Granger?"

"Oh, phew," she exhaled sheepishly, releasing him. "Sorry, it's just that the suits are highly susceptible to suggestion. It's the metal," she clarified. "Ironically, iron doesn't have much will of its own, so—"

She broke off, startled, as one of the suits of armor tapped her on the shoulder, dutifully beginning to remove the buttons of her robes just as another suit reached behind Draco, giving his belt a graceless tug.

"Uh, Granger," Draco ventured, the suit of armor holding him in place as it turned its attention to the top button of his trousers, "I didn't by any chance say something about getting naked, did I? No reason, just checking—"

"What do _you_ think, Malfoy?" she shot back, trying and failing to grab hold of her wand as the suit of armor removed it from her pocket, dropping it less-than-delicately on the floor and proceeding to divest her of her blouse. "Just—DON'T LOOK," she instructed shrilly, trying unsuccessfully to cover herself, and Draco sighed, resignedly permitting the armor to tug his trousers down to his ankles.

"Fancy knickers, Granger," he commented unhelpfully, trying to keep the hint of curiosity from his voice as the suit of armor unzipped her skirt. "Wonder who you're saving those for?"

"MALFOY, I SAID NOT TO—are those _golden snitches_ on your boxers?"

"Yes, Granger, of course they are. I haven't done laundry, and besides, they're very soft. And who's looking now?"

"If you think I'm going to look at your— _oh my god_ , is that your—"

"Yes, Granger, it's my penis, thank you for noticing. My eyes are up here, by the way—"

"Malfoy, I swear to Godric, if you're looking at my breasts—"

"Hard not to. You dress so primly, Granger, I'd no idea you'd were hiding such admirable tits under those matronly robes—"

" _Do not_ say ONE MORE WORD about my t- I mean, my _breasts_ , thank you—"

"Need help, ickle teachies?" cackled Peeves, cracking into being above their heads and prompting them both to incoherent frustration.

"NO," they shouted in unison, lunging for their clothes as the armor moved on to chasing imaginary peacocks.

"SAY CHEESE!" Peeves declared, taking a picture and blowing them each a raspberry before disapparating with a pop.

For a moment, in the aftermath, Hermione only fumed silently.

"Look, at least the castle's still standing," Draco reminded her, furtively sneaking another glance before she gruffly fastened her skirt around her waist.

"I might have preferred to burn it down," she muttered, though he noted with satisfaction that she had to forcibly avert her eyes from his bare chest.

* * *

 **Theo:** "So yeah, definitely stripping."

 **Harry:** "Forced stripping, of course. Which was bad."

 **Theo:** "Though not as bad as the snow debacle."

 **Harry:** _[shuddering]_ "The snow debacle."

 **Minerva:** "Do I even want to know?"

* * *

 _ **5 Days Earlier**_

"Granger," she heard behind her. "You said you needed more powdered unicorn horn?"

"Yes," she replied, trying not to look too closely at the gaping of his shirt, which she (regrettably) now knew contained the unfairly pleasing angles of his chest. "Seeing as we're no longer allowed to simply _borrow_ from you—"

"Ah-ah, not without _permission_. So long as you ask first, you can get it yourself. But here," he grumbled, holding out a vial for her. "Since I was just seeing the students off to the train anyway—"

"Thanks, Malfoy," she permitted coolly, pointedly extracting the vial from between his fingers without contact. "I appreciate the unparalleled treachery you risked to walk _gallantly_ from your office all the way up the stairs—"

"What's it for?" he interrupted. "This," he clarified, gesturing to the circling of sugar-based clouds overhead. "What's this?"

"Charmed snow," she supplied, trying not to sound too pleased. "Muggles use fake snow all the time for decoration, and I thought it might be nice to use a sugar base. The unicorn horn is to add a bit of iridescence," she added, glancing up at the circling clouds. "And, frankly, to temper the saccharinity. I can't believe I'm saying this, but all that sugar made it a bit too sweet, so—"

"Sorry to sour your little experiment," Draco interrupted, still staring up at the slowly condensing clouds, "but did you just say you used _sugar,_ Granger?"

"Yes," Hermione said, irritated that he would ask, though she noted uneasily that the clouds above seemed to be sparking. "So?"

"Well, it's probably fine, but—sugar potions oxidize quite easily," Draco commented, frowning. "And with a charmed atmosphere, Granger, there might be too much—"

He broke off, grimacing, as a loud crackle manifested above them, followed by a burst of light; abruptly, a bolt of lightning struck about ten feet away from them, startling them both.

"Was that—" Hermione swallowed, glancing up. "That was just the one, right?"

Immediately, lightning struck behind them, sparking against the sugar-snow that was already beginning to coat the ground with a slick white sheen.

"Well, that answers that," Draco said firmly, grabbing her arm and dragging her towards a broom cupboard in precisely the same moment that lightning struck the spot she'd been standing, leaving a faint trail of smoke from where the outline of her footprints still remained. "Come _on_ , Granger—"

"Seriously?" she hissed, yanking herself free the moment he'd shut the door behind them. "What are we supposed to do now, Malfoy?"

"Same with any storm, Granger," he retorted. "Just wait it out."

"And what if it doesn't stop?" she prompted, immediately wincing as three lightning bolts struck in unison.

"We die," Draco said flatly, and she let out a loud groan, shoving him away.

"That's not _funny_ ," she wailed, glaring at him, and from the barest sliver of light, she saw him arch a brow. "I don't want to die in here, and certainly not with _you_ —"

"Oh?" he prompted, taking a step towards her. "And you think _I'm_ happy about this?"

She glanced up, her breath suddenly trapping in her throat as she realized, incrementally: just how small the cupboard was, and just how close he was to her; just how tall he was, and just how broad his shoulders were; just how far away he was, and also just how _near,_ and just how truly, irrepressibly, maddeningly _trapped_ she was, and—

"Why is it you're always around to catch my mistakes?" she whispered, swallowing hard.

For a moment, she was positive he glanced at her lips.

 _Positive_.

But then he shrugged.

"At least you didn't burn the castle down," he remarked, the gap between the door and hinge illuminating brightly from the lightning that struck outside. " _Yet_ , anyway."

* * *

 **Harry:** "You know, in retrospect, I'm beginning to think maybe yesterday was an obvious conclusion, given everything."

 **Theo:** "Yes. A spectacular finale, if you will."

 **Minerva:** _[exasperatedly]_ "Will someone just tell me how this happened?"

 _[Harry and Theo exchange a glance.]_

 **Harry:** "Well, it's actually a relatively short story, Professor. Draco and Hermione were told to decorate the school—"

 **Theo:** "—and instead, they simply burned the castle to the ground."

* * *

 _ **This Morning**_

"I don't care that Longbottom spent all year grooming them. I'm not putting them up."

"Oh, come on," Hermione sighed. "It's just mistletoe, Malfoy. We put it up every year. There's no need to be such an uptight little monster about it."

"Well I hope you're sitting down for this, Granger, but you and I clearly disagree," he informed her, straightening to offer her his most unpleasant glower. "I have never once thought that mistletoe was necessary, and frankly, I'm not convinced it's _not_ infested with little seeds of madness—"

"Malfoy," Hermione groaned. "Relax, would you? Here," she offered, levitating the mistletoe to a spot above his head and prompting him to swat it away. "See? It's _fine_ —"

"Oh, for the love of Salazar's dimpled balls, they're multiplying," he growled, lurching away as the tendrils of mistletoe spread out towards him. "Stop," he informed it, scrambling away. "Granger, make it stop—"

"Malfoy," Hermione sighed again, shaking her head. "Just—it's fine, come over here, one little peck on the cheek won't kill you—"

"LIKE HELL IT WON'T," he informed her at the top of his lungs, and reflexively thrust out his wand hand, both of them ducking as a ball of embers spontaneously burst forth from the tip of his wand, catching on one of the enchanted wreaths and erupting in a flare of sparks. "Oh _shit_ ," he whispered, staring at his wand, and Hermione lifted her own, shaking her head.

"Calm down," she said, as the wreath let out an obtrusive belch of flames, sending the fire across the room until it caught on the charmed lace of the tablecloth, searing along the decorative twigs of holly. "Er, well, we just have to—"

She stumbled, snatching the sizzling tip of her wand backwards just as the bunches of mistletoe beside her also caught fire, their decorative crimson ribbons instantly dissolving to ash. "Well, hm—"

Draco raised his wand. " _Aguam-_ oh, FUCK—"

To his dismay, the suits of armor had charged into the Great Hall, knocking his wand to the ground as Hermione desperately shook ash from hers, burning her finger on the tip of the charred wood before turning to him with a wide-eyed look of panic.

"What's going on?" she asked, aghast, reaching for him as the suits of armor all collected from the corridor to block the hall's exit. "Malfoy, did you not alter the enchantments? What on earth are they doing?"

"I did, but—" He broke off, blinking. "They're roasting chestnuts on an _open fire_ ," he realized with horror, grabbing hold of her arm and searching desperately for a way to escape, the fire already reducing the tables to blazing chunks of seared wood. "Come on, we have to get out before the fire gets worse—"

"Quick question," Hermione asked hazily, stumbling after him. "Are we going to die here?"

Draco skidded to a halt, wincing apprehensively as he paused before the window.

"Oh no," said Hermione, and Draco sighed his agreement, grabbing a plank of wood that had once been a table and smashing it against the windows of the hall.

"Oh yes," he declared flatly, and snatched her hand again, half-jumping, half-falling through the shattered glass to the pile of snow below, both of them landing with sputtered thud on the ground.

For a moment after the impact, they both stared up, catching their breaths.

"Fuck," Draco finally said in disbelief. "I burned the castle down."

To his surprise, Hermione giggled; then, without warning, the giggle evolved to a laugh, and then to hysterical, gulping intonations of incoherence, and then from there—alarmingly—she burst into tears, mewling into the palms of her hands.

"Fuck," he said again, bewildered. "Granger, are you concussed?"

"Y-you set half the castle on f-fire," she sobbed in response, half of it emerging as a wail, "and jumped out of a w-window—rather than k-kiss me! And I-" she broke off, shaking her head. "It should be _hilarious_ , only it's _devastating_ , b-b-because—because I—"

Draco sighed, propping his head up to look at her.

"Well, call me old-fashioned, Granger," he drawled, as she let out a sniffling, delicate hiccup, "but when I kiss you, you're going to be damn sure I did it because I wanted to. Not because I was trapped in a cupboard, or hiding from pixies, or held captive by some militant plants—"

"W- _when_?" she cut in, dazed, and he reached out to slide his hand around the curve of her jaw, stroking her cheek once before rolling over her in the snow and positioning his hips securely against hers.

"When," he promised firmly, and closed the distance between them, feeling the quirk of her tentative smile beneath his lips.

* * *

 **Minerva:** "Well. This was a mess."

 **Hermione:** "Professor, we are _so sorry_ —"

 **Draco:** "But I maintain that this is Longbottom's fault. No school needs mistletoe, Professor. That's just common sense."

 **Neville:** "No offense taken."

 **Draco:** "Well, then I did it wrong."

 **Minerva:** "I just don't understand. How did this happen? The decorations have been the same year after year for decades—possibly even _centuries—_ "

 **Hermione:** _[sheepishly]_ "We thought you wanted us to impress you."

 **Draco:** "Why else assign it to us?"

 **Minerva:** "Honestly? Because I genuinely hate decorating."

 **Hermione:** "What?"

 **Draco:** "That's _it_?"

 **Theo:** "We also hate decorating."

 **Harry:** "Not that you asked."

 **Neville:** "Personally I don't mind it, but—"

 **Hermione:** _[interrupting]_ "So what now?"

 **Draco:** "Candidly, I can't imagine you're going to choose either of us as your deputy now."

 **Theo:** "Though if you are, we should really get a new insurance company. Might I recommend whoever insures Seamus Finnegan?"

 **Minerva:** "Well, you're right about one thing, Mr Malfoy. I can't possibly choose a deputy at this point, nor should I even bother. Clearly I'm nowhere near retiring."

 **Hermione:** "Fair."

 **Harry:** "Fair."

 **Theo:** "It was a nice but violently misguided thought."

 **Draco:** "In that case, may we be dismissed? It _is_ Christmas, Professor. Granger and I will fix the damage in the morning."

 **Minerva:** "Morning?"

 **Draco:** "Yes. We're sort of busy tonight."

 **Hermione:** _[tentatively]_ "We have plans. But if you need us to fix it now—"

 **Minerva:** "You have plans— _together_?"

 **Draco:** "Yes."

 **Minerva:** "On purpose?"

 **Hermione:** "I know. I was surprised too."

 **Draco:** "So, are we—"

 **Minerva:** _[wearily]_ "Yes, fine, just go."

 **Hermione:** "Happy Christmas, Professor!"

 _[Draco and Hermione leave. Minerva graciously pretends not to see them twine fingers as they go.]_

 **Theo:** "For the record, Potter and I also have plans. Not that anyone's bothered to ask."

 **Harry:** "I suspect this isn't about us, Nott."

 **Theo:** "Put your suspicions away, Potter, we're doing a thing!"

 **Minerva:** "I need a new hobby."

 **Theo:** "Might I suggest therapeutic arson?"

 **Harry:** "Too soon, Nott. Too soon."

* * *

 _ **a/n:** Thank you again for the nomination! I love being part of the Advent, and be sure to check out the other fics on ao3. And tomorrow... more._


	97. Survival Techniques

**Survival Techniques**

 _Pairing:_ Parkweasel (Pansy Parkinson x Percy Weasley), background Nottgrass (Theo Nott x Daphne Greengrass)

 _Universe:_ Post-War, EWE

 _Rating:_ M for language, sex

 _Summary:_ Beds are cold in the winter; Pansy needs someone to fill hers. Inspired by an advent edit by aurorarsinistra.

* * *

 **I. (Need)**

"You know what I need?" Pansy prompts, contemplating her glass of Ogden's before raising it to her lips. "A winter boyfriend."

"What?" Daphne asks, making a face. "You mean a snowman?"

"No. A winter boyfriend. You know," Pansy says emphatically, "a boyfriend to sleep with while it's cold and fuck through the major commercial holidays, but immediately break up with as soon as the snow melts."

"That," Daphne says, chewing the thought slowly, "doesn't really make sense."

"Beds are cold in the winter," Pansy replies smartly. "It's a survival technique."

"Well, fine," Daphne says, shrugging. "Have someone in mind?"

At that, Pansy sets down her now-empty glass, scanning the room for prospects.

It's discouraging right from the start; the one in the corner, just within her periphery, is far too short. His friend, who wanders over by the bar, is much too loud.

The one leaning against the opposite wall is promising for a second, but his hair is too long, and not in a sexy way.

The one glancing listlessly around the room looks too much like her ex.

One man shifts, though, and his motion catches her eye. He looks like he's here after work, too, which is promising—because it means that he _works_ , and that's never (rarely) a bad thing. From where she sits she can see his tailored dress shirt, the slim cut of his trousers. He's lean and tall, which isn't exactly outside her usual taste, but she can see the light glinting from the corner of a pair of tortoiseshell glasses, which is considerably less her style. If they're for fashion, that's no good, but he doesn't look _fashionable_ , per se.

She suspects, approvingly, that he probably needs the glasses to see.

"What about him?" she asks, nudging Daphne, and Daphne cocks her head, considering it.

"Can't see his face," she notes. "Red hair, though."

"Is it? Looks darker."

"Auburn?"

"Does it matter?"

"Kind of."

"Hm." Pansy considers it, watching him order. He does it smoothly, the bills tucked between his fingers and in towards his palm, flashing it just long enough for the bartender to see and take his offer seriously. He takes his whisky straight, she notes; she watches him tuck his wallet back into his pocket and raise the glass to his lips with a quiet, unassuming motion.

She still can't quite see his face.

But by now, she's willing to risk it.

"Be right back," she tells Daphne.

"Sure you will," Daphne replies spiritedly, toasting her as she goes.

Pansy checks her hair, refreshing the waves with a twist around her finger, and adjusts her cleavage. Then she taps him on the shoulder.

"Excuse me," she begins sweetly, and he turns.

"Oh," she says, blinking.

"Oh," Percy Weasley agrees, and she regrets every moment of her life that's led to the horrendous now.

* * *

 **II. (Mistaken)**

"Sorry," she says bluntly, "I just thought—"

— _thought you were someone else,_ she wants to say, but he barely blinks, almost as though he knows the sentence is actually meant to end with _I thought you were hot from far away, but now that I'm here, I'm fully aware this can't happen; but just so you know, you're unexpectedly hot up close, too, and it's only that I'm so fucking repulsed by the entire prospect of who you are that I need to bail immediately._

"Right," he says, a bit clipped.

"Right," she agrees. "So, anyway, sorry about that, I was—"

"Would you like a drink?" he interrupts.

 _No_ , she wants to say.

 _No,_ she _should_ say.

"Are you paying?" she asks bluntly.

He nudges his glasses further up his nose.

"That was implied," he says.

"Fine," she says. "I'll have an Ogden's."

He flags the bartender down with a sly motion, as though in the last five minutes the two have established some kind of code. The bartender nods, the transaction appears to be complete, and then Percy motherfucking Weasley hands Pansy her glass.

"Want to sit?" he asks.

She glances around apprehensively (someone might _see_ , after all), but over at her table she can see that Theo's here now, and Daphne's nuzzling his neck in greeting.

Her stomach turns.

"Fine," she permits. "But somewhere else."

He gestures to the bar's patio. "Outside?"

She shrugs. "Fine."

It's a nice night, and they settle in at one of the highboys. She crosses one leg over the other, wondering what they could possibly have to say to one another.

He sips his whisky.

She watches his mouth, briefly.

Then she watches the way his fingers curl around his glass.

His nails are trim but neat. The fingers themselves are long, narrow, ink-stained. He's wearing a battered watch, but it's tasteful. Nothing ostentatious. In fact, there's nothing all that ostentatious about him. His color palette is subdued. His nature, in fact, is subdued. He doesn't seem nervous. He doesn't seem much of anything.

"I'm just staying until the bottom of the glass," she says. Obnoxiously.

He nods curtly. "Likewise."

She blinks, but tries not to betray her surprise.

"So," she attempts. She's a little frustrated that she's the one who loses the battle against silence, but he seems like he might not speak if she doesn't, and she's never been comfortable without some tangible shield of flirtation. "What are you here for?"

"A meeting." He takes a sip. "It went well."

"Oh."

"And you?"

"Sex," she says, with a carefully cultivated boldness.

His gaze cuts sideways.

"Are you implying—"

"Not with you," she assures him bluntly, pointedly raising her glass. "We're just having a drink."

He nods.

They both take a sip.

"What kind of knickers are you wearing?" he asks neutrally, and she promptly chokes, sputtering on a too-large swallow.

"What?" she manages, coughing.

"Lace?" he guesses, his gaze flicking over her. "I'd guess lace. Silk, maybe? Seems impractical, but if you're here for sex—" he trails off, shrugging. "I don't take you for the cotton type, but I suspect you could be surprising."

She, meanwhile, suspects that he's fucking with her.

"They're lace," she admits, crossing her legs a little tighter.

He eyes the liquid in his glass.

"What color?" he asks.

She straightens. "Black," she lies, with confidence.

He chuckles, leaning towards her.

"Liar," he says.

She blinks.

"What color are they, then?" she prompts, and he leans down, adjusting the laces of his oxfords and seeming to consider the air between them before pausing, his voice low.

"They're green," he says, and to her utter displeasure, she shivers. "With pale pink embroidery. Excellent taste," he determines, now leaning away from her and settling back in against the chair. "I think black would have been rather overdone."

She knows he can't see them, but that's _much_ too specific to be a guess.

"Did you just use legilimency on me?" she demands, and he shrugs.

"I'm a very talented wizard," he informs her.

"Fine," she growls, glaring at him. "Then tell me what I'm thinking now."

He shakes his head.

"No," he says without elaboration, and then he adds, "Why don't you tell me what I'm thinking instead?"

She frowns.

She doesn't want to, but also, she really, _really_ wants to.

She forces indifference.

"It's dirty, isn't it?" she guesses dully, and he shrugs.

"Your friend over there," he says, aiming his chin over his shoulder to reference where Daphne and Theo remain inside the bar. "From where she's sitting, she wouldn't see if I were to—" he pauses, his fingertips brushing her knee. "May I?" he asks, and for reasons she cannot possibly fathom, Pansy uncrosses her legs at his prompting. "From where she's sitting," he continues, his fingers drawing up the inside of her knee and pausing at the midpoint of her inner thigh, "she wouldn't be able to see this. Or this," he adds, as Pansy swallows and lets him part her knees further, his fingers now brushing the curve of her thigh. "I could keep going," he adds, raising his glass to his lips with his free hand, "but I think you see my point."

He withdraws his hand and Pansy exhales sharply.

"But," he says, "seeing as I've reached the bottom of my glass—" He drains it, pointedly setting it down on the table. "I think my time here is done."

Pansy stares at him.

And _stares._

"Are you serious?" she demands.

He rises to his feet.

"Would you like to continue?" he asks.

She bites her lip.

Bites it _hard_.

"No," she says, rightfully. "This can't go anywhere."

"Yes, I agree," he says with a nod. "Seems foolish to pursue it."

"Glad we're on the same page," she says coolly, and he nods, already looking over his shoulder and preparing to leave.

"But," Pansy attempts, her throat suddenly quite dry. "If you were to, um, finish what you started, I guess I'm just curious—"

He steps a little closer, digging a business card out of the inner lining of his pocket and handing it to her. He catches her wrist loosely as she accepts it.

"I'd have liked to keep going," he says, "but tonight's not the night."

When he releases her, she glances down at the card.

 _Percy Weasley  
Office of the Minister_

"It's enchanted," he says. "Use it for access to my Floo, if you wish."

She looks up at him, surprised.

"My office Floo," he clarifies, biting back a chuckle. "So don't do anything too drastic."

"I'm not actually going to use this," she reminds him.

He shrugs.

"Goodnight, Miss Parkinson," he says, leaving her behind with his empty glass.

* * *

 **III. (Ambition)**

RSVPing to Daphne's engagement party with a plus one a month ago was not one of Pansy's best ideas.

"A little ambitious," Daphne agrees gently.

Pansy sighs.

"Draco will be there," Daphne reminds her quietly.

"I know," Pansy half-moans, wanting to die. "I can't go alone."

Daphne hesitates. "Well—" she says, and her gaze flicks to where Percy Weasley's card sits on Pansy's dresser, untouched for the past two weeks.

"No," Pansy grumbles instantly. "That's much worse."

"Pans," Daphne attempts, in a voice that Pansy knows contains bad news.

She sighs.

"Draco won't be alone, will he?" Pansy guesses, and Daphne winces in answer.

Of course he has a date.

 _Of course_ he has a date.

Pansy picks up the card.

"Fine," she exhales grumpily, heading towards her Floo.

When she walks into Percy Weasley's office, he's still working. He glances up at her and she comes to a halt, freezing in place while he adjusts his glasses.

"Yes?" he says.

"I," she begins, and can't quite cough it out of her throat. "What are you," she sputters instead, "some sort of secretary?"

He blinks.

"Undersecretary," he says. "To the Minister."

"Oh." She chews her response. "Is that prestigious?"

His mouth barely quirks, in the subtlest possible indication of amusement.

"To some," he permits. "But I don't think you're here for my prestige."

Her mouth falls open, and then snaps shut.

"What do you do?" he asks.

"Go to parties," she hurls back, daring him to mock her.

He rises to his feet, declining the opening.

"You need something," he notes, almost as if he's guessing.

"Is that legilimency?" she sniffs.

His mouth twitches. "Observation," he corrects. "Of course, my perception of social behaviors is often rather flawed, so—"

"I need a date," she confirms. "An engagement party for my friend Daphne."

She pauses, and he waits.

"Tomorrow night," she clarifies.

His brows arch, surprised.

"Tomorrow night," he echoes, stepping around his desk. "Rather last minute."

"I know." She stiffens, unapologetic. "So, will you go or not?"

"Depends," he says, taking a step towards her, and then another.

He brings them face to face and tilts his head down, considering her.

"Ask me nicely," he says.

She rolls her eyes.

"Please, then," she says.

He steps closer.

He smells clean, like a sea breeze, and—very much against her will—she glimpses a comparable blue in his eyes.

"Ask me," he murmurs, " _nicely_."

She swallows.

"Will you please go with me?" she asks. "I need your help. I—" she exhales. "I need you to say yes."

He lets a beat of silence pass.

Then—

"Dress robes?" he asks.

She exhales the breath she didn't know she was holding.

"Yes," she says.

"Will black and white robes be acceptable?" he prompts.

"Yes."

"And you will be wearing—?"

"Green," she says, and feels her cheeks flush hot at the memory when she meets his eye.

He half-smiles. "And I will be your—?"

"Boyfriend," she supplies, flinching. "If you can stand the lie."

He glances down, eyeing her hand, and then he reaches for it. He holds it to his lips, brushing them slowly, tenderly (agonizingly) across her knuckles, the whole of it more breath than contact.

"Very well, Miss Parkinson," he says, half-bruising her with the impact.

* * *

 **IV. (Convenience)**

In the end, she spends the entire night avoiding Draco.

"There you are," Percy says quietly, rounding the corner to where she's pressed flat against the corridor wall, wishing to dissolve into it. "You know, if you want to leave—"

"I can't leave," she snaps. "He's—" she withers. "He'll see."

Percy says nothing.

"It's just hard," she manages after a few beats of silence, "because it used to be the four of us. You know? Since we were kids. But now Daphne and Theo are getting married, and Draco has something _real_ , and I," she concludes, swallowing. "I have—"

"Me?" Percy prompts, with a faint air of self-deprecation.

She sighs.

"I just meant," Pansy amends, "that he has someone he cares about, and who cares about him, and you're—"

"Convenient," Percy replies.

"Yes," Pansy concedes miserably. "You're here because I begged."

Percy pauses.

"No," he says. "I'm here because I wanted to be." He pauses again, sipping his glass of wine. "Though, coincidentally, I did enjoy hearing you say please."

She sighs again. Less sulkily this time, or so she intends.

"Sorry I keep ditching you," she exhales. "I really just—"

She breaks off, recognizing Draco's voice, and feels the blood drain from her face as she recognizes a woman's voice with him.

"I," she attempts helplessly, their footsteps growing louder, and Percy glances down at her.

"Close your eyes," he says.

"Wh-"

"Close them," he murmurs, and places his hands on her hips, aligning them with his.

She obeys, and she feels his lips brush her cheeks, first, and then her nose, and then each of her eyelids, Draco's voice coming closer.

"Relax," Percy says, and draws her chin up, his lips meeting hers.

She gasps, her eyes fluttering open.

Percy's eyes float shut.

She deepens the kiss, pulling him towards her, and she briefly registers the sound of Draco's footfall coming to a halt as Percy yanks her dress up, sliding his palm against the outside of her thigh and fitting himself between her legs.

The footfall resumes, the echo of it fading in the opposite direction, and only then does Percy lean away.

Pansy, lamenting the loss of him, tangles her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck. He matches the pressure with his fingertips, digging them into her waist.

"Don't stop," she whispers.

He looks her in the eye, gauging the truth of it.

Then he apparates them away.

* * *

 **V. (Pillowtalk)**

"God, I love your pussy, Pansy, your cunt is so fucking wet, so fucking wet for me. Could fuck you like this all night, all fucking night, Pansy, fuck, you're so good. You're so good. You're so fucking hot, Pansy. You're so beautiful. You're so fucking beautiful and you feel so good, so fucking good, _fuck_. Do you like that, Pansy? Like it when I fuck you like this? You want it harder, Pansy? Deeper? Tell me. I want to watch you, want to see your face when I make you come. You're so fucking hot, Pansy, _fuck_ —come on, come for me, baby—"

She comes so hard she can't see.

" _Fuck_ ," she whispers, shuddering hard, and he pauses, brushing her sweat-slicked hair back from her eyes and staring intently, voraciously, at her face.

"You're so fucking gorgeous when you come," he says without hesitation, and for some reason, she believes him.

* * *

 **VI. (Pretense)**

She isn't sure what to make of their night together, so she decides to make it nothing.

Three days go by.

Then he shows up in her bedroom Floo.

"Are you still my girlfriend?" he asks simply, and she frowns.

"That was just—"

"Pretense, yes," he agrees. "But are you able to continue?"

She thinks about it.

"It won't be pleasant," he says, in a tone that suggests she really shouldn't ask.

"Maybe if you ask nicely," she sniffs, and he steps towards her, backing her against her bed and throwing an arm around her just before she falls back onto it, lowering her carefully near the edge.

"Very well," he says, and lowers himself to his knees, his hands tracing the inside of her thigh.

"Please," he says, sliding her skirt up. "Will you"—to the curve of her thigh—"accompany me"—his breath against the cotton of her knickers—"to a family dinner"—she stiffens at that, but his tongue darts against her clit, brushing it through the fabric—"please?"

"You said please twice," she informs him, inhaling sharply as he nudges the fabric inside and buries his fingers inside her, his tongue sliding against her knickers once again.

"I'm asking you _very_ nicely," he murmurs to the lips of her cunt, chastely kissing them through the fabric, and she foolishly murmurs something like agreement, letting him lay her back against the bed.

* * *

 **VII. (Indignation)**

"Oh, right, almost forgot Perce was here. No use making jokes, is there?"

Pansy watches Percy swallow, eyeing his plate as he methodically flexes his fingers.

It's been several hours of this already, with only brief intermissions.

"Oh, you know how _serious_ Percy is. Always so terribly caught up in things, isn't he?"

"No, Mum, the de-gnoming situation in the garden is serious. Excessive taxation is serious. Overpopulation of the _planet_ is serious. Percy, on the other hand, is bloody funereal."

"Remember the time he tried to convince us that bureaucracy was actually some sort of beautiful, ingenious thing? Honestly, we can do _magic_ and it's paperwork he loves—"

"Stop it," Pansy erupts without warning, slamming her fork down against the table and startling everyone into silence. "First of all," she announces, catching the motion of Percy's gaze dropping apprehensively to the table and ignoring it entirely, "he doesn't love the bureaucracy itself, you twits. He enjoys the satisfaction of his work, which is something none of you blithering idiots can say—joke shop owner, low-level meter maid, professional ball juggler," she accuses hotly, pointing a declaratory finger at each of the stunned freckled morons. "Secondly, he manages to be far more interesting than all of you combined, and _he_ doesn't have to stoop to idiotic puns and tasteless sarcasm to do it."

She throws her napkin down, glaring over at the Weasley matriarch.

"And as for you," she snaps at Molly Weasley, "if you didn't plan to love all your children equally, then you shouldn't have had so many. And THANK YOU FOR DINNER, IT WAS LOVELY," she finishes, kicking her chair back and heading for the Floo.

She grimaces when she hears footsteps following behind her; hears her mother's voice in her head— _behave, Pansy, hold your tongue!—_ and curls her fingernails anxiously into her palm, flinching at the pathetically delayed input from her better judgment. This was _his_ family, after all; he had wanted her to make things _easier_ , to help him simply _blend in_ , and what has she done instead?

"I'm sorry," she sighs without turning. "I know I shouldn't have lost my temper, but—"

"Thank you."

She blinks, turning to face him.

"What?" she asks, bewildered, as Percy takes a series of slow, prowling steps towards her.

"I said," he repeats, backing her against the mantle of the fireplace, "thank you."

His hand slips under her skirt, startling her into a gasp as he kisses her.

"What are you—"

He catches her sheepish mewl of pleasure on his tongue, pressing himself against her.

"Quiet," he murmurs, "or my family will hear you."

She pauses for a moment, utterly confounded, and draws back to look at him. His mouth, bitten and red from her kiss, twists up wryly in what appears to be softened amusement, and in a moment of devious recognition, Pansy feels her own lips curl up in a matching smile.

"Oh _god_ ," she says loudly, tugging him closer. "OH, PERCY, _YES_ —"

He growls his approval into her neck, drawing one of her legs over his hip as she fumbles with his belt, half-laughing into his mouth.

"OH, YES, RIGHT THERE—"

"There?" he murmurs with a chuckle, and despite the theatricality of the entire situation, she still can't help a moan of approval.

"PERCY, YOUR DICK, IT'S HU-"

"Too much," he cuts in gruffly, and she giggles as he digs his nails into the skin of her thigh.

"Sorry," she whispers insincerely, letting her head fall back with a groan.

* * *

 **VIII. (Defense)**

"So," Daphne says neutrally. "Do you like him, then?"

"I told you," Pansy grunts impatiently, "I just need a boyfriend through the winter, and he's a genuinely good fuck. It's not like it's going to last."

"But you're seeing him tonight," Daphne muses. "Even though you saw him last night?"

"I'm sure the effect will wear off shortly," Pansy airily remarks, holding up a pair of black stilettos and looking to Daphne for approval. "Hey, do these say 'authority' to you?"

"They say 'sex,' I think," Daphne supplies.

"That works too," Pansy determines, nodding with approval.

* * *

 **IX. (Roleplay)**

"The Minister will see you now," Pansy calls, legs crossed expectantly from where she sits behind his desk.

He opens the door slowly, nodding slyly as he looks at her.

"Madame Minister," he opens, inclining his head.

"Mr Weasley," she returns primly. "Is there something you needed?"

"I brought you the forms you requested," he replies, with practiced solemnity.

"Bring them to me."

He steps forward, slowly running his thumb along the line of his lower lip.

"WW-426," he begins, setting it down on her desk. "Signed and dated, just as you asked—"

"And the others?" Pansy prompts. "Is everything as I requested it?"

"I don't know what you mean, Madame Minister," he replies coolly, watching her as she rises to her feet, stepping around the desk to reach him. "What else did you ask for?"

"I _asked_ ," Pansy says, sliding her hand down the front of his trousers, "for you to make sure I was satisfied in every way. And do I look—" she trails off, rubbing her palm against the stiff head of his cock. " _Satisfied_ , Mr Weasley?"

He inhales sharply, shifting against her hand.

"Ah-ah," she warns, shaking her head. "I didn't say you could move, Mr Weasley. Did I?"

"I don't think I can satisfy you very well without some degree of motion, Madame Minister," he replies, his gaze dropping to her bare chest and sliding, with some degree of restraint, down the lines of her torso, falling to her stiletto heels and dragging approvingly back up. "Perhaps if you were to give me some instruction?"

She grabs hold of his tie, yanking him towards her.

"Fuck me on my desk, Mr Weasley," she instructs him, "and do it well, or you'll be fired for your incompetence."

He picks her up without a word, clearing the desk of its papers and setting her down on top of it with his arm wrapped tight around her ribs.

"You know," he murmurs in her ear, "I'm aware this is _your_ fantasy, but I think I'm quite enjoying it myself."

"Did I say you could speak, Mr Weasley?" Pansy prompts, pulling the tie from around his neck and letting it drop to the floor as she lays herself back against the desk. "I believe your instructions were to satisfy me, not bore me."

He yanks her hips towards him, smiling darkly.

"I suppose you don't want me to tell you how hard I'm going to fuck you, then?" he prompts neutrally. "And I probably shouldn't say anything about how wet I'm going to make you, or how much you're going to beg for me—"

"Put your dick in me," Pansy pants, wrapping her legs around his hips, "or you're fired."

He smiles.

She knows he is going to toy with her when it's his turn; but that, she supposes, is the benefit of going first.

It's not currently her problem.

"Yes ma'am," he permits, just before impressively fucking himself straight to an imaginary raise.

* * *

 **X. (Roleplay, Part II)**

"Miss Parkinson," he says, making a soft tutting sound. "Out of bed this late, are you?"

"I'm just going to meet my boyfriend," she replies, which is improvised, but he doesn't seem opposed. "Please don't tell the headmaster."

"Well, I'm afraid I'm going to have to," he says. "I _am_ Head Boy, after all."

"But if you do, I'll be in trouble," Pansy whispers, biting her lip. "I'll lose my Prefect badge."

"Well," he muses, circling her, "I suppose you'll just have to make it up to me, then, won't you?"

"I'll do anything," Pansy assures him, laying it on thick. "Anything you want, Weasley—just _please_ don't tell anyone you saw me."

He steps closer.

"Anything?" he asks.

She trills with anticipation.

"Anything," she promises.

He smiles.

"Tell me, Miss Parkinson," he murmurs. "Are you a good girl?"

"Very," she tells him. "Always."

"Always?" he muses. "So you've never touched yourself, then?"

"Never," she whispers, feeling a thrill of excitement.

"Well," he says. "I'd be remiss if I didn't help you, I think." He takes a step back, resting his hands on her hips. "Perhaps you should take this off," he suggests, and she obliges, removing the old Hogwarts uniform she'd dug up from her school things. "And these," he adds, his gaze flicking to her white cotton knickers.

She obediently steps out of them, never taking her eyes from his. "Is that all?"

He gestures to her blouse and she removes it, letting it fall slowly from her fingers.

"I'm nervous," she says.

"Don't be," he replies. "Now tell me, Miss Parkinson," he says, with a breathy air of contemplation. "Is your pussy wet?"

"Yes," she whispers.

"Wetter than when your boyfriend looks at you?"

"Yes."

"Wetter than when he touches you?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because you fascinate me," she says, surprising herself with the truth, and he seems to catch the look of startled wonder that must have filled her eyes.

"Touch yourself," he says.

She shivers.

She knows he's going to make her work for this one.

* * *

 **XI. (Fitting)**

"Here," he says, tossing her a faded crimson jumper.

She makes a face as she catches it.

"Really?" she prompts skeptically, holding it up with a grimace of something that she's pretty sure he can tell is disgust. "It has your initial on it."

"Or," he suggests, "it has _your_ initial on it."

She considers that for a moment.

"It is very soft," she grumbles in concession.

"You don't have to wear it," he says, shrugging, "if you don't want to. I'd just as happily have you sleep in nothing."

He himself is sleeping in next to nothing, slipping under his covers in his underwear and nothing else. She, on the other hand, is immensely cold, and she shivers at the prospect, glancing skeptically at the ruins of her white oxford where it sits discarded on the floor.

"Fine," she says, and pulls the jumper on. It's a little lumpy and long, probably even for him, and it skims the tops of her thighs. "How does it look?"

His mouth quirks.

"Very fitting," he says, and beckons to her.

She sighs, climbing in next to him.

"I don't cuddle," she warns him. "I don't like it."

"Fine," he agrees. "This is purely a matter of sleeping, isn't it? Sleep however you like."

She lies down on her back, and he on his.

"Goodnight," he says, in a perfunctory sort of way.

"Goodnight," she agrees, and he rolls onto his stomach, his head turned away from her.

She closes her eyes.

Opens them.

She scoots over slightly so that the barest centimeters of skin are touching, thigh to thigh.

His arm shifts, draping itself over her hips.

She closes her eyes again.

She falls asleep almost instantly.

* * *

 **XII. (Habit)**

"Goodnight," he says, turning out the light the next night.

"Goodnight," she agrees, and turns onto her side, facing the wall as he faces the door.

 _I don't like cuddling_ , Draco had said to her once.

 _Neither do I,_ she'd replied, and they'd gotten in the practice of sleeping back to back, operating in separate spheres. She was used to sleeping on her right side, and he on his left. It was habit, a natural inclination. It hadn't seemed like the beginning of the end, even though it probably had been.

Here, in the strangeness of now, Pansy accidentally lets out a slow exhalation at the memory. Horrifyingly, it emerges as something like a mournful sigh.

She feels Percy shift in bed, nudging her shoulder with his.

She waits for a moment, feeling the warmth of him, and then she slides her hand behind her, resting it on his thigh.

He loops his pinky through hers, squeezing it once.

They fall asleep back to back.

* * *

 **XIII. (Holiday)**

"Happy Christmas, Miss Parkinson," he murmurs to her as they stretch out on the carpet beside the fireplace. "Was this a sufficient gift?"

She thinks about it.

Then she leans over, resting her hand on his bare chest.

"Tell me more about the liability waivers," she beckons at a murmur, not quite ready to be finished with him. His gaze cuts slyly to hers.

"First," he says quietly, tracing his fingers up the curve of her inner thigh, "you have to file form WW-414 to submit a request for permit."

"Oh god," Pansy exhales, parting her legs for him. "And then?"

"And then," he continues, rolling over to settle himself between her knees, "you have to submit to the Ministry Events department office on the third floor. With," he adds, taking a handful of her hair and speaking low in her ear, "three sickles for a filing fee."

"Fuck," Pansy breathes, letting her head fall back when he releases her. "And after the permit?"

" _If_ the Unspeakable grants the permit," Percy goes on neutrally, "you are then responsible for filling out form HP-12 and taking that upstairs"—he pauses, bending his lips to her neck—"for someone in Wizard Accounting to approve."

A gasp cuts between them. "And?"

He chuckles, his lips taking a lazy, torturous path from her torso down, down, down, lower, _yes, there—_

"And then," he says gruffly, capturing a moan between her lips. "If you're lucky," he clarifies, the words murmured into her cunt, "more paperwork."

"Oh god," she gasps, the feel of his lips so furiously decadent that she closes her eyes, wondering whether she has ever had a Christmas as thoroughly rewarding as this one.

* * *

 **XIV. (Friends)**

"Theo," Pansy says, "this is Percy. Percy, Theo."

They shake hands in a perfunctory way. Theo has never really been her friend; only Draco's. But having been Daphne's boyfriend since they were sixteen, there was some obligation that Theo come along to assuage their collective curiosity—if only at his soon-to-be wife's insistence.

"And this is Daphne," Pansy continues, feeling the lurch she always does at the introduction. Daphne is beautiful— _naturally_ beautiful, unlike Pansy, who requires beauty charms and a certain amount of pliability from her hair to distract away from the nose she unrelentingly hates—and there is always a brief pang of wondering on Pansy's end if they (whoever any given 'they' is) might find Daphne the more desirable object of attention.

"Daphne's my best friend," Pansy adds, even though they all know this, because she immediately feels guilty for her unpleasant internal monologue.

"Hi," Daphne offers with her usual radiance, sparing Percy a dazzling smile.

He nods. "Nice to meet you," he says.

Then he reaches for Pansy with his free hand, lightly touching the inside of her elbow.

She takes comfort from it—from the benefit of his proximity—but it doesn't register as anything more. Not right away.

Despite the signs (like that one), Pansy doesn't actually realize right away how nervous Percy is. In fact, it only occurs to her in stages.

First, he babbles something incomprehensible about the principles of queuing, which even Pansy has to admit is outrageously mundane.

Then he fails to laugh at a joke Theo makes, hurriedly making up for it with a strangely misplaced chuckle.

Then, when the light touch against Pansy's elbow evolves to an arm wrapped tightly around her waist, it finally dawns on her.

"You're doing fine," she assures him, leaning in to say it in his ear. "They like you."

Percy lets out a breath, turning to spare her half a smile, and that's when she notices something else: that he doesn't look at Daphne—or anyone—the way he looks at her.

Not even close.

* * *

 **XV. (Ours)**

"Pansy," he says. "May I ask why there's a dog on my sofa?"

"You can ask," she replies, "but I don't think he'll answer."

Percy sighs.

"Very funny," he says.

The truth is that she found the dog, the giant Saint Bernard, wandering around in the snow in Diagon. She already checked; he's not an Animagus. He's just a dog, and a hungry dog, too, and because she couldn't take him home—where her mother would sniff her disapproval and her father would cast an unsympathetic veto—she took him here, instead.

She explains this with slightly more panache, leaning into the humor of the situation, but she wonders if Percy can see that she genuinely doesn't want to let the poor fur-laden menace go.

"He's sweet," she attempts, though even she knows that's a meager offering at best. "See?" she adds hopefully, as the dog begins to pant heavily in Percy's face, promptly fogging up his glasses.

"Well," Percy says uncomfortably, "I'm not generally a dog person."

She grimaces and nods, deflating.

"But I suppose if he needs a home," Percy continues, looking pained, and then he trails off, letting her draw her own conclusions from the fact that he has now allowed the dog to vigorously sniff his face, knocking his glasses askew.

Pansy turns to face him, swallowing exuberance in favor of something passably refined.

"Do you know," she finally says, "I hate almost everyone I know, but I think, at this moment, I hate you the least."

The dog expresses something similar, lurching down and resting his slobbering chin atop Percy's immaculate trousers.

"Well," Percy permits, clearly fighting his own discomfort. "What will you name him, then?"

"Me?" Pansy asks. "He's your dog."

Percy blinks, turning slowly to face her.

For a second, she's terrified he'll change his mind, say no, call her a fool; treat her to a buffet of mockery and disdain. Which, she abruptly realizes, is something she would expect from anyone else in her life.

Instead, he says, "Our dog."

She buries her face furiously in the dog's fur, hoping Percy doesn't see the look of total madness on her face. She's fairly certain it's something that's part smile and part encroaching sobs, but either way, it's an outrageous, unbridled flood of emotions. It's definitely something inadvisable, too, because there will almost certainly be a time after him. She's sure of it, in fact. There will be the time before him, the time _of_ him, and then the time after him, and so she hides her inconvenient satisfaction.

"Fine," she sniffs eventually. "Except he lives here, and you have to take care of him most of the time, so you should probably name him."

Percy nods, patting the dog's head with a truly resplendent awkwardness.

"Ronald," he decides.

Pansy fights a laugh. "Isn't that your brother's name?"

"Yes," he admits. "I'm not very good at names."

Pansy straightens to wrap her arms around his neck, pulling him towards her.

There will be a time after him, she knows, but right now that's not her problem.

"Actually," she says, "I rather think you are."

* * *

 **XVI. (Bonding)**

For a while, the dog renders them domestic. Ronald, who is more often referred to by Percy (for reasons Pansy doesn't fully understand) as 'Dog Quixote' or 'Dog Giovanni,' relentlessly follows Percy around his flat, panting up at him with such a slavish expression of adoration that gradually Percy, too, begins to look some degree of fond. He and Pansy now spend most of their nights doing nothing together on the sofa, one of Percy's arms slung around Pansy's shoulders while the other absently pats Ronald's head, reading in comfortable silence while a long series of January storms rages outside.

"Come on," Pansy says eventually, tugging at Percy's belt and luring him out of their sluggish coma of contentment. "It's been all day, Weasley. I want to hear you write sonnets to my pussy."

"But," Percy protests helplessly, glancing at where the dog is eyeing them from his spot on the sofa. "He's watching."

Pansy groans, pulling away. "If I'd known the dog was going to interfere with my sex life, I might not have rescued him," she grumbles unhappily, and Percy catches her face in his hands.

"We can close the door," he suggests, and though Dog Quixote seems vaguely displeased by the prospect of them tripping over each other to his bedroom, she figures he'll get over it.

* * *

 **XVII. (Fixation)**

She's never met a man who enjoys cunnilingus as much as he does. He seems to genuinely _revel_ in it, too, not merely perform it, and he does it with a fascinating contemplation; a thriving shiver of sensations, as if the taste of her is not enough without the feel of her, without the capture of her breath between his hands.

She also didn't realize there were so many ways to have her pussy licked until she met him. He sucks her clit while she lays back on the kitchen table, kneeling at the edge of it and draping her legs over his shoulders; he slides underneath her when she climbs into his lap, leaving her helplessly straddling his jaw. He does it in the shower, on his knees while her back presses against the too-cold tiles; he does it from behind while she's on all fours, his fingers wrapped around her thighs. He makes a wreckage of her, her legs shaking from the smallest motions of his tongue, and she wonders if she ever truly repays the favor.

"Do you feel that?" she whispers after she groans, her hips arching up as her own sensations cascade in waves and her fingers tighten in the soft strands of his hair. "Do you feel the way you make me come?"

He gives her a look like his soul is fucking escaping his body.

"Pansy," he says, more shudder than sound, and then, all at once, she no longer wonders.

By virtue of her wanting, she can see her debt is more than repaid.

* * *

 **XVIII. (Saints)**

"Saint Valentine was murdered," Pansy comments, eyeing the inane display of pink and red hearts coming from Twilfitt and Tattings. "He was tortured and killed and hastily reburied, and somehow I'm supposed to want to buy chocolate?"

"Perhaps it was more commercially viable than death," Percy suggests blithely, "and seeing as there's already a holiday for severed heads and cobwebs, Valentine's Day had to select a different avenue."

"Well, when you're right, you're right," Pansy permits, shrugging. "Though I would think there's plenty of room for more murder-related holidays."

"In fairness, Halloween is more about death and the spiritual otherworlds than murder," Percy remarks, humming to himself as he considers it. "So, if you want, we can make Valentine's Day a murder holiday. Presuming you don't actually intend to commit any homicide," he cautions her. "In which case, I must request that you refrain."

"What if I don't kill you?" Pansy suggests brightly. "I could kill someone else. We could do it together," she adds, and nudges him. "Come on. Wouldn't it be romantic?"

"What, a joint killing?" Percy says. "I'm flattered, but appropriately on edge, I think."

"You know, I think you'd know what to do," Pansy comments tangentially. "How to get away with it, I mean. You would know which spells are tracked by the Ministry, and how fast things decay, and what times of day to dispose of a body, and basically everything monotonous that normal people get caught with, you know? I think you'd be the only person in the entire world who could fully get away with it. Ooh look, pretty," she says, pointing to some sugar-spun garlands in the windows of his brother's shop, but then she realizes that he's paused somewhere behind her.

She stops, turning towards him with a frown, and takes a few steps back to where he's abruptly come to a halt, staring into nothing.

"What is it?" she asks him, bewildered.

"That," he rasps, swallowing heavily, "is perhaps the kindest thing anyone has ever said to me."

"What?" she demands, wondering what exactly she even said aside from idly suggesting he pursue a career in serial killing. "That's insane."

"You realize that most people think I'm useless," Percy informs her, with so little hesitation it makes her heart hurt. "I know it, and I'm sure you do too. I'm aware that most people find me dull, and they consider my conversation topics trivial and mundane. But you, you just—"

He breaks off, choking slightly on emotion, and Pansy is more than a little alarmed.

"Um," she begins, resting her hand lightly on his arm. "There, there—"

"I would happily help you kill someone," he promises her firmly. "Provided your life was at stake," he amends, "or possibly if it were to save the entirety of mankind. There are of course caveats," he clarifies unnecessarily, "but provided I approved of your motives, then I would willingly aid in your homicide."

"Weasley," Pansy chides playfully. "People can hear!"

"Let them," he invites, with a decided dearth of shame. "Anyone who isn't at least a little afraid of you, Miss Parkinson, lacks a terrifying amount of self-preservation."

She leans into him at that, raising her chin on instinct when he turns to brush his lips thoughtfully against hers.

"And that," she informs him, "is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to _me_ , so we're even."

He pauses, something half-said forming on his tongue, and she wonders if he knows what he wants to say. She thinks that _she_ knows, and for once, she hopes that she's wrong, because she isn't sure she's ready yet. She can feel her legs twitch beneath her and she knows if he says it before she's ready, she'll run.

She'll run, and then it'll progress to the time after him, and at this moment, she's absolutely certain that that's the very last thing that she wants.

"Pansy," he murmurs, and she holds her breath.

Feels it swell, and waits to burst.

"Hungry?" he asks neutrally.

She exhales.

"Sure," she replies.

"Too bad," he says, "because I'm planning to fuck you like I just got away with murder."

She shivers.

"Fucking twisted," she proclaims, relishing the contortions of his mind.

She wasn't hungry anyway.

* * *

 **XIX. (Important)**

She and her mother fight often. It's nothing new.

Pansy's always been a disappointment to her mother. She couldn't hold on to Draco, after all; she had one shot at a decent pureblooded engagement and she failed, and to begin with, she's not as pretty as her mother was, nor as docile or as sweet, and so Pansy has always been a thorn on the rose of perfection that is Dahlia Parkinson's life. Pansy is the only child, the only hope, and thus the only disappointment. This is nothing new.

So yes, this is far from their first fight about Pansy's failings, but this fight is slightly different than the others, because the words "I love him" slip out tearfully without warning. Of course, in the moment that it happens Pansy's pretty sure she's just saying it, and that it doesn't mean anything at all. It's just something she says, isn't it? Something she throws out like a weapon when she fights with her overbearing mother.

She said "I love him," like an idiot, and then, like an idiot, she ran.

She checks his flat first, but he's not there. Dog Quixote is, and he gives her a quizzical stare, so she pats his head and dries her tears in his fur but she keeps going, passing through the Floo to Percy's office.

"Weasley," she announces, "I need you to—"

She breaks off as she sees him sitting with a member of the Wizengamot. They're clearly drinking something expensive and discussing something Private and Important and Pansy has a rush of memories—of her father closing his office door to keep her out, of "I'm busy right now, Pansy," and "you can show me later, Pansy," and "Pansy, it will have to wait"—and in the spirit of crippling nostalgia she backs away quickly, mumbling apologies under her breath.

"One moment," Percy offers to the Warlock, and Pansy freezes in place as he rises to his feet, coming towards her.

"Is everything okay?" he asks quietly. He's analyzing her, she can tell; it's an investigatory question. _Is everything okay_ , the first step to assessing the problem.

"It can wait," she says, and he nods.

She's about to head shamefully back through the Floo when Percy's voice cuts through the room again.

"Warlock Hawkworth," he beckons formally, "have you met Pansy Parkinson?"

Pansy recognizes the Warlock's name from countless newspapers; from the important sections of the paper, too, the ones she tries to read but doesn't always manage. Her mind buzzes as the Warlock says something along the lines of _no, no, haven't had the pleasure—_

"Isn't he important?" she whispers furtively to Percy, her fingers darting out to grip his waist. "I shouldn't be here."

Percy glances down, assessing her a second time.

"You're my girlfriend," he tells her. "You're important."

She blinks.

She has never thought of this as being true before.

"Do you mind talking with him?" Percy presses quietly. "If you'd rather not, I understand."

"Me? But—" She blinks again. "Are you sure that I won't—" She drops her voice. "You know. Embarrass you?"

He looks bemused, as though that particular prospect has never occurred to him before.

Then he leans over, kissing her cheek, and nudges her towards the Warlock.

"Pansy's a very talented witch," Percy says firmly. "Top of her class at Hogwarts, and quite a charming conversationalist. I think her perspective would be quite valuable to you, Warlock," he says, and he continues on, saying something about retail or development or perhaps unicorns or pirates, but Pansy doesn't hear him.

All she can hear is _valuable_ and _important_ and she wants to cry again, only she wouldn't dare ruin this for him. So she smiles as politely as she can, sits as straight as her spine will permit, and lays her hand carefully (and respectfully) on Percy's knee.

He rests his hand on top of hers, brushing his thumb over her knuckles, and while the Warlock drones on about something only marginally coherent, she flips Percy's hand over, tracing her nails along his palm.

 _I love you,_ she writes, and his fingers contract slightly as he registers the message.

 _Good_ , he writes back on her knuckles, as the smallest, most unassuming of smiles traipses across his lips.

It's so miniscule a motion that the Warlock doesn't catch it.

In fact, it's so astoundingly him in its smallness that _only she_ would catch it.

Because she loves him.

And he hasn't said it yet, but she knows. He has already said as much in all the ways that matter.

He loves her.

* * *

 **XX. (Spring)**

"Snow's melting," he says, handing her a cup of coffee and nudging Dog Giovanni over before slipping back in bed beside her, gesturing out the window. "Nearly spring."

"Strange," she murmurs, letting the warmth of the mug bleed into her fingers. "I'm pretty sure there's something I was supposed to do when the snow melted."

"Oh?" he asks, turning to look at her. First thing in the morning his hair is always a mess, some of it sticking straight up while the rest cascades forward into his eyes, and her gaze traces the shape of it thoughtfully. "What was it?"

She considers telling him.

He is so appealing, and so endearing, and she wonders if there is anything left in her heart that she doesn't want him to have, so she considers telling him.

But it now seems so foolish a concept it disappears entirely, lost to the recesses of her idiot past.

"Did you fall in love with me on purpose?" she asks instead, indulging a strange, sudden curiosity.

"With intention, you mean?" he asks.

She considers it.

"Yes," she rules. "Sure, with intention."

"The steps were all there," he says. "The algorithm of it. I might not have bought you that drink. Might not have given you my card. Might not have felt the need to help you when you asked. So I suppose that's some evidence of intent, isn't it?"

She groans. "Just answer the question."

He turns, his gaze falling slowly on hers.

"I knew what I was doing when I fell in love with you," he says, and then corrects himself. "I didn't fall," he amends. "I went willingly." He pauses. "Does that make sense?"

"So there was a deliberate quality?" she muses.

"Yes," he agrees. "I certainly wasn't dragged."

They both sip their coffee.

"Will you go with me to Daphne's wedding?" she asks neutrally. "It'll be a whole thing," she adds, making a face. "Society and all that. My mother. My ex. _That_ whole thing."

He nods.

By now, he more than understands the subtext.

"That's in the summer," he remarks, his gaze drifting out to the melting snow.

"I know," she says. "No snow."

"No snow," he confirms.

"But I'll need you there," she says. "Survival technique."

He turns his head, half a smile pulling at his mouth, and brushes his lips against her forehead.

"Survival technique," he agrees.

* * *

 _ **a/n:** Happy birthday AngelicaElizaAndPeggy! Also, go check out Aurora's edit on tumblr, and many thanks (as ever) for reading. The coming month will be primarily focused on finishing **Nobility** (which is the multi-chaptered expansion of Chapter 22, Chaotic Good, if you weren't already aware of that) but I do have a few unfinished drafts (and a few long overdue birthday gifts) to wrap up and put in here soon! _


	98. Things About You

**Things About You**

 _Pairing:_ Nottgrass (Theo Nott x Daphne Greengrass)

 _Universe:_ _Nobility_ prequel

 _Rating:_ M for sex

 _Summary:_ A birthday gift for oblivionbaby, whom I love and who loved _Nobility_ (the full story expanded from chapter 22 of this collection, _Chaotic Good_.) A note: this story can stand alone, but the setting may be hard to follow without having read either _Nobility_ or _Chaotic Good_.

Daphne Greengrass and Theo Nott are promised to each other as children in a court filled with turmoil and uncertainty. From the moment they meet, they only know one thing: they definitely do not want each other.

* * *

At six years old, Lady Daphne Greengrass understood a great many things about the world. Namely that her father was a great man at court, which made her wealthy, and that her recently deceased mother had been descended from a long line of titles, which made her noble. Daphne understood that she was expected to behave in precisely the right way at all times, and that the right way was not always the same way each time. She understood, too, that there were sides to all things—a right one, and a wrong one—but it was difficult to know the right one from a distance, and so it was important to keep her heart and her mouth distinctly separate entities until she could be sure.

She understood that her father kept her at court because her mother had born only two daughters, and so her own marriage was the only thing that would conceivably bring her parents the avenue for prestige they might have had if she had been a son. She understood clearly that one day very soon she would be promised to a man—a lord or a duke if she were lucky—and from then on, she would belong to him, and she would have to listen to him, the same way she listened to her father. She understood all these things, and lived beneath the weight of them, accepting them as true.

Mostly, though, Daphne understood that she was alone.

 **oOo**

There were a few other children at court; mostly boys, the sons of nobles who were raised to follow their fathers' footsteps into battle to fight for one king or another. For now, it was the Peverell King, but his intended heir had long ago been killed, and the line of succession was still uncertain. Daphne knew when her father slid into a room with angry-looking men and shut the door it meant that something was going to happen, and more importantly, that she should leave.

So she did.

On one such occasion, the clatter of wooden swords brought her to the courtyard, where two boys were fighting—or perhaps playing, though they both had their teeth gritted, no doubt struggling to ensure the other would not win.

One of the boys was easy enough to identify. He was Draco Malfoy, the only son of Lucius Malfoy, whose pale blond hair always made him seem like the sleek golden strands on Daphne's loveliest dresses; the ones she only wore at Christmas, or for especially extravagant things. He seemed to her to be a very valuable thing, if a bit cold. Not unlike her mother's jewels.

The other boy, she noted, was dark and slight and extremely thin, as if he were little more than a shadow; a slip of a thing, really, and far smaller than Draco, though they must have been the same age. The other boy had his dark brow furrowed, sweat dripping down his forehead, and as Draco aimed high, the other boy stumbled to counter, nearly slipping in the loose mud beneath his feet.

"Careful, Theo," Draco taunted, his pale hair glinting in the light. "Don't _fall_ ," he sang, and leapt forward, hitting the other boy—Theo, as it were, making him almost certainly Theodore Nott and therefore the son of a duke, although that certainly wasn't evident at first glance—square in the chest and sending him flying back in the mud, teeth gnashed together in pain.

"Stop it," Daphne interrupted, lifting her skirts and launching herself at where Draco stood laughing, gracelessly mocking Theo's collision with the ground. "Stop—it's not funny! Here, let me help you," she offered, turning to Theo and stretching out her hand. "Are you hurt?"

For a moment, he simply stared at her, his eyes widening slightly. They were dark, she thought, like the rest of him; there were shadows in his gaze as well as his motions, and she watched the rapid change in his expression, from shock to dismay to anger.

"Go away," he spat at her, shoving himself onto his feet and glaring over his shoulder. "We're busy."

Daphne, who had never been spoken to that way before, glowered defiantly back. "I'm just trying to help," she informed him, as his mouth tightened to a thin, mean line.

"I don't need your help," he retorted flatly, and then he shoved past her, heading back to Draco's side. She spun, furious, and saw that Draco was smothering dismay into his hand, attempting to conceal the motion. At first she thought it was because he, too, thought it was outrageous that Theo had spoken that way to her, but the closer she looked, she could see it wasn't that at all.

Draco was laughing, _hard_ , his cheeks pink and his shoulders shaking, and Daphne gaped in disbelief. Whatever she'd done, Draco certainly thought it was very funny, but Theo clearly didn't think it was funny at all.

"Fine," she seethed, but Theo didn't look at her.

Daphne strode away, eyeing the mud on the hem of her dress and wishing she'd known from the start Theo Nott wouldn't have been worth a single soiled inch.

 **oOo**

He was always like that. He was always scowling, or else glowering, always casting his dark gaze around the room with his back in a corner, like an animal in a cage. Daphne didn't try to speak to him again, and he didn't speak to her.

In fact, he spoke to no one, except for Draco.

It was strange, really, because in addition to being a contrast between light and dark, the two of them could not have been more different in temperament. Draco was a darling of the court, always being called upon to dance with someone—usually Daphne, who was the best of the girls—for the entertainment of idle nobility, all of them happy to praise him for his looks, his confidence, the sureness of his steps. Draco was no higher a noble than Theo, but it was difficult to remember that when they stood next to each other—one like a golden prince, and the other like a sharp-eyed hawk.

Theo always looked especially vicious when Draco was gone from his side, as if he might bite anyone else who tried to come closer. Sometimes, Daphne almost felt sorry for him.

Sometimes.

But then she would remember the way his face looked when he shouted at her, and abruptly, she wouldn't feel sorry anymore.

 **oOo**

The more people began to whisper about the old King's failing health, the more Daphne saw her father taking meetings. She didn't concern herself with them much at all until she noticed that one man in particular seemed to take most of the meetings, and then one day he left looking especially pleased. _Dangerously_ pleased, she thought, like a snake that had swallowed a bird whole.

She knew who he was.

She knew what it meant.

"No," she whispered to herself, watching Lord Nott stride away from her father's chambers with a trunk full of her mother's jewels.

 **oOo**

 _I don't want him. Not him, not him, not him. Father, you don't understand, he's rude and horrid and angry, he's like a shadow, like the edge of a knife, I can never love him, I'll never love him and he'll never love me—_

"Why him, Father?" she asked quietly, stifling her temper, and her father shrugged.

"Because marriage to Nott's son means that someday, you'll be a duchess," he replied, as if that were the only thing that mattered, and perhaps in his world it was. "It is the highest title I can get for you, Daphne. You'll be an even greater lady than your mother, and your sister will bow to you—wouldn't you like that?"

 _Not if it means I have to marry him!_

"Not Draco?" she asked tentatively, and her father grimaced.

"Lucius Malfoy is too dangerous to align with right now," he said, and when she frowned, he beckoned for him to come closer, sitting her on his knee and toying with the long plaits of her hair.

"The tides are changing soon," her father murmured. "This King is very ill and soon to die, and then there will be war, and in war, there are always winners and losers. You must try very hard to be a winner, even if you must lose." He paused. "Lord Malfoy fights openly for the Gaunt challenger, but if he loses, then the Malfoys will be destitute, tried and executed for treason. To side with them is to aim foolishly," he cautioned, and Daphne nodded.

"And Lord Nott?"

"He is a more quiet supporter," her father confirmed, "and therefore safer. Your title will be secure."

She thought of him again; of Theodore Nott, with his dark eyes and his slight limbs and the harsh line of his mouth. More than likely he would be cruel, like his very old father, and he wouldn't even know how to laugh, much less how to love. How would there ever be light in her life with him?

Sometimes, Daphne thought morosely, it was a very poor thing to be a girl.

Still, she knew what was expected. "Yes, Father," she said obediently, as he nodded his approval, absently stroking her hair.

* * *

As Daphne and Theo grew older, the betrothal started to mean slightly more than purely an arrangement between two noblemen—only it revealed itself in small, irritating ways. Like, for example, while the other girls at court were permitted to dance with the other boys, Daphne was always led directly to Theo, who had thankfully caught up to her height by then (but no taller, unfortunately). He was always sullen, meeting her eye with a fierceness the other boys didn't. They looked at her like a sweet to be unwrapped; Theo looked at her like a chore, or some equally unpleasant burden.

By then, Draco had learned to flirt, which only made things worse. He always greeted her with a smile, with a calculated little curve to his mouth when he said her name. He was graceful and poised, and Daphne nearly always forgot to notice Theo's slim presence beside him, carved into Draco's side. They were almost never without each other, as attached at the hip as they'd been as boys, and for all her attempts to sort it out, Daphne couldn't understand. Why would someone like Draco want someone like Theo always at his heels? It made no sense.

Personally, Daphne wished she could spend _less_ time with Theo. She also thought, selfishly, that if her betrothal had been a gamble, it was clearly paying off on only one side. Lord Nott had bought her for his son when she was only six, not even knowing she would grow into a beauty.

What had she gotten in return?

Theo gave her his sullen glare from across the Great Hall, and she realized she'd been staring. He was still too skinny, his features still too harsh. The other day, too, she'd noticed a fresh bruise on his arm, and he'd caught her staring.

"Drills," he supplied, his voice clipped, and pulled irritably at his sleeve.

 _I didn't ask,_ she wanted to say.

Instead, though, she said nothing.

 **oOo**

"How are you liking your future husband?" her father asked her, looking amused when she struggled not to make a face. "I'm told he has a rather reserved and studious nature," he remarked optimistically. "Seems to like books, or so I hear."

"Yes, well, he's hardly a warrior," Daphne murmured, and her father laughed.

"He may yet grow into his limbs," he assured her, "but until then, be certain he keeps to his reputation. That's your job, you know," he added slyly. "Men will always be quick to boast of their own prowess, but it's a woman's job to keep her husband careful in times of war."

"Is this war?" Daphne asked, surprised, and her father's mouth quirked.

"Everything is always war," he assured her. "But yes, now especially. Keep him in line," he warned. "If you do it well, he'll never thank you for it, because he'll never notice. But the noblest deeds are often the quietest."

"Am I to be so noble that I never make a sound?" Daphne complained, and again, her father laughed.

"Yes, maybe," he permitted. "But if you can keep your head, your jewels, and your title, then what does it matter whether you have a voice?"

Daphne bit her tongue, not wanting to tell her father she thought him enormously incorrect.

"Yes, Father," she agreed instead, and bowed her head, sweeping him a perfect curtsy.

 **oOo**

For a while, Daphne tried to think of Theo as a project. Something, she reasoned, that could eventually be fixed.

"You spend too much time with Draco," she whispered to him as they dutifully rehearsed a pavane. Daphne, unlike her partner, knew the steps without pause, having been called upon to lead the dances more than once. Theo merely scowled at his feet, not lifting his chin for the hopeless need to stare at them. "His father is on campaign now, I hear—he could be tried for treason, you know, and he could lose everything. And if the Gaunt challenger loses—"

Theo's response was quick and ruthless. "I don't care," he said, a rare reply, and she almost tripped, startled by the sound of it. She regularly forgot how dry and harsh his voice was; almost like if aimed correctly, it could cut through glass. "And don't pretend like you don't like Draco, either. I see you looking at him from time to time."

Daphne felt her cheeks flush. "Well, you dishonor us both by ignoring my father's wishes, and you diminish the entire purpose of our betrothal," she reminded him under her breath, grimacing as he put his hands on her waist for the lift. "My father chose you for me instead of Draco because your title is—"

"Ah yes, my title." Theo looked at her then, mutinous, but she avoided meeting his eye as he set her none-too-carefully back on the floor. He might make a mockery of himself, she thought murderously, but she would do no such thing. She kept her gaze lowered, her head tilted dutifully, so that _her_ father, unlike his, would never suffer the shame of having raised a defiant fool.

"I know perfectly well why my father bought you for me," Theo continued, "and why your father agreed to the price. But neither of them own me," he informed her, and dropped his voice as the song slowly came to an end, his head nearing hers as he bowed. "And as long as I live," he whispered, "I will choose for myself with whom I wish to stand, and for whom I deign to kneel. I promise you, it certainly won't be you who tells me."

She bit her tongue, not wanting to snarl at him, but found herself unable to prevent it.

"You will do as your father commands you," she hissed, "as I do my duty by my father, and—"

She broke off, startled, as the doors flew open with the violence of urgency; of news that could not wait. A grim, hard-ridden messenger strode in without pause, his lungs filled to bursting with panic as he faced the nobles around the room, the dancers pausing in the center of the hall.

"My Lords," the messenger called, breathless, "the Gaunt challenger has laid waste to the Duke of Grimmauld's army. He is right now riding up to the gates to take the castle—"

There was a series of gasps and motion around the room as Daphne swallowed hard, looking for her father in the crowd. _There will be war,_ he had warned her. _Men will die, and I may be one of them, but whoever I must fight for, you must always stay on the winning side, Daphne—_

"Go to your rooms," she heard in her ear, and realized that Theo was speaking into it, one hand on the ceremonial hilt slung around his hips as the other floated near her arm. His voice was still sharp, but it was edged now with something else. "Take your ladies and lock the doors, bar them. If the castle falls, they will come for you first—do not wait," he warned. "If you see the flags torn down, take to the castle ramparts and escape. Are you afraid?" he asked, and she looked up, startled, as she registered the way he stood with his entire narrow body blocking her, as if he would somehow shield her from the news that had burst through the doors.

"No, I am not afraid," she told him, though she was. "Are you?"

"Me? I am terrified." His mouth was a thin, grim line, and she didn't dare ask him how he knew why they would come for her. It seemed a very adult thing to know, and they felt hardly older than children. "I will feel better, though, if I know you will not be one of my concerns."

She realized then, amid the most inopportune timing, that while she'd thought for so long that his eyes were dark, small and shadowed like a bird of prey, in reality, they were green. Up close they were wider, richer, brighter, and she felt she might have understood now why Draco wanted Theo at his side. They seemed to be the sort of eyes that missed nothing.

"Don't worry about me," Daphne told him, and then hesitated, realizing she should leave him with some blessing, or some benediction, as his future wife. "Please don't die," she determined briskly, and he looked down at her, his brows furrowed with something she could have sworn was humor, though it could easily have been contempt.

"I'll try very hard not to," he informed her, and then, across the room, she caught Draco's pale hair flashing, his voice booming through the crowd.

"NOTT!" he yelled, a call to arms, and Theo nodded, releasing Daphne.

"Go. Don't be a fool," he told her, already angling himself towards Draco. "Run if you must. That is your only duty to me—do you understand?"

She nodded, and he turned, striding away.

She knew she had promised to go, to hide, but she paused in the commotion to watch him, curious about what he would say when he reached Draco's side.

"Who do we fight for?" she watched him say to Draco. It was a fair question, considering the years of turmoil at court between the rival royal lines, and the other boy shrugged.

"Each other," Daphne watched Draco reply, and Theo nodded. It seemed that was enough.

Daphne watched two coltish boys ready themselves to fight like men, and then, determining that none of them were children anymore, she spun on her heels, letting the silk of her skirts trail along the cobbled stone of the castle as she ran the steps to barricade herself in her rooms.

* * *

The new King was as handsome as he was ruthless, or perhaps the other way around. He was more a man than anyone Daphne had ever seen, and though she would never be ill-composed enough to stare the way the other girls did, she understood perfectly well why they did it. Most of the time, Tom seemed more vengeful god than human man, and his entire court feared him as much as they admired him.

In at least one respect, Lucius Malfoy's wager had paid off tremendously. His place at the King's side meant that Draco was favored, and because Theo had fought with Draco while the King had seized Hogwarts, Theo was favored, too. The Nott family had always been Loyalists, but now they were boastfully hailed as such; Daphne could see that Theo's title was worth even more now, and quietly, she was pleased, particularly once she saw her own father repeatedly leaving private audiences with the King.

Theo himself remained unchanged. She thought perhaps they'd had a moment, but the weeks following the castle's siege proved her wrong. He looked at her no differently; valued her no higher, by the looks of it, though admittedly not any lower. He'd fought on the winning side, and though Draco wore that honor in the way he carried his shoulders, strutting boldly through the halls, Theo remained unchanged.

From time to time, Daphne heard Draco's laugh cutting through the Great Hall, and she would always look up, curious, to see that the sound had been the result of something Theo had said. She wondered, disbelieving, at the possibility that Theo could have ever managed any humor at all. She wondered why it bothered her, or if it even did. It seemed unlikely that anything Theo Nott did would ever register important enough to embed itself in her thoughts, and yet she felt distinctly certain that she hated whatever he kept from her—whatever little flashes of humanity that he seemed only willing to give to Draco, and not to her.

For a time, she felt more alone than ever. She'd known her intended husband nearly all her life, and yet he remained a stranger still.

 **oOo**

"He likes you."

Daphne jumped, startled, as she noticed that Theo had crept over to her side, pausing beside her in the hall. Another year had passed and he seemed to have been stretched through the entirety of it; astoundingly, he now towered over her, and he looked as though he was hardly done growing. Still, he remained as quiet and lost to the shadows as ever.

"Who?" she asked, trying not to betray precisely how alarmed she had been.

"The King," Theo replied, and she blinked. His gaze cut down to hers, oddly curious. "You didn't know?"

"I—I don't know what you mean," she ventured slowly, though in truth, she'd certainly caught the King's strange blue eyes on hers from time to time. It wasn't particularly surprising; others had stared often enough, so why should any man, even a King, not also find her something of interest? She knew she was liked—she was, as her father often praised, beautiful, valuable, and temperate—and she wasn't particularly surprised by the information.

Theo seemed to sense as much, and shrugged.

"You are the most eligible bride available at court, should he choose a noble," he supplied knowingly. "I'm told the King has been discussing you as a marriage prospect."

"But—" Daphne stared up at him, bewildered. "But I am already promised to someone."

"Yes, someone," Theo wryly agreed, chuckling under his breath. "Someone," he murmured, "who is practically no one, at least compared to a King. It is an honor for you, for your father. And I know how such things matter to you."

She turned, frowning. "You would release me from our agreement?" she asked, surprised, and he shrugged.

"It isn't up to me," he reminded her. "It's up to the King, to your father, to _my_ father—to everyone else before either of us," he clarified. "But it would mean you would be Queen, and I'm sure the King would pay my father the value of the betrothal, so they'll be happy. And you too, I imagine," he added, glancing at her again. "You'd get a crown and a throne out of the deal instead of me."

Daphne carefully cleared her throat. "And you?" she asked. "Would you be happy to be free of me?"

Theo paused in place, tension spreading through his shoulders at the question.

"You're hardly mine," he told her stiffly. "I know perfectly well you don't like me."

"I—" Daphne toyed with her words, hesitating to answer. "I simply don't know you."

"You don't know Draco, either," Theo told her. "And yet I know you'd have preferred to be given to him."

"Yes, well, he is different," Daphne protested. "He's easy to understand, but you—" She hesitated again. "You and I have nothing in common," she insisted defensively, and he turned to face her, glancing down at her.

"You are right about that," he agreed, and then, after a long look at her, he turned away, disappearing down the corridor.

 **oOo**

She wasn't given to the King. It seemed he had something else in mind, though nobody at court seemed to know what. _He paid you numerous compliments,_ her father assured her, coughing slightly from the illness that had kept him from the hunt that day, _but he doesn't wish to take a wife from the daughters at court. Perhaps he aspires to a foreign princess._

Daphne nodded, not wanting to reveal that she was relieved. Already, only months into the new King's reign, there was talk of nobles being slaughtered for their protection of the Peverell heir—the young man called Harry, who'd recently arrived at court bearing the title that had once belonged to the slain Duke of Grimmauld. Daphne had watched the King's blue eyes go hard at the sight of the roguish Duke, and upon witnessing the change in them, she'd been certain he would be no ideal husband, however desirable a man or powerful a monarch he might have otherwise been. She could sense no softness anywhere in his gaze, and breathed out a muted sigh of relief when she learned she had not been his choice, even though she could hear whispers at her back for how she must have somehow displeased him.

The day the gossip spread that Daphne had been passed over, she caught a flicker in the shadows from the corridor, recognizing Theo's shape. Without thinking, she walked towards him, leaving the whispers of the other spiteful girls behind and pausing, unsure what to say, until he gestured into an alcove, concealing them from sight.

"You are still promised to me," he noted without expression.

"Yes," she agreed.

"Are you disappointed?" he asked neutrally, and she blinked.

"No," she replied, and watched him inhale.

"Well," he said, and before she could wonder what was coming next, he had bent his head towards her, his lips carefully brushing hers. It was over so quickly; barely a breath, and he had kept his hands at his sides, conspicuously not touching her, before he leaned away, prompting her to sway dizzily towards him. For a moment, she'd felt his softness, felt something tender and delicate and divine, and then just as quickly he was staring at her with his dark, discerning eyes, his mouth back to its usual line of constraint.

"There," he said, and she stood in place, waiting. "Maybe we had nothing in common before," he remarked, "but at least now we have a secret."

Then he turned, leaving her behind to stare at where he had been.

* * *

Her father passed away in the middle of the night one night, quickly and without much ceremony. The illness he'd sustained while hunting had never really cleared from his lungs, and Daphne was informed without much softness at all that her life had been transferred from her father's hands, her sister sent away until a suitable husband could be found.

"Do you understand what I've explained to you?" Lord Nott prompted gruffly, as if Daphne were somehow stupid or silly enough to have questions. Her father had died; now she, her sister, and her inheritance all belonged to her future husband's father. He could take it without giving her the marriage he'd once promised. He could shut her up in a manor house for the rest of her life, if he wished it. Daphne knew as much, and didn't look up at Theo, who stood silently beside his father.

"I do," she said, and paused. "Will I have to move my household, then?"

The old man replied with something of a grunt. "I have no room for you yet. But given the King's impending marriage—"

"Father," Theo interrupted, and Daphne fought the urge to look up, startled. "Is there any reason the marriage should not go ahead sooner rather than later?"

Daphne watched Lord Nott's attention cut irritably to his son, one brow arched without further comment.

"The King will need a Loyalist to run the future Queen's household," Theo continued, his voice light, as if to suggest he'd just thought of it. "Why not offer him someone from our house? Then we'd have the Queen's ear as well as the King's."

"I didn't think you particularly cared whether or not I had the King's ear," Lord Nott remarked, with a hint of offense, as if perhaps Theo had once disappointed him in a similar conversation. "Though I suppose you're not wrong." He paused, vacantly staring into the empty space above Daphne's head, and then turned back to his son. "Fine. I'll put her forth as an option for the Queen's ladies, and if he accepts, you'll be married within the week."

Daphne wired her jaw shut, imploring it not to drop.

"Well, we're done here," Lord Nott said, giving a brisk wave of his hand. Daphne read it as dismissal and rose to her feet, backing herself to the door and then turning sharply, half-running through his quarters and frantically towards her own.

"Daphne," she heard Theo call after her while she silently fumed, not wanting to face him. "Lady Greengrass, wait—"

"You _ambushed_ me," she hissed at him, spinning in place as he caught her. "You've been plotting that for some time, haven't you?"

He looked as though he would protest, but then he closed his mouth, snapping it shut and hardening against her fury. "Your father is dead," he reminded her, and she flinched. "I promise you, you do not wish to have your inheritance in my father's hands."

"And why would I like it any better in yours?" she snapped. "Why should I trust you to be any different?"

Theo blinked, taken aback.

"You think I'm like my father?" he asked, and like the first time she'd ever spoken to him, she could see without doubt that he'd heard something far worse than she'd intended. "Is that really what you think?"

"How am I supposed to tell the difference?" she demanded. "You are a man, same as he is. You want what's mine, same as he does!"

"I don't—" He broke off, jaw clenched, and ground his words into fine, invisible powder. "Fine," he said eventually. "Fine."

He turned, walking away, and Daphne reached a hand out, about to stop him, when she realized she had nothing to say. She didn't know what she'd done; she knew only that she was angry, and that whatever she'd said had been as effective as a slap across his face.

She wondered if she should be sorry.

She knew for certain that she was.

 **oOo**

They knelt side by side at the altar and Daphne wondered if Theo could see her fingers shaking. _Are you afraid?_ she remembered him asking on the day the King had won, and reminded herself that if she'd been asked the same question today, the answer would still be no. The answer _should_ be no. She had lived through more terrifying things than this, hadn't she? This was only marriage. These were only vows. This was only forever.

She laced her fingers tighter, imploring them to be still. Beside her, Theo stiffly bent his head, and she stole a glimpse at him, watching. She saw his mouth curl around a shaky breath, and strangely, she felt something that might have been relief.

He was afraid, too.

 **oOo**

The wedding feast was relatively small but still alarmingly excessive, and Daphne felt certain the costs had all come from her late father's wealth. Lord Nott drank the finest wine and ate plentifully, but beside Theo, Daphne merely picked at her food.

"She'll be the head of the Queen's household," Lord Nott declared, swaying slightly in his intoxicated state. "To the beautiful, rich, and highly _useful_ Lady Nott!" he called, raising his glass. From across the room, Daphne saw Lucius and Draco Malfoy exchanging wary glances, unwillingly lifting their glasses in acknowledgement. "And to the benefit of her ceremonial role," Lord Nott added slyly, "which will ensure she only has to fuck my weedy prat of a son every seven days—"

Daphne froze, alarmed by the language before registering the words, and then noticed Theo tensing beside her. His knuckles were white where they sat in his lap.

"Is that true?" she whispered to him, and his mouth tightened. "About my role, I mean," she amended, horrified, and he let out a grim huff of mirthless laughter.

"Yes, that part is true," he confirmed. "You'll be expected to spend most of your nights with the Queen, once she arrives. I've arranged for you to have your own quarters near hers." He fidgeted for a moment. "And until then, you need not concern yourself with me, outside of what is necessary." His mouth twitched. "After all, I am a weedy prat. That part is also true."

She blinked, stunned.

"Is that what you think I want?" she asked, and he looked up, bemused. "That I—" she hesitated. "That I wish to be away from you?"

"You have never once wanted to marry me," he reminded her, as if she might have somehow forgotten. "At least this way you won't have t-"

"Let the poor girl put my son to bed and be done with it!" Lord Nott crowed with a laugh, waving his goblet around, and Daphne felt her chair yanked back, turning only long enough to see Theo's face contorted with something she might have called apology as she was led away without another word.

 **oOo**

Theo's chambers were much nicer than she expected. She supposed she regularly forgot how wealthy he was, and how well-titled, but clearly, being one of the nobles who had fought for the King had served him well. The fabrics on the bed were luxurious with warmth and there was a general finery to the room that she stared at, mindless, while the other ladies stripped her of her gown and freed the pins from her hair.

She understood enough about what was supposed to happen. The other girls hadn't been particularly secretive about it, though it sounded barbaric even in the most exuberant of terms. She climbed onto the bed, waiting, and imagined what Theo would be like; what he would _look_ like, even. He and Draco were both men now, striding around court like the nobles they were, but still. It wasn't as if it were _that_ easy to tell what he looked like under his clothes, and—

She shivered, considering it, just as the door opened, revealing Theo in the frame. For a moment he stopped, frozen, and stared at her. His eyes seemed to trace the glow of her hair against the candle beside the bed, and then, after another moment, he remembered himself, stepping inside the room.

"We don't have to," he said before she could speak. "If you don't want to. If you're not ready."

She stared at him. "But the marriage—if we don't, then—"

"I'll lie," he assured her. "It's easy enough to fake the details, and my father won't question it."

"Oh." She swallowed. "Okay."

It was a spectacular kindness, she knew. She wasn't sure how to thank him, though, so instead she shifted awkwardly, not looking up from where she had curled her toes under her feet, uncurling them slowly and then absently coiling them under again.

Theo lingered by the door, sliding his tongue over his lips in thought, and then nodded briskly. "Would you like something to drink?" he asked. "I can have some mead brought in, or—"

"No, I'm fine," she assured him. "I'm just—" She paused. "Can we just… talk, for a bit?" she asked tentatively, and Theo nodded with relief, abruptly stripping his shirt from his shoulders and sliding into the bed beside her, almost childlike with his motions.

"Yes. Tell me about you," he said, and she couldn't help it. She giggled, watching his eyes go wide. "What?" he protested. "I don't—I don't know anything about you. Just tell me something."

"Like what?" she asked, and he shrugged. Alone he was something different; without his father watching over him, he was brighter, more alive.

"Anything," he said. "Your regrets, your favorite things, your fears—"

"I'm not afraid of anything," Daphne replied, and Theo's mouth curled up at the corners in an expression she hadn't seen before. A _smile_ , she realized, and wondered the moment she saw it how she could have possibly found him to be dark and foreboding.

"Of course not. Of course not." His smile broadened. "But if you _were_ —"

"I'm a little afraid of what the Queen will be like," Daphne permitted, and he nodded sagely, as if he'd suspected as much and agreed. "And—" she hesitated. "And your father makes me nervous."

Immediately, she wished she hadn't said it. At the mention of the elder Theodore Nott, the light doused from Theo's eyes.

"I won't ever let him hurt you," Theo said, and Daphne opened her mouth to say that wasn't what she'd meant—of course he wasn't going to _hurt_ her—when she realized that perhaps there was a reason he'd chosen those particular words. She remembered, too, the bruises on his arms, and the anger that had so long been coiled in his mouth, in his voice, in his actions, and then she wondered how she hadn't thought to consider the sum of those things before.

"I'm sorry," he continued, and she opened her mouth to protest that he had nothing to be sorry for, only this was the truest version of himself he'd ever been with her and she didn't want him to stop. "I didn't want him to control you. I thought it would be better if I—" A breath of hesitation. "I thought you would know that I was trying to help you. I'm sorry." He cleared his throat. "I thought you knew I only wanted to help you, but I know now that I should have asked you, first."

Daphne paused, unsure whether a man had ever apologized to her before. She wasn't sure she'd ever heard a noble apologize to anyone, much less to a woman; much less a lord to his wife. She let a few moments of silence pass before sliding down on the bed, bringing them to eye level.

"You're not what I thought you were," she remarked slowly, and Theo's dark brow twitched slightly with confusion.

"What did you think I was?"

"I thought you were—" She bit her lip, feeling foolish. "I thought you were mean. Angry."

"I often feel angry," Theo acknowledged. "But why would you think that?"

"You—you shouted at me. When we were children." She turned her head away, too embarrassed to look at him. "When I—when you and Draco were—"

"Ah." He sounded amused, and she chanced a look over at him, finding her suspicions confirmed. "Well, you embarrassed me. Draco teased me about needing a girl to defend me for weeks. Probably months, actually."

"I didn't mean to! And anyway, why is that so bad?" she insisted, sitting upright to scowl down at him and finding him laughing again. "Who cares if I'm a girl? Why should girls not be able to protect people?"

"Well, I was very stupid then," Theo assured her, tucking one arm behind his head. She could see the shape of his chest that way, and the definition of the muscle in his arms. "I didn't know at the time that you were afraid of nothing."

"You're teasing me," Daphne sighed, and Theo sat up, chuckling.

"No, I'm not, I promise." He smiled again, and she was relieved to see it. "You aren't afraid, and you're braver than me. And I have no doubt that you could have taken Draco easily. Even he knows it, I'm sure."

At that, she permitted a laugh of her own, and then she quieted, gradually made nervous again by the way he was looking at her. "I mean it, though, you know," she told him, looking down at her hands. "You're not at all what I thought."

A few seconds passed in silence. Then Theo reached out slowly, resting his fingers against the inside of her wrist until she managed to look up, locking her gaze on his.

"Let's go to sleep," he suggested, and she nodded, climbing beneath the covers and settling herself against the pillows while Theo reached over, blowing out the candle beside the bed. For a moment, just before the light went out, she watched the sinews of his back, the column of his spine.

She was his now, she realized.

She fought the sudden urge to reach out and trace the shape of his spine, tensing pathetically at his side until he had resumed lying down beside her.

"Goodnight," he murmured, and she opened her mouth to say something, to ask for something, though she had no idea what.

"Goodnight," she whispered, and imagined the shape of his smile on his lips, letting her breath slow to the rhythm of his.

 **oOo**

She woke as the color of the sky started to change. It was early still, the sun not yet prepared to rise, but the pitch-black shifted discreetly to indigo as Theo shifted towards her, the bared skin of his shoulder pebbling slightly in the crisp air of his chambers.

"Theo," she whispered, and his eyes fluttered open. She'd guessed he hadn't been sleeping. "May I ask you something?"

She watched the motion of his throat as he swallowed. "Ask me."

"Will you kiss me again?" she murmured, and in the barest of morning light she saw his mouth twitch with surprise, his lips tentatively parting.

"You want me to?" he asked, and she felt her cheeks flush.

"Yes," she said, and nearly choked on a mismanaged breath. "That is, if you—if I'm—"

She broke off as he pushed himself up onto his left elbow, his right hand emerging from the sheets to gently cup her cheek. He slid his thumb down the line of her jaw, passing it briefly over her lips, and she closed her eyes, waiting.

"I want to," he said, his voice gravelly with morning, and then he tilted her chin up, brushing her lips with his again.

It was like the first time, only it wasn't. It felt the same, tasted something like it, but this time, with his hand curled around her face and the rest of them mere inches apart, she felt her pulse race wildly, leaping into her mouth as she pressed herself against him, the rest of her body answering the question his seemed to have asked.

She wanted to stop and ask him if he'd done this before—he must have, she reasoned; half the girls at court seemed to have had some dalliance or another with Draco, and it was unusual for any boys to enter a marriage wholly inexperienced—but whatever his answer might have been, it hardly seemed to matter. He was _hers_ now, and she was his, and was it so terrible to be here with him, being touched by him like this? He rolled over her, his breath quickening, and then paused, his hips pressed against hers.

"We could," he began hoarsely, and stopped. "I know that for girls it's—it hurts, I know, but if you wanted, we could—"

"Let me see you first," she suggested, and he pulled away, yanking the covers free and fumbling with the ties at his britches. He slid out of them, leaving her to stare at the crevices in his stomach—hard and flat and lined with muscle, sloping down between his hips—and she followed the thin trail of dark hair that drew her eye down further, to the undeniable hardness between his legs.

He shifted onto his side, watching her watch him, and then tilted his head.

"Now you," he said, clearly holding his breath, and she drew her shift up her legs, obligingly pulling it over her head and discarding it on the floor. She waited for his gaze to travel slowly, from the line of her neck and over the curves of her breasts to her hips, her thighs, her calves and then back up, lingering on her lips as he swallowed again, that same curve of his throat swelling and easing.

"You," he said breathlessly, "are the most beautiful girl at court."

"Woman," Daphne corrected, half-laughing. "I'm Lady Nott, aren't I?"

"Yes, you're—" He swallowed painfully. "You're my wife." It seemed to register slowly, the truth of it dawning on him gradually, not unlike the sun rising from the window at his back. "You're my wife," he repeated, awed. "I can hardly believe it. Do you even know how many other men wanted you? How many would have stolen you from your promise to me in an instant, if they could have—"

"The marriage isn't consummated yet," Daphne informed him boldly, sitting upright. "I haven't really done my duty yet, have I?"

Theo let out a growl of dismay, positioning himself above her, and paused as he slid a hand between her thighs, his fingers testing the slickness between them as she sucked in a breath, somewhere between anticipation and need.

"Are you afraid?" he whispered.

"I'm not afraid of anything," she replied, _and certainly not you, and definitely not this, I want you, I want you, I want you—_

He slid inside her slowly, carefully, his weight braced on his elbows as she adjusted to the feel of him, her heels digging forcefully into the muscle of his thighs. She took a breath, then another, and when she nodded, he moved again, guiding his hips against hers with a cautious, astounding patience.

He exhaled as she winced. "Is this—"

"Yes, just—slowly," she said, tearing at the span of her lip she held tight between her teeth. "But—please, don't stop, I want to—" _I want to feel you, I want you, I want you, please don't stop, please, please, don't ever stop—_

He looked lost, his eyes wild and hazy, the lids half-shut. She pulled him down, one arm snaked around his neck, and kissed him; he kissed her back without hesitation, his tongue darting into her mouth this time and leaving her with a strange, unplaceable sensation of need. She sorted out after a minute or two that she could move against him, rounding her back every time he shifted his hips against her, and it made everything better, and unbearably so. It seemed everything was a clash, a commotion, a confrontation between parts of them, and she lamented how long she had dreaded it—how much time she had _wasted_ —as something inside of her quaked and clenched and burst, flooding her limbs with a wash of satisfaction. She felt rather than heard a gasp that came from her lips, dissolving to an almost an incoherent sound of anguish, and Theo choked out a groan, falling against her and resting his forehead against her shoulder.

It took a minute to catch their breaths; Daphne brushed her hair from her eyes, suddenly certain she looked an absolute mess, and Theo gently rolled onto his side, turning his head to look at her.

She wondered as she struggled to collect herself how she had ever thought his eyes weren't green, or that he wasn't kind, or that she didn't wish to have him. Everything she seemed to have known before seemed suddenly terribly wrong, and now, with the sun shining into the room, she knew she had wasted the entirety of a night she wouldn't get again for several more.

"Was it—" Theo hesitated. "Are you—"

"My Lady?" A knock at the door. "Are you dressed?"

Daphne reached hurriedly for her shift, tossing it over her as Theo scrambled to cover himself.

"Not yet," she called. "Just—just a moment, I—"

She turned, about to reach for Theo, but found he'd already risen to his feet, pulling his britches on and then reaching for his shirt, nearly dressed.

"Just one minute," Daphne called again, and Theo paused, glancing at her, his expression still somewhat tentative.

She didn't quite know what to say; she wanted to say _something_ , but hadn't the slightest idea what. Instead she gaped, her mouth opening and closing like a fish, and he gave her something of a shrug.

"Have a good day," he offered without expression, and then he headed to the door, pulling it open and advancing through it.

She wondered when she would see him next.

"My Lady?" one of the maids asked, holding up fresh linens, and Daphne sighed.

"Yes," she agreed, "I'm coming."

 **oOo**

Daphne spent the next night in the chambers he'd prepared for her, which were even grander than his. She imagined she could see him in the little choices he'd made; in the bedding he'd chosen to be the color of her favorite gown, the pale blue one she wore most often. The sheets were unforgivably soft, the tapestries beautiful and soothing to look at, but still, she couldn't sleep.

She kept feeling his lips against hers, his breath in her mouth, his voice in her ear.

 _I want to._

Nothing much had changed, really. They occupied separate spheres during the day, rarely speaking, and he danced with her the same way he always had, with the distinct sensation of not particularly enjoying it.

He barely looked at her, and it haunted her slightly, dizzying her with the prospect of what she might have done wrong.

She wanted to hear his laugh, watch him smile, but that was some other version of him. Some secret Theo she only got to have one night a week, if at all. She merely lived like a ghost, counting the days, until she could wait in his chambers again.

 **oOo**

She waited on his bed for him, like she had the previous night they'd had together. He walked in, not meeting her eye, and said nothing. He slipped out of his shirt, lifting the covers just enough to slide in beside her, and blew out the candle beside the bed.

"I won't make you do it again," he said, and then turned on his opposite side, facing his back to her. He said nothing else, and didn't move, and if it weren't for the motion of his chest, she would have barely noticed he was breathing.

She stared at the canopy above her, watching the shadows move with the night, and wondered how she could possibly tell him that this wasn't what she wanted at all.

 **oOo**

It only got worse. The next week was the same, and on the day of the fourth week of their marriage, she paced the floor of her chambers, certain she wouldn't be able to stand it. She wasn't brave at all when she was sitting on his bed, the portrait of a wife, silently waiting for him. None of her thoughts felt like her own when she was playing a role she still didn't quite understand.

She knew she'd have to draw him out of hiding somehow, and in her desperation to manage it, she did the unthinkable.

She ruined the steps of a dance.

" _Ouch_ ," Theo hissed, doubling over as she pounded her heel into his shoe, and she let out a facetious cry of dismay, tucking his arm against hers and weaving through the line of dancers to guide him out of the Great Hall.

"Let me help you," she crooned, easing him into the corridor and then waiting, impatient, as he gradually put weight on his foot again, scowling at her. "Oh, stop it, you're fine—"

"I'm not fine," he informed her irritably, with an outrageously sulky hint of disapproval. "You've never missed a step like that in your _life,_ so why would you—"

"I needed to talk to you," she urged. "Please. Before we—" She hesitated. "Before tonight."

His expression tightened with apprehension.

"I told you, we don't have t-"

"That's not it, I—" she attempted, and stopped, stumbling. Once again, she found with displeasure that hesitation was ruining her best laid plans. "I wasn't—it's not that I—"

"Tell me." His voice was quiet, but firm. "Whatever it is, I promise I won't be angry."

It occurred to her she ought to be grateful, only she was too busy struggling with what to say.

"I—" she began again, and paused, still burdened by humiliation. "I want to," she whispered, managing nothing more than that, and Theo stared down at her, openly shocked.

"But—but your face, I thought you—I thought you _hated_ it, hated _me_ —"

"I didn't. I don't." She felt her cheeks flush, her gaze cutting sheepishly away, and after a moment of awkward silence had ticked by, Theo drew her chin up gently, giving her a curious glance of sympathy. The green of his eyes was obvious now, the color changing in the light, and then changing again the longer he looked at her, responding to the temperature of his thoughts.

"Please," he said eventually, scanning her face for something she hoped he managed to find, "in the future, try to tell me what you're feeling without destroying my feet in the process."

She gave him a weary smile.

"No promises," she said, and he rewarded her with his secret laugh.

 **oOo**

That night, when he came to her, she didn't wait for him on the bed. She stood by the door and took his hand when he walked through it, not saying a word. His lips parted as if he might have said something, but she pressed a finger to his lips, first, and then hers, holding them both to silence. She always said the right thing, she knew, except for with him. With him, she seemed to be nothing but mistakes and misjudgments, and tonight, she wanted it to be them as they were, or as they could be; as they _might_ be, if she ever learned to speak his language.

He watched her fingers as they drew up the hem of his shirt, the light scraping of her nails as they passed along the ridges of his stomach. He sucked in a breath, following the motion of her hands, and she carefully slid the fabric over his head, tracing the shape of his chest beneath the pads of her fingers.

He seemed to understand what she wanted. He stepped closer, still silent, and slid one side of her dressing gown over her shoulder, baring the curve of it and cautiously—as if it might break—bringing his lips to the bone. She felt the pressure of his kiss, trapping a breath in her lungs, and settled her hands on his hips, her head falling back to let his lips travel to her neck and then up to her cheek, resting near her eyelids as they fluttered shut.

She felt him inhale; felt herself echo the same breath.

"Last time," he murmured, his lips still pressed to her skin, "you seemed to be in pain."

"For a time, yes," she permitted, shrugging. After all, it was almost precisely as every other girl had described it, only they'd left out most of the reward. Perhaps they hadn't had it, she suspected. "But it wasn't terrible, and—"

"I think I can fix it," Theo said thoughtfully, and then he gestured to the bed. "Lie down," he suggested, his voice once again assuming its softened alter ego, and she reached behind her for the mattress, settling herself on top of it and waiting until he joined her, positioning himself between her legs.

He drew the material of her shift up past her knees and then higher, adjusting her on the bed so that her thighs fell on either side of his shoulders. "Hold still," he said very seriously, drawing her legs apart, and then he lowered his head to the slit of her cunt, darting his tongue over it as she wriggled from surprise beneath him.

The moment she felt his mouth on her, she determined that she hadn't the slightest idea what he was doing, but that she never wanted him to stop. She found herself delirious with tension, her entire body flooded alternately between chills and warmth, and by the time she felt certain her limbs would detach from her body—by the time pleasure seemed to be escaping her in shudders—she felt twisted up and wrung out and pressed impossibly thin, her toes curled and her fists clenched while the rest of her seemed to float above the bed, impossibly disembodied.

"That," she exhaled when he lifted his head, " _must_ be some sort of horrifying sin, or some kind of terrible crime. You should probably be arrested."

He laughed, sliding his bare waist up against her until his hips were settled between her thighs; she was still slick and sensitive and she gasped again, tightening her legs around him.

"We can stop there, if you want," he told her, toying with her hair. "I don't mind."

She blinked, surprised. He was hard already, she could feel him; from what she'd heard, abandoning such a thing wasn't an ideal state for a liaison of any kind to end. She wondered why he would possibly make such an offering until she realized he couldn't quite meet her eye, or else simply didn't want to.

"Do you really still think I don't want you?" she asked, disbelieving, and he hesitated.

"It's hard to imagine why you would," he admitted, and for a moment, she wondered who she hated more; his father, for almost certainly putting the initial concept in his head, or herself, for having let him think it could be true. She slid her hand down his stomach, taking the length of him in her hand, and waited until she heard the sound of his breath catching in his throat.

"I do want you," she told him, stroking him gently first, and then more firmly, noticing the way his breathing faltered, his lips parted. "I do. And do you want me?" she asked when his hips began to move against her palm, responding to her touch. She released him, laying back, and pulled him closer, sliding her hands beneath his arms and up over the blades of his shoulders. "If you want me, you can have me," she told him, as his eyes closed, briefly, and reopened, fixing on hers with uncertainty.

"Daphne," he murmured. "I—"

"Theo," she said back, holding him tighter. "Please. I want to."

That, finally, seemed to be enough, and when he slid himself inside her, she wished she could have captured the look on his face, or at least the shape of his mouth, or the feel of his lips. It seemed unfair to lose the memory to such a small, careless moment, to some apathetic beat of time.

For her, it was like colliding with the sun.

 **oOo**

 _Tell me about you._

She wished she could answer the question again for him now; now that there was something worth telling.

She'd had no secrets before, but now—

 _I can't take my eyes away from you,_ she wanted to confess when she watched him, his head bent in conversation with Draco. _I think of you, relentlessly, at every hour. I worship with your name on my lips._

 _I think I miss you, even though I barely know you,_ she wanted to tell him when she stared at the canopy of her bed, lying awake in the chambers he'd so painstakingly prepared for her. _I want to hear what you think about this or this or this, about that, about everything. I want to see you smile. I want to make you smile._

 _I long for you,_ she thought when his eyes met hers across the Great Hall, fortune conspiring to bring them a moment of mutual wanting. _Can't you see it? Can't you tell?_

 _Tell me about you._

 _I'm desperate for you,_ she wished she had said, so that he would have never had to wonder.

* * *

He was different after that, in little ways. In ways she learned to look for. She used to wonder why Draco was always laughing in Theo's presence, and now she felt like she knew; the little oddities that nobody else paid any attention were precisely what Theo noticed. He was an able noticer, a practiced observer. He said things—little things, small insignificant nothings—and that was what made Draco laugh, and what made Daphne long to be in his place. She'd never been jealous of Draco before, but now she was hopelessly envious.

She'd been well assured of her own beauty since she was a child, but now she tried harder, fighting diligently for Theo's attention, however discreet. She feared he found her boring or silly, and even as she spent hours on her hair or on the stitching of her dresses she still wondered if he noticed, or if in the noticing he was displeased, or any number of countless haunting insecurities, any single one of them enough to fill volumes of their own accord.

Every day she woke without him she wondered if he thought of her, and if he did, what he thought of her. She wondered and wondered until she thought she might be sick with wondering, and then she wondered more. The Queen was coming soon, she knew, and each time she remembered, she breathed a sigh of relief; of gratification for distraction.

Soon she'd be too busy to pine for him like some stupid servant girl, Daphne reminded herself. She'd be a noble wife, faultless and untouchable, dutiful and loyal and never wavering, never faltering—no matter what impenetrable idiocies plagued each beat of her heart. She reminded herself of this, of her father's many lessons and her birthright as she'd been taught, and she prepared herself for war. Her father had told her to always be on the winning side, which meant always preparing for the worst; always with a part of her waiting for the sky to fall, and therefore never investing too intently in whatever place she stood.

But then Theo would catch her eye across the Great Hall, and he would give her his secret smile, and she would melt into wonderings again, utterly feverish with all of it.

 **oOo**

On the nights they spent together, Daphne forced herself to be calm, to be reasonable, to sit patiently, even as she wanted to throw herself in his arms. She waited, rooted in place on his bed as he came in the door, letting it shut carefully behind him.

"This," he began slowly, "is very difficult. I think I did a terrible thing."

"Oh?" she asked, holding her breath.

"Yes," he confirmed gravely. "Do you realize how long a week is? I never knew how tedious the days were before, or even how uniquely cruel a single hour can be." His mouth quirked slightly, and she let out a breath, relieved. "I thought you wouldn't want me like this," he added after a moment, looking down at his hands and resolutely avoiding her eye. "I thought it would be kinder to you to keep my distance, but—"

"I hate waiting," Daphne cut in bluntly. He looked up, surprised, and she shifted onto her hands and knees, crawling towards him to perch at the edge of the bed. "These nights without you," she clarified, reaching a hand towards him until he took it, walking unsteadily towards her. "I swear, Theo, I can hardly stand them."

"Your room," he exhaled, momentarily confusing her. "That's what's displeasing, then, I take it? Surely it can't be for lack of me."

She tugged him closer with a sigh, resting her arms gently around his neck.

"Yes," she wryly agreed. "The _room_ is egregiously displeasing."

"Is it the tapestries?" he prompted. "Are they not to your liking?"

"I loathe them," she whispered, loosening his shirt from his britches and gradually sliding it over his head. "They're terrible."

"Oh. Oh, no." He stepped closer, brushing his lips against her shoulder. "The linens?"

"Rough. Scratchy. I toss and turn all night, and—" she gasped, stifling a whimper, as he drew his lips over her throat. "I never sleep. Not at all."

"Poor thing," he lamented softly, his fingers settling on the hem of her shift to lure it up the length of her thighs. "My god, you've been so mistreated. The bed," he murmured, sliding the thin fabric over her head and stroking a line between her breasts, "is it uncomfortable?"

"It's an abomination," Daphne informed him, letting out an inadvertent, girlish squeal as he wrapped an arm around her waist, tossing her back against the pillows and climbing onto the bed after her. "It's an affront to furniture," she added, tugging at his britches and none-too-carefully kicking them down his legs, stifling a laugh at their collective haste. "Frankly, I'd rather burn it to the ground."

"What a criminal appetite you have," Theo noted, sliding between her legs. "Well," he mused, his lips pressed firmly to hers, "if the bed is so terrible, and the tapestries so tasteless, then perhaps we should discuss a change in decorati-"

"We're done with this game," Daphne informed him, sliding her hand down to watch with satisfaction as he hissed through his teeth, responding to her touch. "You know perfectly well that it's for lack of you that the room will never be satisfying."

That, more than anything, seemed to shudder through his body.

"I am such a fucking fool for you," he whispered, and she opened herself to him again, tightening her arms around his neck.

 **oOo**

"Was there ever anyone else?" she asked him, drawing mindless circles on his chest.

"Hm? Not really," he replied. "I—" He hesitated. "I've had some dalliances, yes, but nothing—not like this. I've been promised to you since I was six years old, and besides, I'm nothing special." He kissed the top of her head. "Certainly not standing beside Draco," he conceded wryly.

"That's not true," Daphne protested, and Theo arched a brow, skeptical.

"You preferred a betrothal to him instead when the arrangement between us was made," he said, and she sighed, rolling into her back.

"I didn't know you then," she said, and then, thoughtfully, "and in fairness, I couldn't have imagined you'd be like this."

"Like what?" He rolled over her, taking her hand and brushing his lips against her knuckles. "Voracious? I didn't either," he said with a laugh, "though I never would have thought anything could feel like this."

She wasn't sure she wanted to ask if he meant her, or sex.

As it occurred to her, she didn't know if she really wanted the answer.

Unpleasantly, she felt a cold, mesmerizing chill, realizing how many nights they would inevitably spend apart, and how unlikely it was he'd be alone during them. Theo was, after all, a wealthy, valuable noble; even now, he stood only a few coffins away from the throne. He was desirable to any woman at court, whether he felt himself so or not, and Daphne had lived at Hogwarts long enough to know that every noble wife regularly turned a blind eye to her husband's indiscretions.

Her father had always warned her that everything was war, and that tides were constantly changing. How long, then, before Theo tired of waiting for her?

"Daphne," Theo interrupted, and she turned towards him, realizing she'd been staring into nothing as she'd unwillingly traveled the imaginary footpath of disaster. "I suppose I never asked if you might have wanted another man for a husband. Are you happy with me?" he asked, bracing himself for her answer.

At the improbable question, she briefly considered who else she might have even been with. Draco? At one time, maybe, but not since. Harry, the Peverell knave? Certainly not, even if he'd ever been a viable choice, which he wasn't. The King himself had never entered her mind as an option. In fact, no other man had ever compared with Theo Nott, and that was the stunning, unlikely truth.

Betrothal or not, she'd belonged to Theo long before she even knew she had.

"I've never wanted another," she promised him, which seemed an underwhelming turn of phrase, but it appeared to be enough for him. He kissed her again, holding her in his arms.

"Should we sleep, then?" he asked, carefully restrained.

Sleep seemed an impossible waste of time. "We only get one night," she reminded him, and he smiled.

"I was hoping you'd say that," he replied, and slid one arm under her, rolling them both onto his back.

 **oOo**

Daphne vaguely remembered that there had been a time she hated dancing with Theo; she recalled, hazily, that for several years of her life she had loathed the moments the dance would call for him to touch her waist, or pick her up. Always, she'd waited with displeasure for him to set her down, spending each moment aloft contemplating how subtly she might stab the heels of her shoes into his feet. Now, of course, dancing with him was an invigorating form of torture. Each time they touched was never quite long enough, and she found herself losing her impeccable rhythm more than once, always pausing beneath his desperate grip a beat too long before parting.

"This is unbearable," he murmured to her between gritted teeth, and she grimaced her agreement. "What day is it?"

"Not a day that matters," she replied, shivering as he brushed his lips ever so discreetly near her ear. "Can't you just—I don't know. Take me in the kitchens? A haystack? It seems to work for other women," she grumbled under her breath, and felt the reward of his furtive smile.

"You're my _wife_ ," Theo scolded in her ear. "You're not some scullery maid in a barn."

"Oh, hang it all," Daphne replied sulkily, and watched his shoulders shake with muted laughter. "Are you not suffering even remotely?"

"Oh, Daphne, I suffer endlessly," he assured her. "I have half a mind to stab myself in the leg just so no one can demand I leave my bed."

"Lot of good you'd do me with a stab wound," Daphne said, and considered it. "Though, I suppose I could work with that."

"Oh, don't tease me, please." He drew her close, holding her fingers a little too long again as they nearly missed the next set of steps. "Aren't I suffering enough?" He stepped back, permitting her to revolve gracefully beneath his arm, and added, "he's watching. My father, I mean." He paused. "And the King, too."

"Remind me again why we're doing this?" Daphne exhaled, glancing over her shoulder to find that Lord Nott was, indeed, watching closely. "Something about decorum, I'm sure, or protocol, or something else equally stupid—"

"Ah, and here I thought you loved your sterling reputation," Theo tutted softly, chuckling again. "Remember how you used to admonish me for spoiling it?"

Daphne sighed, dropping into a curtsy as the song came to an end. She used to think a lot of things, and she no longer found any of them important.

"How much longer?" she asked under her breath, and per custom, Theo bowed.

"Three days," he said, and she discreetly made a face.

"I can't wait that long," she whispered.

"Neither can I," he replied, the shape of it more breath than words when they parted.

 **oOo**

She'd barely undressed for bed before he came hurrying into the room, pulling her close without a word. She registered only the rustle of his clothing and the hurried, arrhythmic pattern of his breath as he bent his head to the line of her neck, his hands shaking on her waist.

"Daphne," he exhaled in relief, and she clung to him, burying her fingers in the folds of his shirt. "I haven't been able to sleep all week. I can't, I couldn't—"

"What do you do when you can't sleep?" she asked him, curious if his thoughts were anything like hers.

"Believe me," he growled salaciously, "it's nothing appropriate for your ears."

She laughed, muffling it into his shoulder. He was so tall, his shoulders so broad, his chest so defined, even with fabric between them; he was so unlike the boy he'd been, and she marveled at him, spreading her fingers out to hold as much of him as she could.

"What do you think about?" she asked.

"You," he replied easily. "Nothing. Everything." He nipped at her clavicle, sliding the fabric down to kiss the curve of her shoulder. "This. The way your skin feels," he murmured, running his fingers gently down her abdomen, "and the sound you make when I—" She gasped, fighting a tiny sound of satisfaction as he kissed her neck. "Yes," he proclaimed approvingly, " _that_."

"And then what?" she asked breathlessly, exhilarated by the thought.

"I think about the things I'd like to do when no one's looking. The ways I'd like to have you, if I could." His hands busied themselves with her shift, drawing the fabric up. "I swear, Daphne, you'd hate me if you knew the things I think about without you."

"What if I gave you something, then," she whispered, and he leaned back, bemused. "Something to think about when you're alone?"

"I—" he swallowed, eyes widening. "Like what?"

She smiled, shoving him back against the wall and tugging at the laces of his trousers, sliding her hand inside and waiting for the tell-tale hiss between his teeth.

"Pretend I'm not your wife," she advised him, and adjusted her shift, dropping to her knees as his grip tightened on her arms, his breath quickening frantically.

"Daphne, no, this is—you shouldn't—"

But she'd taken him in her mouth already, ignoring his stifled protests. She knew enough about this, she figured; it wasn't a particularly difficult task. Even the _suggestion_ of this sort of activity was undignified, but why risk losing him to some servant girl who had no need for dignity anyway? She drew him in between her lips, sliding her tongue along the smooth shape of his shaft, and looked up to find him staring, his legs already shaky as he leaned back against the wall.

She picked up speed slightly, sliding her fingers along the length of him that her lips couldn't reach, and he dissolved under her touch, close to collapsing. She kept going, steadily increasing speed until he clapped his own hand over his mouth, smothering a loud groan.

"Daphne," he choked out again as she slid her lips over him a final time, swallowing the taste of him. He opened his mouth, clearly trying to formulate words and failing, and she rose to her feet, arching a brow expectantly.

"Daphne, I—" A falter. "You, I can't—" Another pause.

"Lost for words?" she asked, distinctly pleased with herself, and he grimaced, pulling her back into his arms.

"I will never wish to pretend you're anything but my wife," he said firmly in her ear, and she closed her eyes, realizing now how much she hoped he meant it. She desperately longed to believe he meant it, her father's advice or not.

Still, it could all so easily fade.

So she held him tighter, just in case.

* * *

After nearly two months, the King finally announced that he would be marrying Lady Pansy Parkinson, the daughter of a Borderlands noble. A strategic match, Daphne knew; her father had said as much would likely be any King's choice. This was, after all, a warlike King, and with many enemies. He would want to secure his borders before anything else.

"As head of the future Queen's ladies-in-waiting, you will be responsible for running her household," Lord Nott informed Daphne, as she let her gaze travel every few minutes to Theo, savoring each covert moment of mutual regard. "She'll be a Loyalist Queen, and if you play your cards right, she will reward our family well in the future."

"I'm well aware of my duty to our family, my Lord," Daphne assured him, sneaking another glance at Theo, whose lips curled helplessly to a smile. "I'd be happy to befriend the Queen, and I'm prepared to make her feel welcome at court."

This, like most things she said, was met with contempt.

"What do I care if she's welcome at court?" Lord Nott prompted crossly. "She's young, her only job is to open her legs and have sons. Frankly, Tom may discard her yet."

"Father," Theo sighed, glancing apologetically at Daphne, who shook her head.

"No, you're right, my Lord," she agreed sweetly. "But for as long as she is useful to you, I will make sure she is loyal to us."

"Good," Lord Nott said, still unreasonably agitated despite it being one of Daphne's characteristically faultless answers. "Go," he added lazily, waving a hand, and Daphne gestured for Theo to follow as she went, pausing just outside his father's door and waiting until he slipped out after her.

"What did you—"

She held a finger to her lips, shushing him, and he shook his head, looking amused.

"Every time I say something nice to him, it seems to poison him more," she whispered. "I'm pretty sure if I keep doing it, he'll spontaneously die."

"You minx," Theo murmured approvingly, backing her against the wall with his hands on her hips. "Are you ready, though? For the Queen," he clarified, looking vaguely concerned. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Of course not," she assured him, scoffing. "I've been a noblewoman at court my entire life, haven't I? There's nothing I'm not prepared for—and even if there were, it's certainly nothing you can help with. Unless you're suddenly very gifted at embroidery."

She'd meant it to be funny, but clearly he was distressed. "Ah, I don't know that it's only that," he warned cautiously, looking oddly serious. "This King is—" he hesitated. "Not like other Kings," he determined uncertainly, and Daphne glanced up at him, surprised.

"You sound nervous," she noted, and he shook his head.

"I only mean that his reign isn't quite secure, and the closer you are to his Queen, the more danger you're in if he falls, or if he's even displeased. The Peverell heir is still a threat, and—"

"Are you worried for me, Theo?" Daphne prompted, amused, and he nodded slowly.

"I swore I would protect you," he replied, and she looked up, recalling the moment he'd first stood like this, keeping her from harm; the moment she'd first noticed his eyes, though she only realized now that it was the way he'd looked at her that had paused her, not merely the color of them. "I swore it to myself the day I was betrothed to you, I swore it to you the day I married you, and I promise you, Daphne, I will not fail."

Daphne slid her hand up gratefully, curling it around the back of his neck.

"Theo, I—"

 _Tell me something about you,_ she heard him say, and felt herself respond.

 _I have always thought I stood alone, until today._

"I'll protect you, too," she promised, and he smiled down at her.

"Good. I'm glad," he said. "Then I'm in excellent hands, because you're not afraid of anything."

 **oOo**

Daphne took to the new Queen easily, finding her to be cleverer than most. Pansy was a quick study, curious about the court and respectful of Daphne's knowledge and position. She was discreetly nervous, too, which was something Daphne found easily understood.

"Is your husband—" Pansy began, hesitating. "Is he… kind?"

It was the first question the new Queen had asked that Daphne had not known the answer to since birth. She gave a moment, considering it, and then answered honestly, feeling her cheeks heat at the thought.

"Prodigiously," she replied, and then, "I'm luckier than most."

Pansy nodded. She was a noble's daughter herself; she knew as much. "Have you been married long?"

"Not at all," Daphne replied, shaking her head. "Betrothed for ages, since we were children." She wondered for a moment if she should say something else—if she should admit her misconceptions, and the painful waste of time that had been her uninformed judgments of his nature—but opted not to, half afraid she might still jinx it if she spoke her feelings aloud. "But with the King choosing a wife the wedding was pushed up, so that the head of your house would be suitably—" She paused, thinking. "Experienced, I suppose. Tested, I think," she amended, "is the better word."

"How long ago were you married?" Pansy asked.

"Two months," Daphne replied. "I spend a night a week with him, and it's—" she hesitated, not wanting to admit that each night in his arms was somehow perilously consuming, guiltlessly sustaining, and yet never possibly enough, leaving her longing for him again each morning. "It's not something to fear, anyway. Marriage, I mean," she clarified, recognizing that it was the first time she'd stumbled during their conversation, though it seemed to have humanized her in a way that made the future Queen smile.

"You like him?" Pansy guessed. "Your husband?"

 _More than anything,_ Daphne thought, and bit it back, knowing such a recognition was only bound for disappointment.

"I honor him, of course," she said cautiously, "and I do not delude myself. I know it was a match made to deepen his coffers and strengthen my father's name, but—"

"I am certain he likes you, too," Pansy said knowingly, and Daphne felt warmed enough to laugh, though she hoped the Queen was right. It was a foolish thing to do, but still—

She hoped, she hoped, she hoped.

 **oOo**

"Do you like her?" Theo asked, the sheets tangled around them as their legs remained lazily twined, her head resting delicately on his chest.

"I do," Daphne confirmed. "I'm happy to be head of her household." She twisted in his arms, looking up at him. "Partially because it will make the time away from you a little more bearable, I think. Or at least distracting enough that I can bear it."

He gave a quieter, sleepier version of his laugh, low and rumbling beneath her cheek.

"I half hoped you'd hate her. That maybe you'd beg me to release you from your service to her," he murmured playfully, toying with her hair, "and then we'd both be exiled back to my estate, so I could stay with you every night." He paused, releasing the coiled curl he'd wrapped around his finger. "I don't suppose you'd be up for committing treason, would you?"

"Stop," Daphne said with a laugh. "The King would never let you go."

"True," Theo agreed sullenly. "But someday when the King inevitably tires of my insolence and the Queen decides you're much too beautiful to serve her, I'll take you to my house, where I was born. There are so many gardens there, and trees," he said softly. "Everything smells and tastes different there. A little bit sweeter, I think."

"My father never liked going back to our estate," Daphne recalled, barely remembering it. The house had been drafty, and not very well cared for. "He much preferred the excitement at court, he said."

"As does my father," Theo replied, shrugging beneath her. "And I like it too, of course, but at times it's nice to hear silence. _Real_ silence," he clarified, and she looked up, bemused. "It doesn't exist here. Not really. There's always footsteps somewhere, creaking on the stairs, voices and gossip and grunting and scolding. There you can hear the wind." He stroked her arm slowly, delicately tracing over it with the pads of his fingers. "And from time to time, you can hear absolutely nothing, and then it's as if time stops, just because you ask it to."

"Would you?" Daphne asked, looking up. "Ask for time to stop, I mean."

"With you? Always," Theo answered without hesitation. "I'd stop it now, in fact, if I could. Keep you here in my arms," he mused, his voice softening slightly as sleep danced along the edge of it. "Would you?"

Daphne considered it. "No, I don't think so. But only because I want to see what happens next," she clarified. "I want to see the gardens, to hear the sound of silence while I'm lying beside you in the grass. But then maybe we can stop time, if it'll let us. Or maybe I still won't," she amended, smiling to herself, "because I'll want to see us when we're older. When we have so many secrets shared between us that there's nothing I know about myself that you don't know, too."

His arms tightened around her, satisfied, as he rested his cheek against the top of her head.

"I suppose we should keep going, then," he said, as she felt her eyes close, surrendering her consciousness to the warmth of him.

"I suppose we should," she murmured, feeling herself drift to sleep.

 **oOo**

"There are other women, you know," Daphne heard Draco say as he strode down the hall, and she tucked herself out of sight, catching his voice and then a predictably matching set of footsteps approaching. "How long are you planning to behave yourself so dully?"

"I've been married barely over three months," she heard Theo reply drily. "Do you really think I possess absolutely no self-control, Malfoy?"

"Well, _you_ might, but I certainly don't," Draco scoffed. "What woman is worth six nights of celibacy?"

At that, Daphne heard the sound of a blade being pulled from a sheath, a series of rapid, shuffling footsteps, and then, abruptly, silence.

"Fine, fine," Draco muttered eventually. "Get that away from my throat, would you? I know you wouldn't actually stab me, you imbecile."

"I might," Theo replied, as Daphne heard him return the sword to the scabbard he typically wore at his waist. "For her, maybe I would. Did you ever think about that?"

Draco grunted his disapproval. "If I ever lose my mind over a woman, feel free to actually stab me," he added listlessly, and Daphne heard Theo's low chuckle.

"Believe me," he replied, "I am already counting the days."

Daphne waited until they passed, hiding a smile in the palm of her hand.

Perhaps it had been worth it to hope.

* * *

Daphne's days were filled with quiet combat, as her father had always warned her they would be. Her days were saddled with tiny, wordless wars, when she stood beside her Queen and faced an apathetic court. Her nights, too—six of them in a row, doomed to be repeated—were plagued with worry, and by the pain of knowing that her closest friend remained alone.

But one night a week, Daphne permitted herself a night without torment. One night per week, she gave herself only one task: learning a man she'd always known.

 _Tell me something about you; your regrets, your favorite things, your fears._

He was an only child, more comfortable being alone, and happier to observe than to be observed. He feared being made to fight in wars he didn't believe in, and also certain kinds of snakes. He regretted that he had not been softer when they were younger; that when they'd met, he hadn't learned much kindness yet. The tree outside his nursery had been his favorite thing, at first, and then the first sword he'd ever been handed, and then the dagger Draco had given him; and then, eventually, it had been her, and the way she'd first begun to smile at him.

"Like candlelight," he told her, whispering it in the dark. "How it flickers first, uncertain, and then it flames. It's not like how you smile at the rest of the court; for them, it's painted on—and true, it's beautiful, of course," he assured her, and she nodded, "like everything you do, and it's always the right smile for the right moment; but still, it's only for them, and not for you. Not like when you really smile."

"It's a secret," Daphne realized, surprised to find that what she liked about him was so perfectly echoed by what he liked about her, and Theo nodded.

"Yes," he agreed. "It's like a secret between you and me, and that's what I like best."

"It's something we have in common," she said, and he smiled his smile for her.

"Though not just that, of course," he reminded her, and then she smiled her smile for him.

"No," she agreed. "Not just that."

There was so much more that they shared, after all, and so many more things they would share well into the future. So many wars they would still fight together; so many more secrets they'd whisper into pillows and bare skin until the sun rose again, stretching its obtrusive rays over them both. She almost pitied it, really, that it could have so little power. That for all that it meant an ending to a night in Theo's arms, she still faced each day with him behind her, and was never alone again.

 **oOo**

After a while, Daphne understood a great many things about the world. She understood that her father had been a great man at court, which had made her noble, and that her husband was the inheritor of a treasury to rival a king's, which had made her powerful. She understood that she was expected to behave in precisely the right way at all times, and that the right way was not always the same way each time. She understood, too, that there were sides to all things—a right one, and a wrong one—but it was difficult to know the right one from a distance, and so there was always a chance she could lose. There was always, always a chance she could lose, but she could stand the gamble if she trusted what was right, and if she remembered that Theo Nott believed (and she believed it, too, when he did), that she was a woman who feared nothing.

Perhaps she still didn't understand all things, but she understood one thing very clearly, and that seemed to amount to everything.

That in the end, what Daphne understood about the world and what she knew about herself each amounted to only one thing of importance, and that after a time, they were both the same.

 **oOo**

 _Tell me something about you._

Easy, she always thought.

 _I love you, I love you, I love you._


	99. Death Wish

**Death Wish**

 _Pairing:_ Nottpott (Theo Nott x Harry Potter)

 _Universe:_ muggle AU

 _Rating:_ M for language, sex

 _Summary:_ Harry's a lifeguard at the Mirage hotel in Las Vegas. Theo's a rich prick with too much game (or none at all, depending). What happens in Vegas... merits a one-shot. Recommended listening: _Super Cool_ by Prelow.

* * *

 _3:35 p.m._

It's always hot in Vegas. _Inferno_ hot, Harry thinks, and the glare from the pool isn't helpful. Saturdays mean club beats pounding while he sits aloft in his lifeguard throne and bakes, hovering somewhere between the circles of hell reserved for gluttons and sloths. If someone set fire to this town, he thinks, nobody would even notice.

He shades his eyes from the sun, sighing. Two children (where are their parents?) splash around wildly and two drunk women complain, looking to Harry for assistance. He's not here for them. Not as they are, anyway. His job is not to be dissatisfaction police for rich women gradually turning their skin to leather. He's here for when the couple in the corner inevitably tries fucking in the pool, or when someone gets drunk enough to try to dive into three feet of chlorinated cesspit (if that). He's the last line of defense between irresponsible fun and death.

Despite this, Harry recognizes the collective compulsion to find water. It calls to him, too. Funny thing, he thinks, being a lifeguard at the Mirage. It's a name so apt it should almost be funny.

He sighs again, rubbing at the sweat pooling under his sunglasses.

It's too fucking hot in Vegas.

* * *

 _4:43 p.m._

Vegas is so over. _So_ fucking over, Theo thinks, and another glance around the Mirage pool does nothing to convince him otherwise. None of the swimsuits are in any way stylish. None of the tattoos are artsy. Too many people are drinking Miller Lite in one place than should be drinking Miller Lite at all, ever. Los Angeles, he thinks, even at its worst and most pretentious, is at least never trying _this_ hard.

Theo considers going home early, but that's not happening. He isn't sure why he forgets every time that the drive back from Vegas to L.A. is always harder than the opposite direction. Drives to Vegas are comforting, full of promise, like diving directly into a sun-soaked pool (though not this _particular_ pool, which would be to aim for certain death and very probably chlamydia). The other direction, on the other hand, is like leaping directly into the sun itself. And not in a good way.

Theo glances around, Draco pausing at his side. "No room," Theo says. Draco, meanwhile, is happily drinking a mai tai, which Theo wants very badly to knock from his hands directly into the pool. "Why'd you pick this hotel again?"

(The suite they have at the Mirage is fucking resplendent with the worst of the 1970s. It's retro, and again, not in a good way. Not to say there's a good way. But if there is, the Mirage is _not it_.)

"You hate every hotel," Draco reminds him. "I'm telling you, Nott, Vegas just is what it is. The city of sin," he adds, winking, as he fits his lips around a weed pen.

"I'm surprised you aren't more opposed," Theo notes, making a face. "None of this seems elite enough for you. And didn't you do coke last night? It's not 1982."

"Well, what do you want me to do?" Draco prompts lazily. "I didn't have any meth."

"Ah, see, you're joking, but it's not even a good joke," Theo points out. "Everyone knows pharmaceuticals are the new cocaine. Coke is Gen X, and meth, as literally everyone on earth agrees, is exclusively for midwesterners."

"That's fucking fascinating, Nott. Tell me more," Draco says drily.

"Remember ecstasy?" Theo muses, obliging. "Talk about a throwback—"

"Stop," Draco says, and points. "Look. Empty chairs."

Exactly two chairs. In the shade (not ideal), next to a waterfall (noisy), directly adjacent to a bachelorette party with two unclaimed girls who are peering around like hawks (bad). They'll be wanting someone to bankroll them, surely. Theo and Draco are the sort of people who look like they might do that, except they wouldn't. Or at least— _Theo_ wouldn't, anyway.

"I'd rather drown," Theo mutters.

Draco squints up, eyeing the lifeguard sitting above them. "You hear that?" he calls up obnoxiously. "My friend has a death wish. If you let him drown, I'd be happy to tip."

Theo doesn't expect the lifeguard to answer—assuming, as one does, that the lifeguard is a normal human being who takes no interest in what two drunk idiots are doing at his feet—but surprisingly, he does. He nudges a pair of sunglasses further up his nose and slumps down, warily regarding Theo and Draco before speaking.

"I died once," the lifeguard remarks idly. His hair is messy and wild beneath a stark white visor, his skin bronzed and slick beneath institutionally pristine shorts. He looks like he probably smells like suntan lotion; the coconut kind, if Theo were to guess. "I was without oxygen for five minutes. Can't say I'd try it again. Can't say I wouldn't."

"Jesus Christ," mutters Draco, about to walk away, but Theo stays behind.

"Tell me more," he commands. The lifeguard lifts his sunglasses, squinting at him.

"You thinking of trying?" the lifeguard says. His name tag says _**HARRY, LAS VEGAS**_ , just like that. All caps. As if it's something to be proud of. "Overdose would be more pleasant, I think, given the option. Pretty sure you could afford it."

"That's presumptuous," Theo notes testily. Draco grabs his arm, trying to leave, but Theo nudges him away, flashing him a polarized glare from beneath thousand-dollar lenses before turning back to the lifeguard. "Any recommendations?"

The lifeguard, Harry, considers it for a second. "Not a stimulant," he says.

"Beg pardon?" Theo asks.

"I mean, could always overdose on caffeine," Harry muses, "given accessibility, but I have to imagine it would hurt. Like, with a normal overdose—"

Theo balks. " _Normal_ overdose?"

"—yeah, normal, like sleeping pills or whatever," Harry continues, unfazed, "you just lose consciousness, right? Everything slows down. Sedatives would be the way to go. Want to die with stimulants, pretty sure that's a heart attack. Can't say for certain, but I'd guess it hurts more. You know how your heart races sometimes and shit? And it, like, stings? That's—that's no good. Might as well drown if you're going to go out that way."

"Jesus _fucking_ Christ," Draco says under his breath, but Theo is enraptured.

"What time do you get off?" Theo asks Harry, ignoring Draco as he walks away, exasperated.

Harry laughs. "Fuck off," he says, and turns back towards the pool.

"I'm serious," Theo says. "Hey," he adds, when the lifeguard doesn't turn. "I'm fucking talking to you."

"I see that," Harry notes. It's irritating, and Theo fucking loves it.

"I'll be back in an hour," Theo says.

Harry nudges his sunglasses back on. "Fuck off."

Theo smiles.

Maybe Vegas isn't over yet.

* * *

 _5:43 p.m._

Harry isn't sure why he decided to talk to the rich kid with the sunglasses and the death wish who has hair that screams Los Angeles (who was probably 'ironically' at the Pitbull concert last night), but he doesn't think much of it until the too-skinny asshole with the dry voice shows up again.

"One hour on the dot," he says, and Harry rolls his eyes.

"Can't prove it," Harry replies. "Wasn't counting."

"You're a fucking liar," says Asshole, flagrantly. Shamelessly.

Harry glances down at his watch.

"Fine," he permits. "One hour on the dot."

The Asshole smiles.

"My friend dragged me here," Asshole says, gesturing over his shoulder. "The blond one, looks real smug? Him. Anyway, we're here for the weekend. Drove in from L.A., for no real reason. Vegas always seems like a good fucking idea, you know? And then you get here and six hours later you're like, shit. This place is so over."

Typical, Harry thinks. It's not like hating Las Vegas is somehow avant-garde.

"I actually like Vegas in theory," Asshole continues. "I like the idea that it's just _so fake_ and we're all in on the joke. Like, we're all here to entertain this grandiose idea that we can escape into a fantasy for forty-eight hours or whatever." He pauses. "The Venetian is my favorite hotel," he adds, "because they really fucking _committed_ , you know? I mean yeah, sure, it's fake, but it's beautiful. The ostentatious kind of beautiful, too—like, um, what's the word—"

"Opulence," Harry says by accident.

"Yes." He can hear the satisfaction in Asshole's voice. "Exactly."

The Venetian is Harry's favorite hotel.

"I mean, you have to like the Bellagio," Asshole continues, apparently not bothered at all by Harry's lack of communication. "It's got a real sense of the absurd, you know? The giant flowers and gardens and the fountains. It's like—the Bellagio is Dada. It's all just fucking satire, man."

"Do you ever stop talking?" Harry asks.

"Tell you over dinner," Asshole says.

"I have no interest in hanging out with you," Harry says, "or your smug blond friend."

"That's fine. Convenient, actually. Been thinking about killing him for years," Asshole says.

Harry says nothing.

"I've got this theory about Pitbull," Asshole remarks tangentially, and Harry rolls his eyes. _Knew it,_ he thinks, until Asshole abruptly surprises him.

"I think he might be a god," Asshole says.

Harry blinks.

"A _minor_ god," Asshole amends quickly. "Like Bacchus, maybe? Or some sort of revelry creature, or maybe an incubus of some kind? I mean okay, I'm not saying he's literally _divine_ , but he had a cold last night at the start of the show and then by the end of the night _he_ was fine and _I_ had the fucking cold, so. You do the math."

"You think Pitbull," Harry echoes slowly, "the singer from Miami, might be Bacchus."

"Yeah, I mean." Asshole shrugs. "Yeah."

Harry turns, staring at him. "Seriously?"

"He's Mr Worldwide," Asshole says defensively. "Who makes that kind of claim? A god of revelry, that's who."

Fuck this lunatic, Harry thinks for a second, but after the idea settles in, he grudgingly decides he kind of likes it. It makes Vegas less hellish and more fantastic, in the literal sense. _Fantasy._ That's what Vegas promises, and what it fails to deliver, favoring $30 mai tais instead.

" _Dah_ -le," Asshole adds, grinning, and then, evidently pleased with himself, he half-shouts, "Mujeeeeeres!"

"Stop," Harry says.

"I'll stop over dinner," Asshole replies.

" _Please_ stop," Harry says, though he checks his watch.

Asshole clearly notices. "You know I have a death wish," he remarks, gesturing blithely to the pool. "Could just try to repeatedly drown until your shift is over."

Harry grimaces. His shift _is_ over.

"What's your name?" Harry says.

"Theodore Videlio Nott the third," replies Asshole.

"Seriously?" Harry says.

"No." Asshole barks out a laugh. "I'm only the second."

"Theodore?" Harry echoes, and frowns. "Go by Ted?"

"Theo," Asshole corrects him, and shudders dramatically. "If you ever fucking call me Ted I'll bury your dick in the ground."

Harry sighs. "Fine. Dinner," he says. "You're paying. And I'm not doing cocaine."

"Pharmaceuticals are the new cocaine," Theo says.

Harry wants to kiss him on the mouth.

"Fine," he says, and climbs down from the lifeguard stand, wondering if he might die tonight.

* * *

 _6:15 p.m._

Theo tells Harry, Las Vegas, to meet him out front, though when he says it, he's still not entirely sure that the lifeguard is going to come. Theo doesn't know what he's doing, exactly. He doesn't know why he's so very insistent on spending time with a _lifeguard_ , particularly one who works at a hotel he doesn't even like. What does that say about him, exactly? Or his choices? Also, it's something of an unreasonable trap, because if Harry, Las Vegas, wants to go clubbing, then Theo hates him. If Harry, Las Vegas, is a gambler, Theo hates him for that, too. There are so many ways that Theo could hate him, and Harry, Las Vegas, doesn't even know.

But then Harry shows up outside, and Theo decides he doesn't hate him.

Theo doesn't hate him at all.

"I was gone fifteen minutes," Harry sighs, looking as if he's biting back a groan, "and somehow you managed to put on a full suit."

Theo glances down. "Well, as I understand it, shirts are required for service. Though if you'd like to cause a stir, I can always go without."

Theo thinks briefly that he'll do it, actually, if Harry asks. He suspects he'll do anything Harry asks. Probably because Harry doesn't seem like the type to ask for anything.

"Take the jacket off," Harry says.

Ah, so Harry doesn't ask. Harry tells.

Theo smiles.

"Have to put it back in my room, then," he says. "You coming?"

Harry looks startled, but only for a moment. He either pretends at being fearless, or has no fears. "Fine."

Theo beckons in the opposite direction and they wind through the casino, heading back towards the lifts. On their way, a variety of women pause to look at them. It's always a bit carnivorous, these glances, because again, most of these women are looking for someone to buy them drinks all night. Maybe someone to fuck them, if they're lucky enough to get their room to themselves for an hour or so. Mostly, though, Theo is a wallet that almost certainly contains a Black Card (status: affirmative), and that's all they need to know. Harry, on the other hand, they look at like a piece of meat.

"You don't seem to mind the smoke," Theo notes, and Harry shrugs.

"Grew up here," he says, and fixes Theo with an unnervingly direct gaze, daring Theo to mock him. "Where are you from?"

"Guess," Theo says, half-smiling.

"Los Angeles," Harry replies.

Right on the first try, which Theo hates a little bit. Technically, he's from Rancho Palos Verdes, which is less a beach town than a gated neighborhood nestled in the cliffs, overlooking the ocean. He usually tells people he's from Manhattan Beach, though it isn't actually much of an improvement. It indicates very clearly an innumerable amount of things about him, most primarily that he went to a private high school. His parents (his father, specifically, seeing as his mother is deceased) were Republicans, though specifically the kind who worshipped Reagan, not McCain, and certainly not Palin. Theo, who worships nothing, does not bring any of this up.

"That obvious?" he asks.

"You're tan, and it's only May, so you live somewhere warm. You're rich, clearly, but not old enough to live somewhere suburban. Ergo, you're either some kind of foreign prince, or you're from L.A.," Harry summarizes disinterestedly, in a way that indicates he's seen it often enough to know. "I generally avoid the L.A. weekenders," he remarks, as if he can't really prevent himself from adding it.

"Generally," Theo notes. "But not today?"

"You didn't give me a choice," Harry reminds him dully.

"You seem like the kind of person who always has a choice," Theo replies, and for some reason, Harry stops, suddenly falling to a halt and turning towards Theo.

"If you're going to play some sort of game where you force me into explaining why I'm here," Harry says, not particularly bothered as the crowd swerves around them, "I don't want to play it. I'm not interested in having to answer for anything."

At this angle, straight on, Theo can see that Harry's eyes are extremely green. He's wearing a pair of glasses that look sturdy and light. Theo can picture them sitting on his nightstand, just like he can picture Harry's clothes on his floor.

"Noted," Theo says, and gestures to the elevators. "Shall we?"

Harry lifts his chin, which is like a nod, only more stubborn.

"This one," Theo says, beckoning to the lifts that are marked A-E. He can see on Harry's face for a moment that he knows that means Theo has a suite, but the brief degree of calculation is smoothed over relatively quickly.

"Got it," Harry says, and follows him into the elevator.

It opens onto floor A with a ding.

"I hate the aesthetic of this hotel," Theo comments, gesturing to the carpeting and the doors, which look Eastern-influenced in a way that screams _oriental_ , or some other shameless cultural misappropriation. "In what way is any of this a mirage? There should be, I don't know. Phantasms. Hallucinogens. I should feel distinctly misplaced in time and space."

"How exactly would that be a hotel theme?" Harry asks, following him down the corridor. Theo places his key in the lock and waits for the beep, then shoves the door open, permitting them entry.

"Ghosts," Theo says in answer, and watches as Harry almost laughs.

The suite is ridiculous and Theo knows this. The view is nice, but almost any view is nice at this height. The sofa is angular and stupid. The bar is reflective and gaudy. There's a television at the foot of the massive bed in the closest bedroom, which can almost be seen from the front door, but not quite. It says a lot that there's a television there, Theo thinks. That's not what Theo does in the bedroom, though the television above the jacuzzi is, of course, another story.

"Put the jacket down and let's go," Harry says, his gaze flicking to the totally unnecessary dining table. "I only agreed to dinner."

Theo looks over what Harry is wearing. Jeans and a henley, two of the three buttons undone, plus a pair of scuffed up Chuck Taylors. Theo, meanwhile, is wearing a bespoke suit. Three of his own top buttons are undone, and part of him wants to button one more, wondering if he's saying too much, but it's too late for that. Instead he removes his jacket and lets it slide to the floor, making a statement. The statement is, of course, this: _I don't put things where they belong, and therefore, I am trouble._

Harry watches Theo roll his sleeves up.

Harry looks like exactly the kind of trouble Theo came here for, even if he'd never admit it.

"What do you want to eat?" Theo asks him, and does not say anything crude, although it does occur to him to wonder what else Harry feels like putting in his mouth.

"You're the guest here," Harry says, shrugging. "You pick."

Theo wonders if Harry isn't setting a trap for him now, as equally and as shamelessly as he set one for Harry. _You're the guest here, so use me as you wish, but if you use me, I will hate you._

"I want a burger," Theo says. He's suddenly starving, he thinks, and Harry's mouth quirks.

"Burger it is," Harry replies, and perhaps it's Theo's imagination, but he sounds a bit hungry, too.

* * *

 _6:45 p.m_.

Harry notices right away that Theo isn't a compulsive phone-checker, which surprises him. He realizes that he actually _did_ notice Theo at the pool earlier that day, though he hadn't committed it to memory (well, he had, but only in retrospect, which doesn't count) and recalls that when he first noticed the two rich assholes (the other of which Theo informs Harry is outrageously called _Draco_ , which practically screams obscure left-coast intellectualism) Theo was on his phone, staring mindlessly at his screen in a way that usually indicates disinterest rather than communication. Harry notices now, though, that Theo doesn't remove his phone from his pocket, not even to look at a map of the Strip, until it rings. Then Theo sighs, glances at the name on the screen, and raises it to his ear.

"What?" he says, which Harry thinks is fantastic. One day, Harry reminds himself, he'll be the sort of person who can answer the phone that way. No greeting, no salutation. Simply a _what, what is it, you're wasting my time,_ which will be a welcome relief from years of _hello, this is he, thank you for calling, may I help you?_

"No," Theo says, and pauses. "Fine. No, I haven't seen your texts. You text me too much, I told you, I don't need to know where you are at every moment. No, I'm— _fine_." He rolls his eyes, dodging a woman wearing nothing but nipple pasties and feathers, and beckons for Harry to keep up. "No, come on, I don't want to go there. I don't want sushi again, it's not that good here. We're landlocked for fuck's sake, Malfoy, and I just s- fine. Gordon Ramsay?" He makes a face, then glances at Harry. "Yeah. No, I'm not alone. I told you, I'm with- no, that wasn't a joke. I agree, it isn't funny. Amazing, isn't it, that something that's very much happening is not a joke? Fine." A groan, and another glance at Harry. "Well, he doesn't like you. No, not ironically. He doesn't like you, Malfoy, because you're an asshole. Me? I'm charming. Tell him."

Harry blinks, realizing that Theo is holding the phone out to him.

"Sorry," he says. "What?"

"Tell him," Theo repeats, "that I'm charming."

For whatever reason (to end this, perhaps) Harry agrees to take the phone.

"Hello?" he says, warily.

"Ah. So he's not joking, then." It's the smug blond prince on the other end, sighing. "Well, I assume he's told you that some of our friends have joined us for dinner."

"No, he hasn't," Harry says.

Silence.

"You know, if you're after him for his money," smug blond prince warns quietly, the sound on the other end changing slightly as if he's gone outside from somewhere loud, "I recommend walking away. Hand him back his phone and turn around."

"What's he saying?" Theo asks impatiently, but Harry holds up a hand.

"I think I can decide for myself what I do with my time," Harry says into the phone, "but thank you endlessly for your concern."

A pause, and then a loud scoff. "Fine." He can practically hear the teeth gritting on the other end. "He's a big boy. I'm sure he'll sort it out for himself soon enough."

Harry says nothing.

"Just tell Nott to meet us at Planet Hollywood," the smug blond says, rejoining whatever crowd he was just in. "I presume you're tagging along?"

Harry glances at Theo and for a moment he's angry, or irritated, but he realizes almost immediately that Theo has genuinely no idea what his smug blond friend is saying to him. Harry also realizes that perhaps the smug blond is something of a gatekeeper, which says much more about Theo than he thinks it does.

"If Theo is going," Harry says, "then I'm going."

Theo blinks, surprised and pleased.

"God, this is so fucked." The smug blond prince hangs up, and Harry hands the phone back to Theo.

"We're meeting your friends at Planet Hollywood," Harry says.

"I hate that place," Theo groans, tucking his phone back into his pocket, "but at least we're getting a burger. What's your stance on truffle fries?"

"I don't have one," Harry says.

"You should," Theo advises.

If you like them, Harry thinks, I bet I like them.

"Dying of high cholesterol wouldn't be the way to go," Harry says instead.

"You know, I've thought about it," Theo tells him, "and I think you're right about an overdose. I'd like to be killed by excess, you know what I mean? I think it says a lot. I think it says something terrible, and I'd want that, I think. I'd want people at my funeral talking about how I deserved it. Like, 'oh, good thing there's champagne here, because I hated that asshole. Overdose? Please.' Honestly, I think if people cried I'd just be insulted."

"Yeah?" Harry asks.

"Yeah," Theo confirms. "Because it means they didn't know me at all."

Harry permits three steps in silence before glancing at Theo.

"You should have cake at your funeral," he says. "And a guillotine."

"Oh, like a French Revolution theme?" Theo asks, and Harry nods. "I like it, actually." He tilts his head. "Wow, yeah, I like that a lot. I think it says exactly what I want it to say."

He turns his head, glancing at Harry.

"How did you do that?" he asks.

Harry shrugs. "Just a guess."

"Huh," Theo says, and smiles down at his feet. "Huh," he repeats, quieter, and Harry glances at the knuckles of Theo's hands.

Theo has smooth hands, slender fingers. The bone of his wrist is prominent in a way that makes him look like an artist. The knuckles, however, are bruised, just faintly. He has a thin scar running between the webbing of his pointer and middle fingers. He wears a single ring, a signet ring, on his pinky. It looks like it could cause some damage, but the face of it is blank. No crest, no monogram, no initial. Harry blinks, picturing that hand sliding down his own stomach, the ring catching briefly on the button of his jeans just before it dips under.

But then he realizes that's not it. That's not the hand.

"You're left-handed," Harry observes, noticing that Theo wears his watch on his right wrist. It's a worn leather band, nondescript, save for the small Rolex logo on the face.

"Yeah," Theo says, and slides his left hand through his hair for emphasis, turning to smile briefly at Harry.

His left hand is unadorned, and Harry smiles back.

Convenient.

* * *

 _8:15 p.m._

Dinner goes on for way too long. Blaise tells too many stories about traveling, and asks Harry too many questions about where he's been, which isn't too many places. Theo shifts uncomfortably, wishing he would stop. Harry doesn't seem terribly bothered, but his hand seems tight around his beer.

Harry is, of course, extremely underdressed compared to Draco and Blaise, and even compared to Greg and Vince, who are very much Draco's friends. They're the stupidest investment bankers Theo has ever met, but he's glad, at least, every time they talk, because he catches Harry laughing _at_ them, not _with_ them, and Theo finds that rewarding. He finds it apt. Draco forgives their stupidity because he likes a posse, an entourage. He's willing to surround himself with idiocy if finery comes with it. Theo, on the other hand, is itching to be alone with Harry. He wants Harry to notice things about him, to tell him things. Sometimes (most of the time) Theo doesn't know himself very well, but somehow, Harry picks through his unspoken thoughts and unasked questions and sorts him out within minutes, within seconds, and does him the kindness of not ultimately putting him in a box.

Just before they leave, Theo boldly sets a hand down beside him, on the spot in the booth between him and Harry. He waits for a second, lifting his glass with his free hand, and then lets his pinky drift slightly, permitting it to brush against the hem of Harry's jeans. He waits, wondering if Harry will notice. Theo read somewhere once that touch is the most acute of human senses. He read, more specifically, that if someone is touching you, it's not an accident. They are aware. He silently begs Harry to notice that this is not an accident. He hopes that Harry is aware.

"Ready?" Draco prompts, and the group begins to vacate the booth.

Harry shifts, preparing to rise to his feet, and Theo's pinky retracts, shameful.

Aim too high and you hit the sun, he reminds himself, hiding his disappointment as he slides out after Harry.

Naturally, after eating, Draco wants to gamble. He really is unnaturally good at blackjack, considering he's twice as clever as he looks, and he certainly doesn't look like a fool. He's wary-eyed and sharp, and much too smart for Vince and Greg, who mostly enjoy things like craps. Theo, on the other hand, is excellent at Texas Hold'em. Draco isn't bad either. Blaise mostly gambles wildly, erratically, and exclusively while drinking, but he's preternaturally lucky. Any given weekend in Vegas, the three of them will usually come out on top, with their suites comped—the irony of wealth, really. They showed up here already fucking loaded, and they leave having gotten everything for free.

The moment they find a table with the 'right vibe' in the casino (at the Paris hotel, which is always lucky at this time of night), Draco throws two hundred dollars down on the table, and Theo sees Harry swallow hard. He supposes it _is_ kind of sickening to watch. At one point, Theo was able to feel some sort of revulsion at the idea of having so much money it's worth spending on adrenaline alone. Now he feels very little, except for the motion of Harry pulling away from him.

Harry watches Draco make a hundred dollars in less than five minutes and turns his head away.

"You playing?" Draco calls over his shoulder, beckoning for Theo, but Theo knows if he sits down now, it's over. Harry will walk away, and no amount of money could make him chance that. He will never know how to find Harry again.

"I gotta go," Harry says, turning over his shoulder and proving Theo right, and though Theo is rarely wrong, he still hates it.

"Wait," Theo says, pausing him with a hand out. "You go ahead," he tells Draco, who purses his lips, disapproving. "Just, uh. Text me."

"Right," Draco says, knowing perfectly well Theo doesn't answer his phone. He glances sharply at Harry, who's already taken another step in retreat. "You sure about that?" Draco says under his breath, but Theo glares at him. "Fine." He waves a hand at Harry. "Bye," he says, with his particular gift for making a single syllable sound like a threat.

Harry turns to walk away and Theo chases after him.

"What now?" Theo asks, a little breathless, and Harry shrugs, not slowing down.

"I only agreed to dinner," he says.

"But that's not fair," Theo counters. "We didn't talk about death at all over dinner. Draco's friends are blissfully unaware of their mortality," he adds. "It's a damn shame, really. It's what all the kids are missing these days, I say."

Harry pivots so quickly Theo almost collides with a stranger, only just managing to steady himself as Harry stares at him. It's not a mean look, but it's certainly accusatory.

"What do you want from me?" Harry asks.

Theo blinks.

Having dinner with his friends was almost certainly a mistake.

"I'm not like them," he says, and he can hear a little bit of pleading in his voice, which he hates. "Seriously. I'm not."

"I fucking know that," Harry says, and then grimaces. "I'm sorry," he adds in an undertone. "I didn't mean to—" He swallows. "I'm just sorry."

"It's fine." Theo is relieved, or possibly jittery. He inhales Harry's apology until it fizzes in his veins, an inexplicable high. "Let's get a drink. You and me. Anywhere you want."

Harry considers it. "You ever been to the Chateau?"

Yes, Theo has been there, many times. It's the rooftop lounge in the hotel they're currently standing in, and not exactly a hidden wonder.

"Have you?" Theo asks.

"No," Harry says.

 _Oh_ , Theo thinks.

"I really hope you're using me for my money, then," Theo says, half-laughing. He'd rather spend it on Harry than on the blackjack tables, anyway. Somehow he thinks the investment will be met with better results.

"Maybe," Harry says. "Or maybe I just don't want to be inside."

Theo thinks Harry probably looks good under tea lights and stars.

"Think they have guillotines?" Theo asks.

"I think they'd be idiots not to," Harry replies.

Jesus Christ, Theo wants to touch him. Wants to drown in possibility, in mights and maybes and coulds. Wants to luxuriate in the promise of touching him; wants to paint a portrait with the probable softness of his mouth; wants to wear the finery of imagined bruises Harry might leave along the slopes of his thighs.

"Let's go, then," Theo says, and the Harry who stands before him unfortunately doesn't drop to his knees and pull at Theo's belt, but he nods.

"Let's go," Harry agrees and turns towards the elevator, dragging Theo back to the spectacularity of now.

* * *

 _9:45 p.m._

Theo clearly paid for bottle service and Harry wants to be annoyed, only he _did_ do it very discreetly, and also did something of a dance of feigned surprise when they got seated somewhere intensely private. It's so wildly endearing that Harry can't really be angry, even if he does feel like he's being distinctly _Pretty Woman_ -ed. He considers making a joke about how Theo's renting him by the hour, only Theo's gone to such lengths _not_ to make it seem that way that he would hate to ruin the effort.

Instead, Harry thinks back to Theo's pinky lingering near his thigh—and the ghost of a shudder it sent up his spine—and decides maybe this is just Theo's version of sharing. If _he_ had money, Harry thinks, he'd probably do the same thing. If he had money, he'd probably be alone with Theo right now (pouring Dom Perignon into the hollow of his throat from the back of an Escalade, if the rap songs were to be believed) so maybe Theo was actually a saint, and deserved the money.

"Drink," Theo says, thrusting a champagne flute into Harry's hand, and Harry amends the last part of his suspicions.

"Trying to take advantage of me?" Harry asks.

"Can you be bought?" Theo counters.

Yes. "No." Maybe. "But I'd be insulted if you didn't try."

"Ah." Theo laughs, then gestures up. "So. Everything you hoped it would be?"

Yes, actually.

"It's pretty nice," Harry says, and then adds, "I miss the gold standard."

"What?" Theo asks, startled.

"The gold standard," Harry repeats. "You know, where a country's monetary system was linked directly to gold—"

"I fucking know what the gold standard is," Theo cuts in, rolling his eyes. "I've read _Capitalism and Freedom_. Why the fuck do you _miss_ the gold standard?"

"Well, maybe what I miss is gold," Harry corrects himself. "I mean, in some weird, sentimental, pirate sort of way. Like, I'd love to throw down some gold coins, you know what I mean? Bills are fine. They're fine." He barks out a laugh, and okay, maybe he's a little bit drunk. "But I want to fucking shower someone in gold coins before I die."

"Dude," Theo says. "That is a _wild_ dream."

"What's yours?" Harry asks casually, leaning back against the loveseat.

"My dream?" Theo cocks his head, considering it. "Besides my French Revolution funeral, you mean."

"Obviously," Harry says.

"Obviously," Theo echoes with amusement, running his thumb over his lip with a laugh. "Right, well, aside from that, and my preeminent death, I guess I'd say…" He tilts his head. "I want to be late to something," he said, which is surprising, mostly in that it makes no sense.

"That's it?" Harry says. "You're so punctual you aspire to tardiness?"

"Well, no," Theo admits, grimacing into his champagne flute. "It's hard to explain."

"I just told you I wanted to throw down in gold coins," Harry said. "I think you can explain yourself."

Theo rolls his eyes. "It's dumb."

"Of course it's dumb," Harry says. "That's the point. If you'd said something sophisticated, I'd punch you."

"Well, I do deserve it," Theo says. "I mean, just generally."

"Right," Harry confirms. "Yes. I'm aware."

Theo's gaze slides to his, brows arched.

"You're uniquely punchable," Harry assures him, "and you know that. But answer the question."

Theo groans, but relents.

"I want to be the kind of late that means you were distracted," he says eventually, eyeing his glass. "You know. Like, I want to be with someone who makes me not care what time it is. I want to be on my way to something, a meeting or something, and then have that person show up naked at my door, and then I want to just go, I don't know— _fuck it_. Fuck whatever else I was doing, this is more important." He pauses, running a thumb along the condensation of his glass. "Oh, dinner with a client in ten minutes?" he poses facetiously to himself, half-smiling. "Well, fuck it, it can wait. It can wait, because I need to fuck this person right now—here, now, because I have to. Because—I don't know. Them, me, this particular transgression, we are irreplaceable. Because I will never be this young or this in love or this terribly, unbearably wanting again, and I can't fucking waste it. Because this fucking second, this very _moment_ is fleeting, it's rare and won't come around again, and client dinners can wait fifteen minutes or however long it takes. I want to have that person in my doorway and then decide, _well, fuck, I guess this is what I'm doing now_ , and have that be that."

He tips his head back, draining his glass, and Harry realizes he might be in love with him.

Either that, or he's unforgivably drunk.

"Theo," he says, and Theo shakes his head.

"Don't," Theo says. "Don't kiss me right now, I won't believe it. I won't believe you if you do it now." He turns his head. "Do it later. When I'm not ready. When I can't breathe."

Harry blinks, and then nods slowly.

"Okay," Harry says.

A busty waitress pours more into Theo's glass, and then into Harry's. For several minutes they sit in silence—or something like silence, anyway, which doesn't actually exist in Las Vegas. In Vegas, on a Saturday night, Flo Rida is as good as silence, even as it transitions to some other too-loud beat. Britney's _Work Bitch_ comes on next and fuck, this would be a terrible time to have a first kiss. A truly awful time.

Harry turns his head and grabs Theo's jaw, pulling it towards him, but at the last second something compels him to pause, and he stops just shy of touching his lips to Theo's.

Theo's chest rises and falls aggressively, but he doesn't move.

This isn't what he wanted.

Harry releases him and exhales, letting his head fall forward. Still, Theo doesn't move. Harry's nose slides along one side of Theo's and still, he doesn't move. Theo's breath is on Harry's lips; his eyes close, and his lashes flutter against Harry's temple; but he doesn't move. Harry's hand, which hovers in the air from where he let it fall from Theo's cheek, floats slowly and unsteadily until it lands on Theo's hip, precisely where his shirt is tucked into his trousers.

Harry lets his head fall, his forehead resting on the bridge of Theo's shoulder, and only then does Theo's hand rise, his fingers toying with the hair at the nape of Harry's neck as Harry closes his eyes, breathing hard.

"I'm drunk," Harry says, and presses his lips to Theo's chest, just below his clavicle. He bites down briefly, obscenely wishing he could saturate the fabric with his tongue, if nothing else. He feels Theo manage a swallow; shivers as Theo's fingers tighten on his hair.

"Maybe we should go somewhere," Theo says. "Walk a bit. Get some air."

Harry's hand is toying with Theo's shirt, untucking it slightly. The pads of his fingers brush Theo's abdomen and he thinks, faintly, that he might scream if he can't get any closer, if he can't feel any more.

"My friend," Harry attempts, and falters, forcing another swallow. "My friend's a club promoter. He's going to be at Oak tonight." It's the nightclub in the Mirage. "Could get us in if you wanted to walk back that way."

Theo nods, turns his head to speak in Harry's ear. "Sounds good," he says, and slips his tongue briefly along the lobe, as Harry feels his entire body suffer an avalanche of tremors.

Harry forces himself to his feet, knowing perfectly well he can't stand another moment of whatever Theo is doing to him. Waiting, he supposes, which has never been Harry's strong suit. He glances over the edge of the wall before they leave, eyeing the Strip below.

"Don't jump," Theo says, standing behind him. "Can't be the best way to go."

Not true, Harry thinks to argue. It'd be more merciful than this, at least.

"I'd rather skydive than bungee jump," Harry offers instead, as a nearly unrelated sidebar. "At least with skydiving, if you're going to die, you die from a heart attack in the air. You know it's coming, and your heart fucks off. Bungee jumping you die on impact." He shudders pointedly. "No thanks."

"I'm not here for a crash," Theo agrees, with a faint smile. "So yeah, cross that one off the list."

Harry thinks it's distinctly possible he might die tonight, and he thinks maybe he won't mind it.

"Harry," Theo says, and Harry shakes his head.

"Don't kiss me," Harry says. "Not here. Not like this."

Theo smiles brilliantly. "Ah," he says approvingly. "Now you get it."

Then he gestures ahead and Harry nods, leading them back to the elevators.

* * *

 _11:44 p.m._

It's not a great nightclub, and Harry's friend Seamus is one of those dodgy characters Theo suspects has a juvenile record. Probably arson or some shit. Still, they're playing some of those early 2000s hyphy movement songs with the heavy beats. It's less sexual than it is purely nostalgic, and they can't talk in here, so they drink instead. They drink, and they dance. Not really with each other, though Theo considers how badly he wants Harry to grind on his lap—not dissimilar from what the girls in the next booth over are offering the best man of an extremely Southern bachelor party. Theo wants filthy, dastardly, ignoble things from Harry, but not here. Not where the floor is sticky with Smirnoff and cheap tequila. He wants Harry naked on a cold marble floor; wants to leave marks somewhere porcelain.

Harry makes Theo want sumptuousness. Opulence. Not this, the worst track from the post-One Direction singles, which is an abrupt end to _Tell Me When to Go._ Harry's hair is falling into his eyes and Theo stops dancing to brush it away, slicking it back from his face.

"Don't kiss me now unless you have a death wish," Harry warns, laughing, and pulls Theo towards him, one hand wrapped tight around his arm.

"And what if I do?" Theo shouts. Some girl gives him a come-hither look from over Harry's shoulder and he ignores it, though he might not have done so on another night. For now, his attention is occupied. His curiosity is piqued. His hands drop to Harry's hips, and the girl frowns. She'll tell her friends later that every man is scum or gay or both and kick her shoes off with a whine, and maybe by the time she does, Theo will have sucked a bruise in the shape of his teeth into the side of Harry's neck. Or maybe not. Maybe he'll still be here dancing with Harry, the tips of his fingers still damp with Harry's sweat.

"Not here," Harry laughs into Theo's ear, the heel of his palm pressed into Theo's chest. "Not now."

 _Then when?_ Theo wants to beg, only he laughs instead.

Harry's free hand is somewhere on Theo's thigh and it stops, freezing in place.

"Your phone," Harry says.

"What?" Theo yells.

Harry slides his own hand into Theo's pocket and Theo nearly convulses.

"Your phone," Harry says, smacking it into Theo's palm.

Theo looks down, groaning at the lit-up screen. Missed text messages are somewhere in the double digits, and now the phone is vibrating with further evidence of Draco's displeasure.

"Fuck," he says.

"Might as well answer," Harry tells him with a shrug. "We've got nothing else going on."

Sure, Theo thinks. Nothing else.

"WHAT?" he shouts into the phone.

"What?" Draco yells back.

Theo sighs, grabbing the collar of Harry's shirt and pulling him towards the exit.

"What is it, Malfoy?"

"Where are you? You can't possibly still be with what's-his-face."

"Harry," Theo says, rolling his eyes. "You know his name, Draco."

"Seriously? Still? Come on. Let's, I don't know. Karaoke. You know, that one place? With the—the ramen. Yes, Blaise, bottle service, this isn't my fucking first day. Blaise, would you very kindly shut the fuck up, I'm trying to talk to Nott—"

"Where?" Theo sighs, exasperated.

"We'll meet you in the lobby of the hotel, I just stopped to—BLAISE. PUT THAT DOWN- Theo, ten minutes. FOR FUCK'S SAKE—"

Draco hangs up and Theo sighs, glancing at Harry.

"Karaoke?" he asks.

"Sure," Harry says.

"Great," Theo says, turning away. "We're meeting Draco in ten min-"

He breaks off as Harry yanks him back and forces him against the wall, holding his wrists steady. Theo blinks, uncertain, and then Harry releases his hands, shifting instead to take hold of Theo's face.

The kiss comes out of nowhere. Harry's hips press against Theo's with his hands firmly wrapped around either side of Theo's jaw, and Theo can't breathe, can't speak, can barely manage to kiss back as his hands come around to rest somewhere beneath the muscle of Harry's back, curved around his shoulder blades. It lasts somewhere between eternity and half a second, Harry's glasses jabbing slightly into Theo's cheek, and then Harry yanks Theo's head back, placing a single kiss on the arch of Theo's throat as Theo lets out a loud gasp, surfacing from an unholy depth.

"What the fuck," Theo manages, as Harry steps back and then away, turning towards the exit. "Hold on," Theo growls after him, grabbing his arm. "What do you think you're d-"

"We're meeting Draco in ten minutes," Harry says, and then grabs Theo's arm, checking his watch. "Nine, even."

"We could be late," Theo suggests dizzily, but Harry grins.

"Not yet," he says, and keeps walking.

Theo stares after him, dismayed and disbelieving and utterly distraught.

"You fucker," he sighs, and chases after Harry, bursting through the doors and back into the lobby of the Mirage.

* * *

 _1:07 a.m._

" _Carry on my wayward son,_ " Harry sings deliriously, " _there'll be peace when you are done, lay your weary head to rest, don't you cry no more—"_

Draco, who is considerably more bearable when he's drunk, sings loudly with his arm thrown around Harry's shoulder, apparently in approval of the song choice (if not also of Harry himself, though he seems to have at least abandoned his insistence on contempt). Blaise, who has somehow befriended what looks like a birthday party for some girls named after flowers and Greek myths, toasts him from the lounge sofas that are probably going to need a solid scrub before the night is over. Vince and Greg, the two idiots that Theo obviously hates, are playing twin air guitars and trying very badly to get two of the birthday party girls to watch.

Theo, meanwhile, is staring up at Harry from where he's sitting alone, a bottle of Sapporo clutched tightly in his hand. It occurs to Harry in flashbacks from pieces throughout the night that Theo is often sitting alone, even when he's with other people. It isn't as if he doesn't care, or as if people don't care about him. It's more like he's a piece that doesn't know where he fits, or that maybe doesn't mind that he doesn't.

Harry thrusts the microphone into Draco's hands and leaves him to the rest of the song, opting to fall into the seat beside Theo's.

"Tired?" he asks Theo.

"No," Theo says, and grins. "You're a fucking terrible singer."

"I know." Harry reaches out, touching his pinky to the side of Theo's thigh. "I want to kiss you again," he says, probably too quietly for Theo to hear, but Theo shifts his leg over, seeming to grasp the message.

"Pick out a song for me," Theo says, which seems to mean _we're not leaving yet, asshole, because you did this to yourself, and now you're going to suffer for it,_ and Harry's secretly kind of glad about it. The wait is doing things to his internal organs.

Something to his chest, too.

He sits up and grabs the booklet from the girl with the flower name and the too-smug nose, ignoring her when she lets out a squawk of opposition.

"Here," Harry says, pointing to the song title and offering it to Theo.

"Done," Theo declares, draining his beer, and then he rises to his feet, taking the mic from Draco and pivoting with far too much panache for any single person to possess (much less a drunk person with no obvious coordination).

"Surprise, bitches," Theo adds, winking at Harry, "I'm actually fucking _fantastic_."

Draco lets out an approving howl, and Harry watches, entranced, as the song begins.

" _You are my fiiiiiiire, my one desiiiiiiire_ ," Theo sings, and even though the sound of it is almost immediately lost in a swarm of chorusing voices, Harry decides Theo's actually a pretty good singer.

Either that, Harry thinks, or maybe—just _maybe_ —he's just a little bit in over his head.

* * *

 _2:15 a.m._

The girls lure Draco and the others off to their suite at the Venetian and Theo hangs back, pausing Harry as he climbs out of the back of the cab. He says nothing; only gestures across the street at the Mirage, and Harry nods.

"Want to tell Draco?" Harry asks, but Draco's far ahead already, swept up in being the center of attention. That's Draco's happy place, but Theo suspects he's already in his.

"Nah," Theo says. "Wouldn't be the first time I disappeared."

Harry arches a brow. "And if he decides to text you relentlessly?"

Theo pulls his phone out of his pocket. "Whoops," he says, powering it off with a swipe, "slipped and fell."

Harry smiles.

The walk back to the Mirage is, of course, needlessly long, considering it's directly across the street. Reaching the limited access points is something of a drawn out process, particularly since the streets are still flooded with people who are surely only going to make mistakes. Theo wonders for a second if he is, too, but determines that unimportant. If this is a mistake, then so be it. What else is Vegas for, anyway?

The walk back through the casino is stranger now, considering how far they've come. Theo knows what Harry tastes like now, has felt Harry pressed up against him, and that makes all of the difference. Some of the difference. The world is different, for whatever reason, even though it looks and smells the same, hazy with that distant sensation of smoke.

Every step Theo takes is something of a choice. Should he stop here, kiss Harry here? The elevator door closes. How about now? Pressed up against the reflective surfaces? If he shoved hard enough Harry might growl his opposition, hiss in pain, and maybe it would make Theo smile a little, give him a reason to make it up to Harry later. The elevator lands at his floor, dings, and Theo realizes he missed it. Missed his chance. Here, then? Up against the wall? He could slide his hand down Harry's jeans and coax him into something; something he hasn't decided yet, but something. No, not here, he misses it again, dips his keycard into the lock and waits for another beep to tell him that time is passing, time is slipping away from him, soon the door will be open and he'll be alone with Harry, and then what? What does he want, what does he want? Has he decided? He walks into the room and Harry's next to him and he stares at the brass reflective surfaces at the bar, the lights from the skyline outside. He could kiss Harry now, surely. It's private, isn't it? Here, in this horrible suite, he could take Harry's clothes off, could drag him down onto the retro floors and—and—

Harry takes one of Theo's shaking hands and brushes his lips against his palm, closing his fingers around it.

"Tell me something stupid," Harry says quietly, and Theo lets out a breath.

"I'm afraid," he says.

Harry steps closer. "Of?"

"You know how they say you die twice?" Theo exhales, and Harry nods. "Once when you stop breathing, and again when someone says your name for the last time. I'm afraid of the second death." He smiles half-heartedly. "I'm afraid I'll live a life so ordinary that once I die the first time, nobody ever says my name again."

"No," Harry counters, shaking his head, and Theo frowns, not having expected to be disagreed with on such an intimate point. "That's not what you're afraid of—you're afraid of _living_ ," he says, as Theo blinks. "Really living, I mean. A full life, you know, with love and shit. You're afraid you'll live an empty life, or that nobody would love you enough to miss you when you're gone. But if you ask me," Harry continues mildly, taking another step forward, "I don't think you really have to worry about that."

Theo's throat is dry. "No?"

"No." Harry's very close now, his chest rising almost to where it could meet Theo's, if he inhaled sharply enough. "For one thing, you just have to die before Draco. He seems like he'll probably want to discuss you at length."

Theo wants to laugh, but can't.

"Is that it?" he asks, swallowing, and Harry reaches out, brushing his thumb across the exposed line of Theo's chest; just beneath the button he's really rather glad now he didn't fasten.

"I'll never forget you," Harry says softly, "as long as I live. If you walk out of here right now and I go to work tomorrow and everything is exactly as it was, I promise, Theo, I will never stop saying your name. I'll repeat it to myself before I fall asleep," he murmurs, his lips brushing the side of Theo's mouth. "I'll say it in the mornings, the moment my eyes open." His fingers toy with the buckle of Theo's belt. "I'll say it when you're long gone from here, and I'm still thinking about what it felt like to kiss you." He presses his lips softly, once, to the bone of Theo's cheek. "I'll say it to myself every time I suspect this place is a hellscape I'll never escape. I'll say your name, and remember how much I loved being tossed to the flames."

"Corny," Theo chokes out, his hands coiled in Harry's shirt. He can feel the lines that make up the sides of Harry's abdomen, can feel them shifting under his hands. "Was it even your turn to say something stupid?"

"Yes," Harry confirms, "and I'm not done, either."

Theo closes his eyes, aching. "What other stupid shit you got?"

"I think maybe I've been waiting my whole life just to touch you," Harry says, and it _is_ stupid, _and_ shitty, and Theo wants to die. To fucking freeze time and just _die_ —here, now, in Harry's arms, burnt to ash by Harry's warmth, reduced to a puddle of nothing at Harry's feet.

"Touch me, then," Theo says, because he definitely has a death wish.

He wonders if he won't spontaneously collapse.

* * *

 _3:04 a.m._

Theo's face is a fucking masterpiece, a collection of secrets. Along his cheekbone are three freckles, like Orion's belt, all in a line. Harry runs his fingers over them, careful, steady, and lets the pads of his fingers press against the shadows beneath Theo's eyes. There's a wild cacophony of color there, faint bits of purple and green, indicators of sleeplessness, swollen little bruises that mean something keeps Theo up at night, and Harry wants badly to know what it is. To know what he thinks about, to read him like a line in a book, like many lines, like the hidden messages between them. There's a faint scar on Theo's lip, evidence of stitches, and Harry's thumb brushes over it, presses down. At some point in Theo's life he bled there, sliced it open. Something hurt him and so Harry leans forward, kissing him with softness, with kindness, with reverential wonder. He kisses the scar on Theo's lip and pulls away when Theo tries to kiss back, leaving him to stagger forward and brace himself against Harry's hips.

Harry glances down, eyeing where Theo's hands have tightened on him, and nods his approval, turning his attention wordlessly to Theo's shirt. He slides a hand under the lapel, undoes one button at a time. One button, pauses, kisses Theo's chest, just where he can feel a pulse. Another button, another pause, a kiss to the center of Theo's sternum. A third button, brushes his tongue across what he knows, professionally speaking, is the xiphoid process, and slides his hands around Theo's ribs. He looks up, mouth still pressed to Theo's skin, and sees Theo's head falling back, his eyes closing. Another button. Another. He pulls the shirt out from Theo's trousers and lowers himself to his knees, kissing the flat of Theo's stomach. Theo is lean and muscular, slender but strong. Harry buries his thumbs in the lines of Theo's abs and smiles slightly as they flex under his touch, frozen along with Theo's breath.

Theo says nothing as Harry tugs at his belt, loosening it and letting it gape before sliding a thumb over the obvious outline of Theo's cock, which is hard and sort of laughably pressing into Harry's chin. He kisses it through the fabric, licks it, lets his mouth rub against it until Theo is panting, his fingers shifting to tighten in Harry's hair.

Harry looks up, half-smiling, and Theo reaches down, running his thumb over Harry's mouth. Harry bites down lightly, kisses him, pushes his hand away. Not now, he communicates silently, his hand on Theo's zipper. Not now. I'm busy.

Theo is of course wearing impossibly soft boxer-briefs, the fabric such a silken cotton it feels almost a crime to stretch out the elastic, drawing it halfway over Theo's backside. Theo widens his stance, still half-holding his breath, and Harry wants to take his time, but wonders if he'll be able to. Doubts it, actually.

The moment Harry closes his lips around Theo, he can feel the earth beneath him shift. He can feel the world in motion, and he discovers it is quiet now, so quiet he only just hears the sound that leaves Theo's lips—"Harry," Theo whispers, in a way Harry is sure means his own name, at least, will never die.

He welcomes it, whatever comes next. He shifts his hand and rests it on the small of Theo's back, pulling him closer.

When Theo comes, Harry's hand remains in place, holding him steady.

Holding him.

Holding on.

* * *

 _4:15 a.m._

They're on the floor when Theo lifts Harry's shirt, slowly kissing the span of his torso. He's athletic, more so than Theo, and he's littered with old scars, like a museum of trauma. Theo firmly believes among his very few convictions that it is only possible to understand a work of art when it's been looked at, intensely, for thirty entire seconds, and so he takes his time, absorbing each little or not-so-little marking; as if he might have sat on some velvet bench in front of each one, having paid a gratuitous sum just for a ticket to view them.

Harry is art, and a specific kind of art. The kind for which imitation has no value. Some works are better in person, and this is something Theo has the privilege of knowing. Klimt is one of those. Harry is like a Klimt; like _The Kiss_ , which is itself like witnessing splendor. Harry flashes gold in the light, and like the painting, touching him is somehow both religious and pornographic. Theo's touch, aptly, is reverential and primal all at once.

"You're a pretender, aren't you," Harry murmurs, his fingers toying with Theo's hair. "You're a mystery I'd like to solve."

"What am I pretending to be?" Theo asks neutrally, shifting to one side and sliding his hand under Harry's waistband. "Not straight, clearly," he says with a breathy laugh, curling his hand around Harry's cock and delighting in Harry's immediate stuttered inhale.

"Just—something," Harry says, exhaling, as Theo strokes him under his jeans. "I don't—I don't know. You just—" His hips shift under Theo's hand and he leans forward, pulling Theo's mouth to his. "You're not what they think you are," he exhales rapidly into Theo's mouth, and then kisses him until he gasps again, responding to Theo's touch.

"And what do you think I am?" Theo asks, not pulling away. He kisses Harry roughly, enjoying the way Harry's breath falls short. He increases the speed of his hand, too, part of him wanting to laugh at the way this is so juvenile, so _hurry up before someone sees_ , but pushes Harry backwards when he tries to move. He's going to make Harry come like this, flat on his back and powerless, so that Theo can be sure he's capable of bringing Harry to literal, undeniable ecstasy with nothing but his touch.

Harry pants into his mouth, writhing underneath him. "I don't know," he says, digging his nails into the back of Theo's neck, "but I think—I think it, would take a—" He chokes slightly, mouth falling open. "Alifetimetofindout," he finishes rapidly, and then finishes _,_ coming on Theo's hand as Theo leans forward, catching the words on his tongue.

Harry didn't ask what he was, but Theo tells him anyway.

"You're a new moon," Theo says. "You're day one, the first step. You're the toe in the water."

"Just a toe?" Harry asks, his breath slowing gradually as Theo slides his hand out from under his jeans.

"Take off your clothes," Theo advises, and then he adds, because it cannot be avoided, "and you're a fucking cannonball."

* * *

 _5:34 a.m._

The sky starts to go a little pale sometime between moving to Theo's bedroom and hearing Draco enter the suite. Time, it seemed, had flown; it wouldn't have occurred to Harry that it was late (or early, as the case may be) if he hadn't seen the sky changing and proceeded to squint at the clock, trying to make out the shapes of the numbers.

"What time is it?" he asks, reaching for his glasses on Theo's nightstand, but Theo grabs his hand, rolling over him instead.

"Does it matter?" Theo asks, and in answer, Harry shrugs, permits Theo's kiss, and points to the window.

"Seems like maybe we've been up all night," Harry remarks, and Theo frowns.

"Huh," he says, glancing at the clock. "Yeah. I guess so."

"Weird," Harry says. "I've never actually done that before."

"Neither have I," Theo remarks, and falls onto his back. "Huh," he says again, "and I guess I have to drive four hours through the desert today, don't I?"

That information slams into Harry's chest like an anvil.

"Guess so," he says, and strongly wishes he had his glasses on. He wants to know for sure whether there is any hesitation on Theo's face at the thought, or whether that's only his imagination. He wants to count the three freckles by Theo's eye, which he can't see like this. He can see barely anything, though he can count all the places he and Theo are touching, and it isn't nearly enough.

Harry rolls over Theo this time, pulling the duvet with him.

"You should sleep," he says. "And hydrate."

"Or—and hear me out—I could just die in the desert," Theo suggests as an alternative, holding Harry closer, "which would save me the cost of pills."

Suddenly, despite the obvious (i.e., that Harry met Theo less than twenty-four hours ago, and knows nothing else about him other than the fact that he's a too-rich not-an-asshole with a death wish), Harry finds that he can no longer bear the joke.

"How about water instead," Harry advises.

"What if I promise to leave all my earthly possessions to you?" Theo asks, and Harry buries his face in Theo's chest, shaking his head.

"Go to sleep," he says in answer. "Please."

Beneath his lips, Harry can feel Theo's heart beating, steady and comforting and sure.

"Okay," Theo says, and adds, "but only because you said to, and not because I want to."

Harry closes his eyes gratefully as Theo taps an unidentifiable rhythm into his shoulder, beating out something of a melody until it slows, and then gradually stills.

"This hotel isn't so bad," Theo says, just as the sun rises fully in the sky. "Nice pillows."

Harry doesn't answer.

Harry falls asleep in Theo's arms.

* * *

 _11:48 a.m._

There's a loud banging on the door that jolts Theo awake. He blinks, unable to place himself for a moment until Harry groggily raises his head, squinting questioningly at Theo.

"Theo, I've been calling you for almost an hour," Draco growls through the door. "Check-out is in less than fifteen minutes. We have to go."

"Oh, shit," Theo says, glancing at the clock, and Harry reaches over, clumsily placing his glasses on his face. "Yeah, I'll, um—just a minute," he shouts back to Draco. "I'll be right there."

"You'd better," Draco says grumpily, and then Theo catches the sound of him walking away.

"I have work in an hour," Harry sighs, shaking his head and pinching the bridge of his nose. "Though, in fairness, baking in the sun sounds like precisely what I deserve for my misdeeds."

Harry rises to his feet, looking around for his boxers, and Theo sits upright to watch him as he sorts through the pillows on the floor, pausing every now and then to press a steadying hand to his temple. "Jesus," Harry exhales, muttering to himself as he pauses, his entire body centered in the doorway, "I'm getting old."

But Harry isn't old, of course. Not in the slightest. Theo, watching him, feels positively ancient. He feels as if he dragged his own body up from a tomb and is waiting to climb back into it. He watches Harry move, catalogues the muscles of his arms and legs and all the places Theo has kissed all night (all morning). He thinks about the drive back home, the inevitable stop for hangover gyros, the likelihood that Draco will fall asleep having put on some shimmering alternative band with a monosyllabic name, and finds all of it suddenly so oppressively mundane it would be as good as dying, or would at least be like a burial of some kind. The burying of something in himself he's only just awoken.

"Harry," Theo says, and Harry looks over his shoulder, waiting.

Theo holds up a finger for pause and then leans over, picking up the phone.

"Hi. Yeah, I need a late checkout." He listens as the front desk tells him about the extra charge. "Yeah, that's fine, it's just—I'm going to be late." He glances at Harry, whose mouth twitches up with surprise. "Fuck it," Theo says, covering the phone's mouthpiece and shrugging, "I'm going to be late."

Harry, who has only just found his boxers, crawls across the bed and kisses him, and around the effort of kissing back Theo mumbles his assent into the phone.

"Yes. Yeah. Okay." He struggles to replace the phone in the receiver, letting Harry shove him back on the bed just before he turns his cell phone on. "Hope you can spare an hour," Theo says, and Harry holds on tighter for a moment; holds on, and doesn't let go.

"Yeah," Harry says, and it's more than enough.

Theo knows he will never be this young, or this in love, or this terribly, unbearably wanting again, and he knows he can't fucking waste it. Because this fucking second, this very moment is fleeting.

It's rare, and it won't come around again.

"NOTT," Draco bellows. "Did you just _text me_ that we're staying another hour?"

"You must have a death wish," Harry remarks, glancing over his shoulder at the door, but Theo merely kisses him again.

"Yeah," Theo says, ignoring Draco's voice and pulling Harry close. "Yeah. I definitely do."

* * *

 _ **a/n:**_ _Full disclosure, I wrote the first part of this one shot while I was still a little drunk from a poolside piña colada. Anyway, future things: How to Win Friends and Influence People is ending with a final chapter + epilogue this week, which means a new Dramione WIP is starting! The expansion of_ _ **Paradox**_ _(chapter 66, though no need to re-read, as the WIP will include material from the oneshot) will begin next week. In this fic, I have three new stories coming shortly-ish: a supernatural Tomione, a space Dramione, and a Highlander Jily, most likely in that order. Thank you for reading!_


	100. The Commoner's Guide to Bedding a Royal

**The Commoner's Guide to Bedding a Royal**

 _Pairing:_ Dramione (Draco x Hermione)

 _Universe:_ Muggle AU

 _Rating:_ M

 _Summary:_ Objectively speaking, Hermione Granger knows that Britain has a monarchy, and that Prince Draco (the grandson of the current King of England) is probably floating around somewhere living his royal life in total unrelation to hers. Contrary to popular belief, she doesn't actually pay much attention to celebrities; least of all foreign princes. So, when she happens to be placed in his dorm at Hogwarts University during her semester abroad, she doesn't really expect to be Prince Draco's friend—which is probably best, as 'friend' isn't really what either of them have in mind.

* * *

 _May 19, 2018_

 _ **Draco and Hermione: A Royal Love Story  
**_ _By Rita Skeeter_

 _While many of us here in Britain have been captivated by the blossoming romance between His Royal Highness Prince Draco of Wales and his American sweetheart, Miss Hermione Jean Granger, very few are privileged to know the true story about how the young couple met. A fairy tale from the very beginning, it was love at first sight when Draco took notice of Hermione, the daughter of hardworking American parents eager to give their only child the education they had both been denied by curses of circumstance. At the time, Hermione had risen to the top of her class at Stanford University in sun-kissed, tropical California, and was granted acceptance as a foreign exchange student to Hogwarts University. Needless to say, the effervescently pretty Hermione, along with several would-be hopefuls who'd learned of Prince Draco's enrollment, was lucky enough to come across the dashing young royal in her classes_ _—_ _though her academics were, of course, her primary concern._

 _Both fastidious, intensely dedicated students, Draco first caught sight of Hermione's luxurious silken curls in their English Literature class at Hogwarts, and from there, a whirlwind courtship between two intellectual equals began. It is said by their peers that Draco was enamored with Hermione from the start, and as anyone close to him would be quick to confess, the prince has known with absolute certainty from the moment he laid eyes upon Hermione that she was meant to be his wife, his confidante, and ultimately, his Queen._

Stop. Stop reading. This is absolute rubbish. Yes, I said rubbish, even though I'm an American and apparently a peasant, too (my parents are dentists, and certainly not 'cursed by circumstance,' but sure). Two months ago Rita Skeeter was openly calling me 'the frizzy colonial upstart,' and now this ABOMINABLE TROSS has been released? Let me tell you, it was hardly the fairy tale she claims. It was only a fairy tale in that I did occasionally want to saw off my own effervescent toes.

In reality, the British press has been absolutely ruthless. Even Draco, despite his signature capacity for appearing collected, has been known to have a cold sweat or two over what his father (yes, that would be HRH Lucius, Prince of Wales, Earl of Chester, Duke of Cornwall, Duke of Rothesay, Earl of Carrick, Baron of Renfrew, Lord of the Isles and Prince and Great Steward of Scotland, in case you were wondering) calls a 'truly abysmal union.' Absolute certainty? What a joke. What an absolute _forking_ joke. What utter motherboarding nonsense. I don't think Draco was ever really certain; not even when he was down on one knee, struggling beneath a diamond the size of New Zealand while I shouted the last of my once-beloved profanities. Was he certain he loved me, at least? Oh yes, definitely, I trust that. I trust that absolutely, or else I would have gone positively flanking insane by now. But was he ever certain that his country would _accept_ me? That's another matter altogether, which is what makes this whole Rita Skeeter book bollocks to the highest degree of bollockery.

Do you want the real story? Maybe you don't, as it's a bit of a mess, despite what Rita so feverishly insists. _I'm_ a bit of a mess, actually, and frankly so is Draco (no matter what the newspapers would have you believe), but considering I'm sitting here in a haute couture wedding dress staring down the barrel of a truly earth-shattering scandal, I'm sort of in the mood for truth; so maybe you, like me, have no choice in the matter. The thing is, once upon a time, I fell deeply, inescapably (tragically) in love with a man and subsequently had to learn how to be the consort of a _prince_ , which mostly meant learning that truth may only out on occasions less frequent than bank holidays. But for once in my gourd-drammed life, I want to say something _real_ —so here's what really happened, in all its terrible, awkward, humiliating glory.

Here's how I, the Colonial Upstart, accidentally bagged myself the most eligible man in Britain.

* * *

 _August 30, 2010  
_ _Hogwarts University_

Well, there was no escaping it. Hogwarts was a castle. A castle with many _stairs_ , and Hermione, a girl with many suitcases, was encountering the first of her very many problems. She eyed the staircase, frowning, before glancing down at her bags, wondering if it would be possible to carry one of them on her back. Apparently there wasn't anyone around to help; hazards of arriving before term officially started, she lamented internally.

"Excuse me," came a voice behind her. "Are you by chance trying to grow an extra arm?"

She turned, startled, to find a tall young man standing there, his lips curled up in something of an arrogant (albeit playful) smirk. He was dressed somewhat formally (more formally than anyone at Stanford had ever dressed, aside from the tech fanboys who lived in Sperry boat shoes and those slightly-too-short coral-colored shorts) and looking at her with amusement. His pale blond hair was swept off to the side, a hint of strands falling across his forehead as if he'd just popped in from some sort of high-class sport on horses, and he was cute. _Very_ cute.

Hermione, on the other hand, was very _not_ , given that the messy bun piled atop her head was much more a show of convenience than fashion. Luckily, she was also very distracted, and therefore unable to focus on how cute or not-cute either of them happened to be.

"Is that an option?" Hermione asked, frowning slightly at her bags. "I'm beginning to think I miscalculated. I sort of just got out of the cab," she explained, gesturing vacantly over her shoulder, "and didn't really think to bribe the driver into helping."

"Well, for future reference, extortion always works," remarked the blond, his accent as airy and crisp as the unseasonable breeze outside. "Though we do consider ourselves a country of gentlemen. Perhaps you might have heard?"

"You're the first I've met," Hermione replied. "Countrymen, I mean," she amended, waving a hand around the empty courtyard, "not gentlemen."

His smirk curved up slightly. "Is that an accusation?"

"Gentlemen do carry bags, don't they?" she prompted, and he chuckled, sparing her a genial shrug.

"Well, I suppose I have something to prove, then," he determined, hoisting her duffel bag over his shoulder and taking the larger of her suitcases, "on behalf of my country, that is. I'm Draco, by the way," he added, shoving the bag over to extend his right hand. "And you must be some sort of foreign succubus, seeing how you've talked me into manual labor. You're the exchange student, I take it?"

"Hermione," she confirmed, giving his hand a quick pulse of pressure before picking up the last of her suitcases, "and yes. I just got off a plane, actually—though I can't imagine what could be giving me away," she remarked drily, wondering if she shouldn't have checked for sweat stains. The Stanford t-shirt she'd opted to wear on the plane wasn't exactly flattering so much as it was… old. And vaguely ill-fitted. She gave herself a testing sniff as discreetly as possible before turning her attention back to him.

"Hold on, isn't Draco the prince's name?" she asked, abruptly registering a hazy sense of recognition. She fuzzily considered she might have seen the name plastered on a tabloid or two while standing in line for groceries, though she was fairly confident the British prince was older. He certainly looked solemnly regal in all the pictures she'd seen. "Coincidence or namesake?"

"I believe it was a very popular choice the year I was born," Draco remarked, gesturing ahead as a series of stairs branched off in several different directions. "So, which dorm?"

"Um—" She glanced down at the informational packet in her hand. "Slytherin?"

"Ah, excellent," Draco said, beckoning her ahead. "The dorms are down under the lake. I take it you're filling Tracey Davis' spot, then?"

"Yes," Hermione confirmed with a frown, "I think."

"Well, you'll like your roommate," Draco assured her. "Daph's great. The good kind of posh," he added as an afterthought.

"The good kind?" Hermione echoed uncertainly.

"Yes. Pansy is, of course, the bad kind. She's a very dear friend," he informed her, "and Blaise is much, much worse. He's also disastrously charming, so do be careful."

"Ah," Hermione said, momentarily dizzied. "Who else should I know about?"

"Well, there's Theo," Draco supplied thoughtfully, guiding her through the winding old corridors of the castle. "He's one of those old-money-nobility types. We all have a bit of a wager going as to whether he and Daphne will kill each other or get married."

"Sometimes they're not mutually exclusive options," Hermione remarked, following as he made his way to a set of enormous iron doors.

"Well, I'll put you down for both, then," Draco said with a cheeky grin, pausing to pull a set of keys out of his pocket. "Sorry," he said, shuffling through a set of them, "security's a bit tight down here."

"I see that," Hermione commented, as he finally seemed to jimmy the old door open, gesturing her inside. "Any particular reason?"

"Oh, none, I'm sure," Draco replied casually, pointing up a set of winding stairs. "Yours and Daph's room is up there. People sometimes study here," he explained, gesturing to the still-empty seating, which was about what Hermione had expected. The other students would be arriving en masse in approximately two days, according to the administrative guide at Hogwarts; Hermione, however, had wanted to acclimate in advance. "More often the library, but this can be nice on occasion. Convenient, at least."

"I take it you're in this dorm too?" Hermione asked, following him as he briskly took to the stairs. The common room, as it appeared to be, was lit by a large, warm fire, and provided a strange, almost eerie view of the lake. "I suppose I should have asked—"

"Yes," Draco said. "It's the only one successfully bulletproof, I think."

"Bulletproof?" Hermione echoed. "Are you some sort of secret agent, then?"

He laughed. "Only a little," he assured her, and paused beside a door, knocking twice. "Daphne," he called, sparing Hermione another small grin, "I have a parcel for you."

The door swung open, revealing a breathless girl dressed in perfectly-fitted jeans and a worn Hogwarts t-shirt, her long auburn hair pulled back in a high ponytail that swung down over her shoulders.

"Is she here? Is she—oh _good_ ," the girl apparently called Daphne exhaled, looking over Hermione with glowing approval. "Look at you, you're real! And already putting the crown to work," she joked to Draco as Hermione paused, startled. "And to think, _we're_ considered the imperialists—"

"Wait a minute," Hermione said, blinking with confusion at the reference. It seemed jet lag had vastly limited her cognitive skills. "You're actually… _the_ Draco?"

"Oh balls, she doesn't even know," Daphne sighed happily to no one in particular, ostensibly delighted. "You're a real live person, aren't you?" she asked Hermione again, tugging her inside before glancing over her shoulder. "Draco, set those down, you look positively ridiculous. Was there no one else to help with the bags?"

"I haven't a clue, Lady Daphne," Draco replied grandly, letting Hermione's duffel bag slide gracefully from his shoulder to the floor before setting the suitcase down beside it, "but it's certainly been an honor serving as ambassador on behalf of my country, Miss…?"

It took a moment before Hermione realized he ( _him_ , actual Prince Draco, whom she probably should have recognized but didn't, because who ever expects the _actual prince_ to be wandering around?) was waiting for an answer.

"Oh, um. Granger," she supplied, wondering now if she was supposed to have curtsied. "And you, uh. Prince, um—"

"Draco will be fine," he assured her, looking mischievously pleased. "And don't bother about gratuity. Just be sure to leave a little extra on your taxes," he suggested, "or I'll have to charge you with treason, and frankly, who has the time?"

"He's joking," Daphne assured Hermione, rolling her eyes at Draco. "Still coming out for drinks with us this evening, Your Royal Highness?"

"Have an engagement with the Prince of Darkness, actually," Draco replied coolly, as Daphne made a sympathetic face, "along with your sister, who's been ringing me nonstop about, I don't know. Dresses, I suppose, or possibly hats—"

"Ah, I'd forgotten about that dinner," Daphne said, deflating slightly. "I suppose that means Theo and Harry are out too, aren't they? I'd hoped they'd come meet Hermione tonight," she lamented, flashing Hermione a look of apology, "but I suppose duty calls—"

"Unfortunately duty not only calls, but veritably drags," Draco lamented, before suggesting hopefully, "Tomorrow night? Before term starts?"

"Oh, of course," Daphne confirmed, warm again. "And I can ring my sister for you, if you want," she offered, as Draco made a face of obvious relief, "but do tell Theo to wear a better jacket this time, would you?"

To that, Draco scoffed. " _You_ tell Theo to wear a jacket—"

"He doesn't listen to me!"

"He _only_ listens to you—"

"Actually, you know who he'll listen to is—"

"— _Pansy_ ," they said in unison, and then gave gloriously dazzling peals of laughter, both clearly in on a joke Hermione had yet to understand.

"She'd scare the knickers off anyone," Daphne explained to Hermione, who abruptly realized she'd been staring between them with something equal parts curiosity and bemusement. "You'll meet her later. Though, try not to look her in the eyes when you do."

"Yes, you'll almost certainly turn to stone," Draco said, and then offered her a nod. "Until next time, Miss Granger—"

"Oh right, um, bye…" Hermione trailed off, uncertain what to call him, and he laughed again, consummately tickled.

"Draco," he reminded her. "Just Draco, unless we're at a ribbon cerem- ah, hold on, seems it's too late for you to handle this for me, Daph," he mused to her, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket and holding it to his ear. "Yes, hello, you've reached Draco Wales," he said into it, sparing Hermione a wink and Daphne a wave before ducking out of their door frame. "Astoria, I'm joking. Half the job is elaborate theatrics, you know this—"

"Well," Daphne said, letting the door fall shut in Draco's absence and turning to Hermione with a smile. "I see you've met the future King of England, then?"

"Does he really just— _wander around_ like that?" Hermione asked, slightly dazed, and Daphne shook her head.

"No, almost never, actually, but term hasn't officially started, so…" She trailed off with a shrug before permitting a long exhale, offering Hermione a brilliant, lovely smile. "I have to say, it's such a pleasure to meet you."

"Oh, and you," Hermione said, recalling with a start just how apprehensive she'd been about her roommate up until minutes before she'd walked in. The benefit of having accidentally bullied the nation's heir into carrying her bags was that she'd temporarily abandoned her nerves, but now she was here, _finally_ , tucked into an old dorm room with a girl she'd just met and hoped to live harmoniously with for at least the next four months. "It was so nice of you to send me a letter before term started—"

"Ah, I was worried you'd find it dreadfully formal, but it's my breeding, I'm afraid," Daphne told her, ushering her further inside the room and gesturing to the fixtures. "Desk, bed, vacant floorspace for aerobics and interpretive dance," she joked, giving Hermione the grand tour. "My grandfather would absolutely have a heart attack if he knew the positively shameful plebeianism I'm living in," she added with a light-hearted shrug, "but I suppose that's the benefit of him being dead."

"Are you—" Hermione hesitated. "Um. Nobility also?"

"Only barely," Daphne said with a laugh, "though it's enough for my sister to formally date Draco with Prince Lucifer's approval, it seems. Of course, who knows how long that'll last—"

"Lucifer?" Hermione asked.

"Oh, sorry, bit of a slip on my part," Daphne sighed, scolding herself. "Prince _Lucius_ , though Draco and Harry both call him—well, you heard, I hardly have to repeat it—"

"Harry?" Hermione echoed. "As in—"

"Henry, Duke of… whatever he's duke of these days," Daphne said, frowning. "Grimmauld now? I think? Everyone calls him Prince Harry, which is of course not remotely accurate, but it helps Draco to not have all the focus from the press, so—ah, I'm rambling," she lamented, cutting herself off with a shake of her head. "Apologies, you must be tired. Are you tired? I can show you around the school," she offered, and then frowned. "Unless you'd prefer to rest, in which case I could rustle up some tea? Unless you don't drink tea—"

"Daphne," Hermione exhaled, half-laughing. "I'm fine. A tour would be great," she added, as Daphne's expression lit up with pleasure. "It's really nice of you to offer."

"Tracey and I weren't particularly friends," Daphne explained tentatively. "But I suppose I'm quite used to having a girlfriend around, given my growing up with a sister, so…" She trailed off. "I'm rather hoping to have another go at it. If you're up for it, that is."

Hermione wished she could express the degree of relief she felt at this, a highly vulnerable offering from a pretty rich girl who could have so easily snubbed her. Daphne would have made the most popular girls at Carondelet look like absolute trolls, and yet she was far kinder than any of the girls Hermione had gone to high school with.

"I'm an only child, personally, and I always thought it would be fun to have a sister," Hermione assured her. "Besides, my last roommate wasn't much to compete with. Actually, she stole my underwear, so—"

"You're joking," Daphne said, looking horrified. "She thieved your knickers?"

"She thieved my knickers," Hermione confirmed solemnly. "In fairness, it was for a Take Back the Night rally, but still—"

"Well, I don't know why I'm trying so hard, then," Daphne noted, looking smugly pleased. "At the very least, I can confirm I possess my own knickers and have no particular desperation for yours."

"So it's settled, then," Hermione said, holding out a hand and forgetting all about the prince who'd carried her luggage. "Friends?"

Daphne accepted with a luminous smile. "Friends."

* * *

The Hog's Head wasn't quite as nice as the Three Broomsticks, Daphne explained, but it was at least quiet enough that nobody was going to have a fuss about all of them being there. Draco wouldn't be there, she'd reminded Hermione, but photographers would still try. It was apparently not a particularly well-kept secret who the prince's inner circle was.

"He grew up with Pansy," Daphne clarified as they each ordered a pint of richly brown beer Hermione was sure would be _much_ too thick to go down easy, "and Harry, obviously, and Theo, but—ah, rats," she sighed, the beer slopping over the glass and onto her wrist. "Honestly, one of these days my coordination will improve—anyway, what was I blathering on about?"

"Theo," Hermione supplied, and a voice behind her chuckled.

"Well, I do love to know you're talking about me, Greengrass," remarked a lanky dark-haired man, his mouth quirking up in something of a half-smile. He offered Daphne a wink in greeting, and Hermione abruptly remembered the wager Draco had so carelessly mentioned to her. "Discussing my unconventional attractiveness, I take it? Perhaps my ebullient charm?"

"More like your incestuous family tree," Daphne replied, turning to roll her eyes. "Hermione, this is Theodore Nott. Theodore, Hermione Granger."

"Ah, the new Tracey Davis," Theo said as Hermione gave his proffered hand a perfunctory shake. "And also, never call me Theodore. That's my father's name, as Greengrass here knows perfectly well. She lives to torment me," he remarked, flashing Hermione a conspiratorial grin.

"It's not my primary vocation," Daphne assured Hermione, "but really, everyone should have a hobby. Even though using your given name is hardly a torment," she informed Theo, with a particularly challenging glare.

Theo, meanwhile, took Daphne's beer out of her hand, permitting himself a long, obnoxious sip before replacing it. "I meant that dress you're wearing," he remarked quietly, and though Hermione caught a momentary degree of widening from Daphne's eyes, it was quickly obscured by the entrance of another, much noisier body to their right.

"Ah, is this the new Tracey Davis?" asked a spectacularly attractive dark-skinned young man, whose overall appearance was hindered slightly by a v-neck cut nearly below his pectorals. "I thought you were coming from California," he remarked with a bemused frown, as Daphne cleared her throat, shoving her beer into Theo's chest and nudging him away.

"Just have that, Nott, it's got your germs on it now—and Blaise, you mustn't be such a glorious idiot," she scolded him firmly. "Why wouldn't she be from California?"

"Well, shouldn't she be, I don't know—more tan? Or more blonde?" Blaise asked irreverently, before turning back to Hermione. "I don't suppose you had class on the beach, did you?"

"I go to Stanford," Hermione said, stifling a laugh. "It's not exactly beachy."

"So does that mean you don't surf to school?" Blaise asked, looking disappointed, and Hermione was about to open her mouth to inform him that first of all, surfing wasn't a mode of transportation, and second of all, _what did she just say_ , when yet another person joined them—or was about to join them, though Daphne pulled her aside in warning first.

"That's Pansy," Daphne explained, gesturing to a slender young women with one of those elegant long bobs Hermione would never be able to pull off, the sharp raven tips of her hair slicing against the defined line of her clavicle. "She's got about six names and none of them are worth hearing all in a row, but suffice it to say—"

"She's about one or two major flu epidemics away from the throne," Theo supplied, "and if you ask me, she's in _desperate_ need of coitus."

"I—sorry, what?" Hermione asked, as Daphne gave Theo an alarmingly ferocious glare of disapproval.

"She's really not so bad when you get to know her," Daphne clarified hurriedly. "The problem is just that she, um—"

"Detests when people are talking about me behind my back," Pansy inserted coolly, joining them with something of a disinterested scowl. "You're new, then," she noted with a sniff, acknowledging the air around Hermione before glancing away at nothing.

"The word Daphne was looking for was 'bitch,'" Theo whispered-declared to Hermione, and Pansy rounded on him, obviously less than amused.

"Theodore," she said, and he instantly blanched. "Did you wear the jacket?"

From Blaise: "Yes. Didn't you see the pictures?"

From Theo: "For the record, I only wore it because it complimented my singular muscularity."

From Daphne: a wordless scoff, though Hermione caught her looking.

From Pansy again, impatiently: "You're going to have to learn to follow instructions, Nott."

From an indignant Theo: "Why? _I'm_ not the one trying to bed a prince—"

Pansy, irritably: "Good thing, too, because at this rate, you certainly wouldn't succeed."

Blaise, delighted: "Another _crushing_ blow from Lady Parkinson! What is that, twenty points?"

Theo, pouting: "I thought this was about my jacket, not my flaws as a human."

Pansy: "It's about both. And anyway, you're not the Daily Prophet, Theodore, don't make this about Astoria—"

"They're talking about my sister now, unfortunately," Daphne whispered to Hermione, who was very much amusing herself watching Pansy and Theo have something of a highly British standoff, neither quite challenging the other. "Tonight was Astoria's second public event as Draco's, um. Female friend," she murmured, and this time, it was Theo who scoffed.

"Ridiculous, the whole thing," Theo informed Hermione. "The whole 'relationship' is a sham. I mean we all know Prince Lucif-"

"Don't," warned Pansy, tartly.

"His Royal Highness, the Prince of Darkness," Theo amended irreverently, "is practically falling over himself with approval. He tried to force you on Draco when he first started here," he reminded Daphne, pointedly taking a sip of his beer as her gaze cut guiltily to Hermione's.

"And here you made it sound like you were hardly aristocratic at all," Hermione commented playfully, sipping at her own beer. It wasn't quite as bad as she expected, but more importantly, she was perfectly able to drink it despite not being twenty-one for the next three weeks. That, at least, tasted satisfying.

"Well, I certainly have no interest in being with a prince," Daphne said firmly. "Besides, Draco and I didn't even meet until university, so it's hardly like I'm in with the rest of you," she pointed out, gesturing to the others as they exchanged clannish grins (except for Pansy, who made more of a pursed _and-_ _don't-I-know-it_ face).

"How about being with someone prince-adjacent, then, Daph?" Blaise asked her, nudging Theo with a wink.

"Theo's not remotely prince-adjacent," Pansy scoffed, coming to Daphne's rescue. "At least four dozen people would have to die before he came anywhere _near_ the crown—"

"Well, I'm not a coward, if that's what you're saying," Theo assured her.

"That's treason," Daphne informed him.

Theo shrugged. "People have really gone soft on treason these days," he remarked, taking another sip of his (her) beer. "If I can't pluck the crown up from a battlefield, what's even the point of having it?"

"My opinion exactly," came another voice. "Of course, I suppose that's due to being the spare."

"You're hardly the spare," Pansy said, rolling her eyes, though even she managed to look a little affectionate as the latest member of their little circle joined in, giving his ruffled black hair a shove from his face. "And what are you doing back so early? One of these days you'll have to put the incessant knavery to bed—"

"Along with the rest of Britain," Theo remarked, grinning.

"Ah, that's ten for Nott," Blaise said, scribbling it an imaginary notepad as the person Hermione suddenly realized from her minimal tabloid exposure was Prince Harry (in reality only a duke, as Daphne had mentioned, though in general Hermione was finding herself a bit swamped with ambiguous British succession lines) shifted to throw an arm around Pansy's shoulder, smacking a loud kiss against her forehead.

"Hello, Lady MacBeth," he told her, sparing her a roguish grin. "Besmirching my good name already?"

"Much as I love that extremely flattering comparison," Pansy said drily, "never call me that again. As for your good name, I'm besmirching nothing you haven't irreversibly blackened," she corrected, sliding out from under his arm and giving him a nudge in the ribs. "I'm merely commenting you're supposed to be at a state dinner."

"They don't need me," Harry said. "Besides, I don't see you asking Theo why _he's_ here—"

"You both left Draco alone with that dreadful bore?" Pansy realized, appalled.

From Daphne: "That 'dreadful bore' is my sister, Pans."

From Theo and Blaise: "She knows."

From Pansy, haughtily: "I know."

"Draco's fine," Harry assured Pansy. "He and the Prince of Darkness were getting along swimmingly when I left. I believe they successfully exchanged one or two words? One of which may have even been a pleasantry."

"But was he doing the thing?" Pansy prompted apprehensively. "You know. The smile thing?"

From Theo: "The thing where his smile doesn't reach his eyes?"

From Blaise: "Where it looks like his soul has evacuated his body?"

Theo again: "A bit like he's died somewhere on the inside?"

"Yes, that," Pansy said.

"Oh, definitely," Harry confirmed, nodding. "Very much so to all of the above."

"Right, yes, he's miserable," Theo contributed, "but it's not as if the press is going to know that, which is what I assumed your main concern was."

From Pansy, at a growl: "You're all impossible."

From Blaise, Theo, and Harry, in spirited unison: "We know."

"Oh," Harry said, his gaze suddenly landing on Hermione's with a jolt. "Well, hello—didn't see you there."

"She's not a topiary, Harry," Daphne said.

"Well, maybe if she were, he might have noticed her sooner," Theo suggested, giving Daphne another nudge. "Harry loves a good topiary."

"Shut up," Daphne sighed.

"I'm Hermione," supplied Hermione, as Harry slipped from Pansy's side to stand next to her at the bar. "I'm the new Tracey Davis."

"Who?" Harry asked, frowning.

"Oh, Harry's not in Slytherin," Daphne explained to Hermione, reaching over to give Harry's cheek an affectionate pat in greeting. "He just pops by to visit when he feels like antagonizing Draco."

"Which I often do," Harry added with a grin. "Though I suppose now I can pop by to antagonize you as well," he commented, slipping almost effortlessly into a low tone of flirtation as he spared her a slow, sidelong glance. "Lucky me."

All at once, Hermione realized why it was Harry's face she recognized from the tabloids. _He_ was the one always romancing some actress or model or another, and while she might have otherwise been flattered by the attention of an obviously handsome man, part of her withered a little at the idea that he might have selected her, the naive little American girl, as yet another notch on his bedpost.

Luckily, to Hermione's immense relief, Daphne smacked him in the arm with her clutch.

"Ouch," Harry said, with a radiantly childish scowl. "What's that for?"

"Leave the poor girl alone," Pansy cut in, her expression souring. "The last thing she needs is to be forcefully ushered out of your disease-ridden bedchambers."

Hermione, who wanted to point out that was hardly the trajectory of the evening, determined it not worth the effort as Pansy's gaze collided with hers, the sharpened arch of a single brow enough to caution her to silence. Something that was either disapproval or Chanel No. Five seemed to seep from every single one of Pansy's perfectly-sized and blemishless pores, leaving Hermione feeling more than a little bit inadequate.

"Ignore her," Daphne advised in Hermione's ear, pulling her towards the bar. "She's just outrageously protective of Draco and Harry—not that you can tell. She's sometimes very lovely, but—" She paused, considering it. "I'd say her personality is about a fifty-fifty split between natural venom and a very, very strange form of showing affection."

"Is she interested in…" Hermione paused. "Either of them?"

"Hm? No, no," Daphne said, half-laughing. "No, I don't think she relishes the idea of being thrown in the spotlight. Nor do I, truth be told," she admitted with a grimace. "My sister is another story, of course. Like Theo said, I don't think it'll last with Draco, but I suppose she's having fun for the time being."

"Where does Harry go to school, if not here?" Hermione asked, regrettably hazarding a glance at where he'd joined Blaise and Theo near the impromptu dance floor. To her dismay, he was watching her with a rather fox-like look of amusement, his messy hair giving him an unruly halo from the light refracting around his face.

"He doesn't," Daphne said. "He's in the army, actually, which is where Draco wanted to be as well, only…" She trailed off hesitantly. "Well, you can't really be too careful with the heir to the throne, can you? Whereas Harry's a cousin, who can really do whatever he likes."

"Seems he often does," Hermione remarked, and then struggled to hide an enormous yawn, covering her mouth with sudden, jolting exhaustion. "Yikes," she managed, feeling her eyes water. "I'm so sorry—"

"Nonsense, you must be tired," Daphne said at once, looking feverishly concerned in a way that nearly delivered Hermione to delirious laughter. "We can go immediately, of course. I suppose I forgot all about the jet lag—"

"Greengrass!" Theo called, toasting her from afar as he and Blaise made their way onto the dance floor. "Are you coming or what?"

"No, I'm—" Daphne gestured apologetically to Hermione. "We're just leaving—"

"NOOOOOOO," Blaise howled, as Theo flashed a set of mopey puppy-eyes at her. "MINUS TWENTY POINTS—"

"So sorry," Daphne sighed, angling Hermione towards the door despite being unable to resist a glance over her shoulder, unsuccessfully feigning disinterest. "It's just that we haven't seen each other all summer—but we'll see them tomorrow anyway," she reminded Hermione, forcing a casual reassurance, "so it's fine, really—"

"You stay," Hermione told her, struggling to withhold another vastly cavernous yawn. "Seriously, I'll be fine. I'll get some sleep tonight and try again tomorrow," she offered, as Daphne frowned hesitantly.

"Are you sure?" Daphne asked, concerned. "It's not a problem, really, I'll just tell them that—"

"No, stay," Hermione insisted, giving her hand a squeeze. "I'll be fine! The walk will do me some good, honestly. Have fun," she said, dodging both the curious glance from Harry and the unnerving stare from Pansy as she turned towards the door. "Seriously," she added with a laugh as Daphne's expression turned pained with conflict. "Breakfast tomorrow?"

At once, Daphne's face brightened. "Oh yes, defin-"

She broke off with a shriek as Blaise picked her up with an arm around her waist, gracelessly hauling her backwards. Satisfied, Hermione gave an exaggerated wave, shaking her head before turning to the door and hiding yet another oppressive yawn.

* * *

Hermione had only just finished fussing with the keys when she realized the yelling she thought she'd imagined in some sort of exhaustion-haze was both very real and very much coming from inside the Slytherin common room.

"—don't know what you want from me. You told me to bring her, so I brought her. That doesn't mean I'm interested in this going any further—"

"You need to be serious about your reputation, Draco," came a harsh male voice in reply. "With you holed up here at Hogwarts the press has nothing to do but speculate about what sort of wildly irresponsible decisions you're making—"

"And how is that my fault?" Draco's voice countered. "You're the one who told me I had to come here. Harry's already been in the military for almost three years! He's already an officer, and _I'm_ —"

"You have a responsibility as my heir," returned what could only have been Prince Lucius' voice. "You cannot simply flit around turning your life into a spectacle for public consumption. The people want to see you in a committed relationship, with someone _appropriate_ —"

"I'm twenty years old!" Draco shouted back. "What exactly does it prove about my capacity to rule by flashing Astoria Greengrass around like some sort of… of fancy _cufflink_ —"

"She comes from a good family," Lucius cut in impatiently. "You're friends with the elder sister, are you not? How hard can this be?" When there was no answer, he pressed, "I had no idea being asked to stand beside a beautiful girl was such a dreadfully unpleasant chore for you, Draco—"

"I just want _one thing_ in my life to be real," Draco begged his father, "and I certainly have no interest in getting married anytime soon! Look what happened to M-"

"Do not," Lucius said sharply, "bring her up right now."

Silence.

Hermione crept forward slowly, trying to ease her way into the room. Unfortunately, this did not work even remotely, as she stubbed her toe on one of the spindly table legs and abruptly doubled over, muttering a string of quiet obscenities under her breath.

Immediately, the two men snapped into place. In a matter of seconds, both had adopted identical expressions of neutral impassivity that could only have been the result of decades of practice. Hermione, however, having had no such lifetime of rehearsals, tried and failed to bite back a pained grimace, awkwardly attempting to straighten.

"So sorry," she offered, cheeks almost certainly flushed with equal parts ouch-throbbing-toe and yikes-this-is-awkward. "I, um—I'm _so_ sorry, I was just heading to my room, and—"

"No need to apologize," said Lucius, in the sort of tone that suggested exactly the opposite. "Draco, you and I will discuss this later. I presume I don't need to ask you to keep this to yourself?"

It took a moment before Hermione realized he was talking to her. "What?"

"I'll need you to sign a non-disclosure agreement," Lucius began loftily when Draco stepped forward, shaking his head.

"Father, it's fine," he muttered, tone gruff with displeasure. "She's going to _bed_ , not to run off and speak to the press."

At that, Lucius turned to his son, obviously irritated. "Draco. _How many times_ must I tell you—"

"I won't say anything," Hermione cut in quickly. By the look on Lucius' face, she could see he was not often interrupted, and certainly wasn't pleased about it now. "Your son is my friend," she said, giving Draco what she hoped was a supportive glance, "and I have no interest in sharing the details of his personal life."

Rather than help the situation, however, she seemed to have conspicuously hindered it. Lucius' eyes narrowed, falling on hers with rigid opposition.

"Who are you?" he demanded accusingly.

She opened her mouth, but Draco spoke for her.

"This is _her_ dorm, Father," Draco pointed out, "and we're the ones intruding. And seeing as Hermione's just arrived today, I imagine she's rather in a hurry to go to bed. We won't keep you any longer," he assured her, giving her an apologetic look as he added, in a tone of princely finality, "My father was just leaving."

At that, Lucius' eyes narrowed again, trapped by the necessity of anything resembling manners. He spared a final glower at his son before turning to exit, pausing briefly beside Hermione.

"If you breathe a word of this," he said, and didn't finish. She supposed he wasn't in the business of needing to complete his threats.

"I wouldn't do that to him," she replied simply, and then managed to collect herself enough to bow her head, realizing she was probably required to show _some_ courtesy, even if she felt none.

Lucius made something of a noncommittal noise and strode out of the room, letting the door shut behind him.

The moment he was gone, Draco finally let out a breath, shaking his head.

"Well," Draco said. "I don't suppose I need to tell you that you just met Prince Lucius, do I?"

Hermione winced, and Draco fell into the sofa behind him with a sigh, leaning his head against the cushions. For a moment, she hesitated, wondering if there was something she should say, but when he didn't move, she opted to take a step toward the stairs, quietly making her way back to her room.

Draco's voice paused her. "You faced him rather gloriously, you know." She froze, and he gave a little hum of something like amusement to himself. "I expect he'll hold it against you for some time."

"I—" She hesitated. "I'm not sure whether an apology note would help the situation."

At that, Draco chuckled, though there wasn't much energy to speak of in the sound. Hermione waited, her hand still on the banister; suddenly, she couldn't quite remember how tired she was and simply stood frozen in place, uncertain what to do next.

He solved it for her. "Did you really not know who I was?"

She turned slowly, making her way to the sofa as Draco's eyes fluttered open, regarding her with something that looked to be equal parts frustration and jagged, cut-open misery.

"I promise," she said, "I really did not know who you were."

He nodded. She had a feeling there was more coming, so she settled herself on the coffee table opposite where he sat, figuring it wouldn't cost her too much to listen.

"You know, it's funny," Draco said, proving her right. "The last spontaneous thing I did was carry your luggage. Before that, it was the time I climbed up a trellis outside my mother's childhood home and broke my arm." He swallowed. "I was five."

Hermione bit her lip, waiting.

"I suppose it's incredibly selfish to complain," Draco continued, "as there are so very many lives harder than mine. And so many who envy my life, I'm sure. It seems a very stupid thing to feel so much resentment when I have so many privileges, and it makes it worse, really, that it's such a selfish problem to have," he admitted softly, glancing up at her. "It makes it hard to breathe sometimes, knowing that nothing I do comes without strings, or without responsibilities, or even with the benefit of my choice. In the end, everything I do is measured and premeditated and preapproved by my father or my advisors or my grandfather—and my god, I want to kiss you," he suddenly said, and she blinked, startled. "I want so badly to kiss you, I wanted to kiss you when I saw you this morning, only I _can't_ , because even now I'm thinking to myself that I won't want to stop at a kiss, but I certainly can't go any further, because would that really be fair to you? Would it be fair to subject you to constant scrutiny and horrible invasions of privacy and can I even— _could_ I even do it? My father would disapprove; my grandfather would certainly never allow it. You're an American, and you've only just arrived, and that's to say nothing of _your_ feelings, which could be—"

He swallowed hard, coming to an abrupt, screeching halt. "Which could be," he exhaled slowly, "that I'm a conceited prick who just said all of that without even wondering whether you might have any inclination to kiss me, too."

Despite her captive breath, Hermione astoundingly managed to exhale.

Eventually.

After perhaps a minute.

Maybe less, if she were flattering herself.

Either way, she managed it.

"It would be a pretty bad time for a kiss," she eventually said, clinging to whatever bits of her sanity had not been swallowed up by transcontinental travel, or by what was unquestionably the single strangest day of her life. "Considering you have some sort of girlfriend-type situation, don't you?"

He grimaced, baring his hands in his lap. "So it would seem."

"That, and you're upset with your father," Hermione noted slowly. "So, probably looking for a rebellion, I imagine?"

"A reasonable conclusion," Draco replied, shrugging.

"And," she finished, drawing her thumb carefully over her bottom lip, "we've only just met. We could hardly be friends if we kissed now," she told him. "Dreadfully awkward, don't you think?"

"That's true," he agreed, and this, unlike his other commentary, he seemed to genuinely mean. "And I do want to be your friend."

"As do I," Hermione returned. "So probably no kissing, for all the reasons listed above."

"Right," Draco exhaled, nodding. "Right. We should probably never kiss, in fact," he determined, looking briskly certain. "It would make things so difficult, really. And I do need friends," he lamented, faltering slightly. "I think many people speculate about my relationship with my father, but—" He waved a hand to where Lucius had been. "Nobody's actually _seen_ it."

"Understandable," Hermione confirmed. "So, we're agreed, then."

"Yes, definitely," Draco said, propping himself upright with a nod. "No kissing."

"No kissing," she confirmed. "But we can definitely be friends. I don't have to treat you like a prince, you know," she hurried to assure him, hoping the offering sounded slightly less stupid than she suspected. "I mean, to be honest, I'm not totally sure how I would even go about treating you like a prince. I have no idea how to curtsy," she admitted. "I don't even know your proper title."

"True," Draco said, looking pleased. "You know nothing about me or my family, do you?"

"Everything I know about the British monarchy stops at 1776," Hermione promised firmly, as his mouth twitched up in a smile. "Believe me, I have absolutely no clue who your third cousins are. Even if Daphne did try all evening to educate me."

"Well, that's a relief," Draco remarked, chuckling. "So I suppose I can really be whatever I want with you, can't I?"

"You can," Hermione promised again. "Largely because I won't know the difference either way."

"Well, that's marvelous," Draco declared, smacking his palms on his thighs and rising sharply to his feet. He was wearing a tuxedo, Hermione realized, with all the trimmings; the cummerbund, the cufflinks, the whole nine yards. He was unforgivably handsome in it—in _all_ of it— and the firelight danced with a glow around his face, making him a painting come to life; like a portrait, like a fantasy, like a daydream.

"So. Friends, then?" he prompted, holding out a hand for hers.

She rose to her feet, accepting his grip. "Friends," she assured him, giving his hand a squeeze.

He didn't let go.

Neither did she.

"What do friends do in California?" he asked, a bit breathless.

She blinked.

"Hug, I suppose," she said, dismayed to find her voice a horribly distracting rasp. "I, um. Here," she offered, reaching her arms up and giving him a perfunctory hug.

He leaned in, holding her for a moment. He bent his head, his chin pressing into the line of her shoulder, and she felt his cheek against hers, warm and comforting. He had a masculine smell, all sage and cedar. The tux material was stiff, but not scratchy. His arms around her waist were both anchored and weightless; perfectly complementary shapes. Part of her hoped he wouldn't lean away, but after a moment he released her, sparing her a nod.

"Right," he said, gaze fixing on hers. His eyes were a blue so pale they were grey, sharp and strange, and wholly signs of warning; the sky before the rain. "So, friends, then."

"Friends," Hermione said again. "Definitely friends."

He didn't step away.

Neither did she.

"Please don't tell the press I'm such a dreadful liar," were the last words she remembered him saying before her entire brain was swallowed up by delirium, his lips falling to hers with a sense of lawlessness that came from desperation; from the knowledge on both sides that if it could have possibly been avoided, it would have been, if not for a paralyzing impossibility to deny. His hands fell to her waist with the perfect synchronicity they'd had before, but now with urgency, with pressure, with direction, until she was stumbling with the backs of her knees against the table, snaking her arms around his neck to keep herself aloft.

There was no reason for him to be a good kisser. She imagined no girl on earth would have told him if he were doing it wrong, and therefore there was no plausible reason he should have any talent for it whatsoever, and yet the reality was that he— _him_ , an actual _prince,_ with his actual royal tongue in her hopeless colonial mouth—was criminally skilled, and she—a commoner who would be spending no more than four months in his country—had never been kissed so breathless in her entire god-almighty _life_. He fit against her perfectly, and she molded faultlessly into him, and what sort of joke was _this_ , that he would be here and be _him_ and she would be there and he would be her _friend_ and really, truly, could they honestly be friends? Could anyone be _friends_ who kissed like this? Could anyone exist apart from someone else after knowing this, all of this and everything, was what they were together?

His hands slid under her shirt and crept up to her ribs and she very nearly moaned in his mouth _yes, yes, do it, definitely do it, don't stop,_ but they heard the fumbling of an old key in an ancient lock and sprang apart, Draco turning away sharply as Hermione pressed a hand to her too-warm cheeks, almost collapsing again on the table.

"Draco," came Pansy's voice, and Hermione didn't have to look at her to know the look on her face was admonishing at best. She did anyway, and immediately regretted it, feeling her face heat as Pansy's gaze slid past her to land disapprovingly on Draco. "You're back early."

"Pans," Draco said in greeting, nodding vaguely. He was looking furiously away, awkwardly adjusting his stance like a child avoiding a scolding. "Dinner didn't go particularly long."

"Mm," was all Pansy said.

"I should, um. I should go," Hermione said hurriedly, launching herself for the stairs. She didn't even bother saying goodnight to Draco, which was probably rude, and it occurred to her that maybe she shouldn't have turned her back on him (was that an archaic rule? _Was_ it even a rule?) but she was too busy making her way to her dorm room, fumbling once again with the unfamiliar keys.

She paused as a set of footsteps sounded behind her, followed by the sound of a throat clearing.

"He's a job," Pansy said, and Hermione froze, turning slowly over her shoulder. "He's a job," Pansy repeated, folding her arms over her chest, "and you're unqualified to hold it."

"He's—" Hermione hesitated. "It's not like that. We're friends."

"You'd better hope that's all you are," Pansy said simply. "He's one of the most scrutinized people in the entire world, you know. It bothers him, and that's even knowing he was born into it. But you," she mused, flicking her disdainful gaze over Hermione's face, "I'm not sure you could handle it. I'd advise you to keep your distance."

"I didn't ask for your advice," Hermione said, stiffening slightly, and Pansy let out something of a tiny, disinterested scoff.

"He'll never marry an American," Pansy said. "His wife will be some insipid, well-born idiot like Astoria Greengrass, and I absolutely do not encourage you to let him pretend differently."

Hermione bristled. "I'm not trying to marry him—"

"No, certainly not. But do you think he can have a casual girlfriend?" Pansy asked pointedly. "Do you really think the Prince of Wales gets to have _flings_? No. Stay away," she warned again. "I'm not interested in watching him get hurt, and certainly not by someone like you."

The last bit was said with considerable derision, and Hermione, who suddenly remembered how thoroughly exhausted she was, only permitted her mouth to tighten as Pansy took a step back, sparing her a tiny shrug.

"By the way," Pansy said casually, "I suppose I didn't mention it earlier: Welcome to Hogwarts."

Then she turned down the corridor, disappearing into her room.

* * *

 _He's a job, and you're unqualified to hold it._

I never forgot those words, which was strange to me at the time, particularly because I was (back then) in the habit of discarding nearly everything Lady Pansy Parkinson-Six Names said to me. Not to mention that I was tired, exhausted, mentally adrift and, unfortunately, still fairly exhilarated from being transcendently kissed by the man I would later fall madly, stupidly, desperately in love with—and still, despite all those things, I never forgot those words.

In retrospect, it's probably because somewhere, somehow, I always knew they were true.

* * *

 _ **a/n:** [Edited July 3:] Due to overwhelming (thank you!) interest, this story will be continued as a **standalone WIP** with the same title. You may now find it in my profile if you are interested in following the story._

 _In other news, my latest collection of fairytales,_ _ **Midsummer Night Dreams**_ _, is now available! You can find the link to it on my website (olivieblake dot com). Thanks to Aurora for amazing cover photography and to Little Chmura for some of my absolute favorite illustrations—I can't wait for you guys to see it!_


	101. Reverie

**Reverie**

 _Pairing:_ Dramione (Draco x Hermione)

 _Universe:_ Post-War, Hogwarts Year 8

 _Rating:_ M

 _Summary:_ Little Chmura, my artsy pierogi princess, asked for a Dramione one-shot based on one of her gorgeous pieces (available on Tumblr) in which Draco and Hermione are snuggled up against a tree on the Hogwarts grounds. Naturally, I took 'Hogwarts comfort + angst' and turned it into something thoroughly mad, which is this. (Also, if you're musically inclined, I wrote this while listening to _Rêverie, L. 68_ as written by my fave, Debussy, and performed by AVA.)

After opening a questionable book in the restricted section of the library, Hermione Granger has somehow become Draco Malfoy's responsibility.

* * *

 _The Problem_

"She's dead."

"She's what?"

"She's dead," Harry repeated slowly, as if his cadence had been the problem, "and apparently, only you can wake her."

That wasn't exactly true.

But it wasn't exactly false, either.

* * *

"What is she?"

"She's not dead," had been Draco's tentative reply.

"I didn't ask what she _wasn't_ ," had been Ron's less-than-flattering retort.

Draco rubbed his temple.

"It's complicated," he grumbled under his breath.

"Complicated I can do," Ron said, fiddling with his new Auror badge. "Cyclically dead girlfriend? Not so much."

"It's like narcolepsy," Draco lied, shrugging. "She'll wake."

"Yeah, but apparently only if _you_ bloody wake her," Ron muttered. "Where exactly is she, anyway?"

Draco grimaced, not particularly wanting to answer.

Largely because any answer he gave was almost certainly going to sound like a lie.

* * *

"Hi," she said, looking up as he entered. She looked happy to see him, which wasn't particularly helpful.

"Hi."

He was happy to see her, too, which was worse.

"You have to come back," he said, not bothering with pleasantries. She knew why he was there, anyway.

"I will," she promised, "eventually. I did last time, didn't I? And the time before that. Though your diligence is noted," she added, half-smiling.

He rubbed his temple again.

"You've stayed longer this time," he said, the dull pounding in his head rather impolitely refusing to ease. "I'm worried you're going to forget this isn't reality."

She arched a brow. "Worried for me, Malfoy?"

He looked away. "I'm just afraid you're going to get carried away, that's all."

"Are you now," she murmured, her lips twisting up slightly. "How interesting."

"They think you're dead," Draco reminded her. "It's not that interesting. It's fairly straightforward, actually. You have to come back so as to prove you are not, in fact, dead. Basic stuff, Granger."

"Well, to hear you tell it, I essentially _am_ dead," she said.

"Yes," he sighed, exasperated, "but you're not. Not really."

She looked around, nudging the plaited flower crown back on her head, and shrugged.

"Close enough," she said before rising to her feet, stepping alarmingly close to place her fingers firmly against his temples. "Hold still," she warned when he tried to pull away, and he sighed again, but relented.

After a moment, the pressure in his head soothed slightly, then evaporated. She stepped back with a smile, the curve of it uneven and pleasantly asymmetrical; torn, as she was, between two completely impossible states. Amusement and sympathy, in this case. The real world and _this_ one, in a larger sense.

"Better?" she asked, and he swallowed tightly, nodding. "Can you sleep yet?" she added, softer.

He could not.

"Doesn't matter," he reminded her, shifting his stance. "And anyway, if you're actually concerned, you should know I definitely won't be able to sleep if you don't come back. Potter and Weasley seem to be taking turns calling me every hour."

"Tell them they're misusing your Floo privileges," Hermione advised.

"Tell them yourself," Draco countered, and she sighed, the garland of flowers in her hair wilting slightly.

"Fine," she said. "But only because you asked nicely. And because I do miss them," she added thoughtfully. "How long has it been?"

He swallowed. "Too long," he said, and she nodded, letting him take her hand to pull them both out.

* * *

 _The Explanation_

She'd been gone for about two days that time. The first time had only been a matter of hours. It had also been an accident, or something like an accident. Either way, it hadn't been Draco's fault.

This whole situation was precisely the trouble with having eighth year curriculum, really. Nobody quite knew what to teach them anymore. After all, what can you possibly tell a bunch of teenagers who are too old, not just for the school, but for their own skins? They'd seen death. Seen war. Seen each other make terrible choices. They'd seen the ugly in the world and couldn't look away, so what was left to _teach_?

The solution, ostensibly, was 'independent study,' as McGonagall had hesitantly called it, glancing between the five of them who'd returned: Draco, Hermione, Theo, Neville, and Padma. They all had specialties, for the most part. Neville, for example, was primarily there to pass the N.E.W.T. he needed in herbology, so that was his major focus. He was constantly with Sprout in the as-yet unrepaired sham of a greenhouse. Padma was usually in the Astronomy tower—which was a place Draco in particular no longer cared to go.

There was no room for them in the seventh year classes. _Physically_ there was, of course, but any time any one of them sat down in lectures the rest of the class was immediately distracted. The five eighth-years were individually loathed or beloved for one reason or another, but collectively they no longer fit within the fabric of the castle, figuratively _and_ metaphysically. The castle had only provided enough beds for the students enrolled in years one through seven, so the five of them had been lumped together and thrown into a slightly cramped flat in Hogsmeade. They came to the castle each day to study in a corner of the library near the restricted section, each following a suggested curriculum written out for them by the various professors to help them pass their N.E.W.T.s on their own.

It was on one of those days when Hermione beckoned to Draco and Theo from her usual table in the corner. (Neville had been in the greenhouse; Padma was sleeping, in advance of her studies that evening.)

"This book," Hermione said, pointing to her pile of assigned reading, "wasn't with my things yesterday."

They were friends by then, sort of. Hard not to be, considering they all had to occupy the same flat—which was even smaller when Harry and Ron were visiting her, so they were friends, too. Sort of. Flitwick had charmed the space to give them something of an expansion, but they could practically feel the walls groaning and swelling when the wonder twins came up to visit from Auror training.

"Those are runes," Theo pointed out, gesturing to the cover.

"I know," Hermione said.

"It says," Theo began, and squinted. "' _Worlds and reveries_ ,' I think."

"Yes," Hermione said again, "I know. I didn't call you over for a translation."

"Well, that's all I have," Theo said, and turned to leave, determining any further input unnecessary or uninteresting. Draco, however, stayed behind, watching Hermione stare curiously down at the cover.

"You said it just appeared?" he asked quietly, and she nodded, frowning.

"I want to open it," she said, fingers twitching towards it, "but also, I don't."

Fair, he thought.

"How about," she began, and turned tentatively to him, "I open it, and you stay here. Just to see if something happens."

He nodded. He could do that. He'd already been reading about debunked magical theories for two hours and he wasn't hungry yet.

"And," she added thoughtfully, "maybe you should touch me, too."

He balked. "What?"

"Well, just in case," she said simply. "Keep a hand on my shoulder or something," she clarified, gesturing. "Just in case," she repeated, and he frowned. "Books can be tricky."

"Well—" He considered advising against it, but his head was hurting. It often was these days. He wasn't sleeping well. "Okay. Fine."

* * *

Because we don't have all day: He places his hand on her shoulder. She opens the book. It tumbles to the ground with a clatter, falls open, and she drops along with it, unmoving. He looks around, confused, his hand now simply resting on empty air. He's about to shout for help when something pauses him. The pages of the book fill with a line or two of type. They provide the following message spelled out in runes, seemingly for him: ' _What is a world without a creator? What is a life without a meaning?'_ He bends over her and holds a hand under her nose. She's not breathing. She's dead. No, he thinks, she's not dead. There's no proof of it, but he thinks it's true. He calls for Theo, but beckons for him to come quietly. Theo says she's dead. Draco says she isn't. Theo says there's no proof of that whatsoever. Draco says look, I know death, she isn't. Theo says nothing, because Draco has a point. Then he asks Draco what he wants to do about it and Draco says he doesn't know. Should he go get her? Theo says if you can go get here, what are you doing talking to me? Draco says I don't know, can you give me some fucking space to breathe please, Christ, there's a dead girl on the floor, and Theo says she isn't dead and Draco says how do you know and Theo says because you just told me she isn't. So Draco goes to get her. He just knows, somehow. He touches the book and he shows up inside it, and there's nothing, but Hermione's there. She says look and shows him she can make something: light. She cups it in her hands. She says: Aren't you tired of the dark? He swallows hard and says you can't stay here. She sighs, fine, how do we get out? And he says I'll take you back, and he does. He doesn't know how he does any of it. He has no explanation. Two weeks later, Ron and Harry find him in a panic. We came to see her but she's dead, Ron says hysterically, but Harry says she's not, that she left them a note and it says 'if I'm not awake by Saturday noon tell Draco to wake me.'

It changes everything.

* * *

 _The Book_

There was a world inside the book of worlds. It didn't exist when she got there, Hermione explains, but now that she's there, she can make things. She made light the first time, and it would have been enough, except once you can make light out of nothing you don't particularly want to stop making things. That, and she didn't have especially good impulse control. She went back and made a landscape: to Draco, it looked like a forest. Then she got stuck, she said.

He suspected she was lying, but she, like most people, didn't seem like she would be receptive to being called a liar. So, after a while, he simply made a habit of coming to get her whenever she'd been gone too long.

The fifth time it happened, she'd added animals. By the time he arrived, she was riding some sort of winged unicorn.

"Pegacorn," she said. "Pegasus and unicorn."

He sighed. "You can't stay here," he warned. "It's not real."

"How do you know what's real?" she asked, as the pegacorn (no, he told himself, he wasn't calling it that) knelt down, permitting her to land deftly on her feet. "Thanks, Draco," she said to it, and it nodded brusquely before taking flight, bounding away.

"Draco?" echoed human Draco, making a face.

"Reminds me of you," she said, shrugging. "Finicky. Prone to sulking. Hates leafy greens."

"Ha," he said glumly, and she smiled.

"Lighten up," she suggested, gesturing around. "It's nice, right?"

"I guess," he said, "if you like nature."

"Everyone likes nature," she said.

"Not true. And anyway, you know why I'm here."

"Yes, I do," she agreed, "but I'm not ready yet." She fell to the ground, patting the space beside her. "Come sit."

He sat, but he wasn't happy about it. He'd simply learned by then it was easier not to argue.

"You can't stay here," he reminded her. "You asked for an extra day and I let you have it, but you have to come back now. It's not real."

"How do you know what's real?" she asked again. Next to her, a plant bloomed from nothing, and she reached over, plucking something from its leaves. "Hungry?" she asked, offering it to him, and he frowned at it.

"What is it?"

"Thing I made," she said. "Tastes like strawberry ice cream, I think. Try it," she said, holding it out to him. It was a softly pink plum.

He took a bite, unsure what to expect. It was soft and sort of cold, giving him a strange sensation in his teeth.

"Strawberry ice cream," he agreed, and she nodded.

"Real enough, isn't it?" she said, gesturing to it.

"Maybe so, but still. Potter and Weasley are more real," Draco reminded her, "and they're worried about you."

She leaned back, falling against the high, sweet-smelling grass.

"I don't like that world anymore," she said. "It disappointed me."

"I disappointed you, too," Draco pointed out, "and you still talk to me."

She turned her head, smiling at him. The sun shone a little brighter through the canopy.

"True," she said, and he looked away.

"Your boyfriend," he said, "is looking for you."

She sighed heavily, as if Draco was the one being tiresome.

"You could at least tell him where you are," he insisted.

"No," Hermione said. "No way. Better he thinks I've got some weird death disease. Otherwise he'll want to come, or he'll tell Harry, and then Harry will want to use the book, and I don't want to—" She paused, thinking. "It's just that every time I make something, it stays that way," she explained slowly, gesturing around, "just as I like it. This place I'm making, it's—"

"Yours," Draco said, though he may as well have said _perfect_ , and she nodded slowly.

"I'm just not ready to share yet," she said.

He doubted she ever would be, but that was mostly understandable.

"Do you want me to make you something?" she asked him, possibly trying to butter him up.

"Not unless you can make a version of me who isn't a fuck-up," Draco muttered. "And not a pegacorn, either," he warned, before kicking himself. He said he wasn't going to call it that. He couldn't entertain _all_ her whims.

She sat up, taking his hand without a word to lead him through the forest. They walked for a few minutes in silence, a baby deer leaping by with a flash of golden antlers, before arriving at a narrow stream. She leapt over it, releasing his hand to jump, and then beckoned for him to follow. He did.

Then she said, "Close your eyes."

He really needed to stop enabling her. She was getting to be thoroughly impossible.

He closed his eyes.

When he opened them, she had created a shining, faultless version of the castle. The real one was still undergoing construction of sorts, with all the professors and the older students lending their spare time to rebuilding it. This one was pristine, shining in the sun.

He shaded his eyes, staring at it.

"Oh, sorry," Hermione said, and swept out a hand. Behind them, she'd grown a tree beside the lake, shading them both from the sun. "There. Better?"

More than better.

Breathtaking, he wanted to say, but didn't.

"It's not a new you, technically," she said, "but it's still sort of new, isn't it? And anyway, I think the current you is fine. When you're not leaving the toothpaste out."

Her fingertips brushed his. On purpose?

Probably not.

"I never leave the toothpaste out," he forced out, clearing his throat. "That's Longbottom."

"Oh," she said, shrugging. "Well, your dishwashing charms could still use some improvement."

"I know," he said.

He wanted to take her hand. Instead, he told her, "Your boyfriend is waiting for you."

She turned, eyes wide, to give him an unreadable look.

"Fine," she said. "Take me back, then."

He still didn't know if she was capable of removing herself, magically-speaking. But he did know that in other, truer respects, the answer was definitely no.

"Granger," he said tentatively, and she shook her head.

"Don't," she said.

Behind them, the sun dimmed.

* * *

 _The Friends_

Harry and Ron were, not unpredictably, a touch concerned.

"What's going on?" Harry asked Draco. "This seems like it's been going on for a while."

"Yes, and I think I deserve to know," Ron contributed.

Draco, Theo, Padma, and Neville exchanged glances.

"The thing is," Draco said slowly, "she doesn't want me to tell you. Yet," he added optimistically, though that was a concept mostly of his own invention.

"What?" Ron barked.

"It's not just Draco," Padma added quickly. She and Hermione shared a room, so Draco assumed she had been the first person Hermione told outside of him. Padma was also not home very often, given that her work was done at night, and when she was in the flat, she slept during the day. All in all, she was very high on the list of Hermione Granger's enablers. "I mean—" Padma glanced at Neville, who gave a guilty-looking shrug. "She asked all of us not to, right?"

"Not me," Theo said. "I can tell you."

Harry looked expectantly at him.

"I said I can," Theo said, shrugging. "Didn't say I would."

Harry rolled his eyes.

"You can't just keep this a secret," Ron said, obviously frustrated as he rounded on Draco. "It's one thing for them not to tell me, but _you_ —why is it you're the only one who can wake her?" he demanded. "Why not Padma?"

Draco didn't want to answer the question being asked ( _why are you the one she's always asking for?_ ) because his more pressing question ( _why is she yours?_ ) was something he didn't really want to think about.

"If she wanted you to know," Draco said instead, "she would tell you herself."

"Fine," Harry said wearily, yanking Ron back by the collar of his shirt. "Tell her we came to see her then, would you?"

But Ron wasn't so easily satisfied. "Why can't you just wake her now?" he asked Draco, shoving Harry away. "I haven't seen her in a month, and this is the third time"— _that you know of_ , Draco thought—"she's been like this."

"It takes a while," Draco said, which was adjacent to the truth. The actual extraction was simple enough, but the process of persuading her to wake was something of a drawn-out dance. "If you want to wait, you can."

"Then I'll wait," Ron said, falling onto the cramped sofa between Padma and Neville.

Draco rose to his feet, rubbing his temple. "Fine," he said.

* * *

"Oh, hi," Hermione said, turning to find him walking towards her. "Guess what I did today?"

She pointedly flapped her set of shimmering, gossamer wings.

"Got a haircut?" Draco guessed drily, and she laughed.

"Let's go," she said, holding a hand out for his. "Want your own, or can you just hold on?"

"Granger," Draco warned.

"I think I could probably grip you around the waist," she said, turning him brusquely, "just, right here—"

She secured her arms around him and he jumped, bolting out of her reach.

"You have to come back," he said firmly. "Weasley's waiting for you. He hasn't seen you in a month."

"Yes, sure, fine," Hermione said, waving a hand. "Twenty minutes."

"No, Granger," Draco said. "Now."

"Fifteen."

"Now."

"Seventeen."

"This is _not_ a negotiation," Draco growled, and she laughed.

"You're right," she said. "Because you don't actually have any leverage."

He grimaced.

"I thought you didn't like to fly," he said.

"I don't like brooms," she corrected, "or quidditch. But these are mine," she clarified, gesturing to her wings. "I made them. It's different."

"Granger—"

"This world is never going to turn on me," she said, "because I made it. It will never… _abandon_ me. It won't show up dead and make me wonder if it was my fault, or if I didn't do enough. It won't do anything I can't control, and as long as I'm here—"

She took a breath and let it out, and for whatever reason, Draco noticed for the first time that the trees didn't rustle. He hadn't realized before there wasn't really weather here; it was more like a pleasant lack of it. Sun, but no particular heat. A sense of motion in the air, but no actual wind.

"When I leave here," Hermione said hoarsely, "the castle is still broken. The news is still terrible. My parents are still gone. People I loved are still dead." She looked at him, more numb than pained. "I don't want that world right now, Malfoy. I just don't."

He swallowed hard.

"I am so sorry," he said robotically. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," she told him. "Just… if you're going to be here, then _be_ here."

He nodded slowly.

"Twenty minutes," he said.

Her smile flickered and stretched, and maybe this was her world, he thought, but he'd been the one who made that smile. He had made a little light for himself, so he understood why she couldn't bear to leave the things she'd crafted from nothing. From emptiness. From total vacancy in the pages of a questionable book.

"Okay," she said, and slid her arms up around his ribs, holding him steady.

Four hours later, when they landed back on the ground and he insisted they go home, they arrived back in the flat to find Ron was asleep on the sofa.

* * *

 _The Trouble_

"It's been a week since I've seen her," Padma told Draco.

"Mr Malfoy, have you seen Miss Granger?" asked McGonagall. "She said she would help me with repairing some of the castle enchantments in my office, but it's been a day or so with no response."

"Look, I get you can't tell Ron," Harry said, "but can't you at least tell me?"

"Are you seriously just going to sit here and do nothing?" Theo asked. "She's falling into a delusion and leaving her there isn't helping. Why haven't you gone after her yet?"

"It's none of my business," Neville said tentatively, "but, um. It's a bit odd, isn't it? That it's been so long? My kitchen herbs are getting fidgety."

"Are you sleeping?"

Draco blinked, dragging himself back to the present.

Though not quite to reality.

"What?" he asked.

"Are you sleeping?" Hermione asked him. "You could sleep here, if you wanted. I could make sure of it."

"I can't—" He hesitated. "Granger, I can't just stay the night here."

"Why not?" she asked. "Your head hurts all the time," she pointed out, gesturing to where he'd lifted a hand to his temple again. "You need a full night of sleep. You need several nights, actually," she amended. "Do you know what a sleep deficit is? Because you certainly have one by now—"

"Granger," Draco blurted painfully, "I can't spend the night here _with you_. Don't you understand that?" he said. "Don't you understand that I can't—that _being_ here, I'm just so—"

He bent his head.

"Forget it," he said. "Are you coming?"

She stared at him, and then set her jaw.

"No," she said.

"Fine," he exhaled, and left.

He came back alone and walked into the kitchen.

"What happened?" Theo asked.

"I can't wake her," Draco said.

"Like, magically, or—"

"I just _can't_ ," Draco snapped, and then he stormed into their shared bedroom, where naturally he was met by Neville and some sort of new carnivorous-looking pot of greenery.

"It needs to be sung to sleep," Neville said apologetically.

"I don't care," Draco said, and threw himself onto his bed.

He didn't sleep.

He never slept. He saw too many things too vividly whenever he closed his eyes, so he stared at the ceiling instead. There was a spot there, a mark of age or wear, and it looked a little bit like a pegacorn, only those weren't real. And if they were, he definitely wouldn't call them that.

Draco sighed.

Hermione was right.

There was something wrong with this world.

* * *

He tried again the next day.

"I do need to sleep," he told her, "but I can't stay here, either."

She tilted her head, considering him. She'd been in the middle of brushing some sort of large, fluffy kitten.

"How about a nap, then?" she suggested, and as she set down the brush, the kitten bounded away, disappearing between the trees. "Come here," she beckoned, and he grimaced, but per usual, he ceded to her wants, sitting beside her and letting her guide his head towards her lap. "Close your eyes," she said, and he obeyed, because what else was he even capable of doing these days?

"Sleep well, Draco," she murmured, brushing her thumb against his forehead, and he drifted off, finally seeing nothing behind his tired eyes.

* * *

 _The Truth_

In this precise moment, these are the things Draco doesn't know about:

Padma is sitting alone under the stars, contemplating the constellation Draco. It's the dragon assigned as a guardian; it keeps secrets. She smiles to herself, a little. It's a name that fits, she thinks, and scribbles a few notes about the position of Mars for her research.

Neville is talking to Luna about his recent observation of young hamadryades trees where he's planted them just outside the still-in-disrepair greenhouse. The trees don't grow in groves, he says, but in small groups. One of them isn't growing like the others, though—its colors resemble a tree less developed—and the one closest to it has started to… lean. Closer. Neville thinks the smallest one is dying, that the roots aren't taking to the soil, so the closest one to it is showing signs of mourning. Luna frowns, looks into nothing, and says, "How do you know which one is really alive?"

About a week ago, Hermione received a note. It contained the following message:

 _I love you. You know I love you. But I can't do this. What's going on? You're telling me nothing. You're telling me_ _nothing_ _, and I'm sorry, but I can't do this anymore. I used to feel like we had something nobody else in the world had. That you were the person I knew best in this entire universe. I used to know you, Hermione, and now I don't. It's like you're on another planet. I'm suffering too, you know. This wasn't just your war. I know you said you couldn't just move on, but what about me?_

Also in this precise moment, these are the things Draco _does_ know about:

The softness of Hermione's touch while he sleeps.

* * *

 _The Creations_

Pegacorn. A unicorn and a pegasus.

A hypoallergenic kitten the size of a labrador who answers to the name Brutus.

A set of collapsible wings.

A small and highly territorial vanilla-scented bear.

A grove of pre-decorated Christmas trees.

Gold. (Because alchemy.)

A perfect model of Hogwarts. This is where Hermione sleeps, when she sleeps. She curls up in the bed in the Gryffindor dormitory and stares up at the canopy and relives the moments she thought were hard but weren't really, like being torn between Ron and Viktor. Wasn't that a fun problem? she thinks. Comparatively, anyway. She thinks about the tests she once thought she would fail. The mean things Draco Malfoy said that he doesn't say anymore. The hard look on his face that's long gone, replaced by something different. Then she laughs to herself at the memory of slapping him and waves a hand, and because she willed it to, snow falls outside her window.

As she drifts to sleep, Hermione creates a dream for herself. In it, she falls inside of a book, builds an entire world, and from time to time, Draco visits her. One of those times, he looks at her and he says, "I don't really need an entire world, you know. Just you," he says. "Just you."

Inside the book of worlds, Hermione creates beautiful delusions.

* * *

 _The Offer_

"It's summer," Draco said. "Don't you want to go home for a bit or something?"

"No," Hermione said.

"Well, I don't want to either," Draco grumbled. "So the least you could do is come back to the flat. Everyone else is staying, and Theo's planning some sort of mad birthday dinner for me." He paused. "It's going to be terrible."

"Why don't you stay here, then?" Hermione asked him.

"What?"

"Stay here," Hermione said again.

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because—" Draco growled. "I can't live in a fantasy, Granger. I don't want it."

She looked down.

"But you can sleep here," she pointed out.

"Yes."

"And your head doesn't hurt when you're here."

"No," he sighed, "It doesn't. But—"

"And I'm here," she said.

He said nothing.

What could he say?

"You still don't want to," she registered, deflating.

"Because this isn't real," he told her for the thousandth time, stepping closer. He looked at her, really looked, and said, "Granger, nothing here is real."

The moment he said it, he could see he'd made everything worse.

"I know," she said, turning away, and he caught her hand.

"But," he sighed helplessly, "if you want me to stay, I will. For a while," he warned. "But then you have to come back with me. Got it?"

She tilted her chin up, smiling her uneven smile. "Fair enough."

* * *

 _The Argument_

For two days, Hermione showed Draco the things she'd made. For him, there were three primary moments of significance. One, when she concocted a particular pastry that smelled and tasted like one he'd had as a child during his favorite holiday with his parents in their chateau outside Versailles. Two, when she took him for a swim in the lake, giving them both temporary tails and fins like merpeople. Three, when she looked at him for a long moment, and then he asked her what was wrong and she said nothing, like she meant it, and he realized nothing was wrong, too.

Still—"We have to go back," he said, "or I'll miss Theo's stupid party."

"Actually," she said, not looking at him, "I've changed my mind. I'm not going."

"Granger," Draco groaned, exasperated. "Come on. You promised."

"Why don't you just stay?" she said, and brightened. "Have you ever been on a jet-ski?"

"Granger, this is ridiculous," Draco said. "It's been weeks now. You can't just stay here."

"I don't like—"

"The real world, yes, yes, I know." He was extremely annoyed, and he wasn't trying very hard to hide it. "You've seen some shit, Granger, but you don't get to disappear. The Hermione Granger I knew wouldn't just give up, would she?"

She stiffened, and then glared at him.

"The Draco Malfoy I knew took a world full of magic and helped it start a war that almost killed me," she said, "so I don't think that's a very fair assessment. Do you?"

He stared at her, stunned.

"Is that still what you think?" he asked.

She didn't answer.

"Fine. I'm leaving," he said.

"Good," she said.

Then he left.

* * *

 _The Party_

The night of Draco's birthday Theo did, in fact, throw a truly terrible party. Mostly because other people were there. Before it started, Draco had considered trying to wake Hermione again (it had been an additional two days by then) but decided it better not to. Clearly she didn't want anything to do with him, and he certainly wasn't in the mood to have yet another argument trying to drag her back after what she'd said.

At the reminder of it, he winced.

"Cheer up," Theo said. "Made you a cake."

It was a pretty good cake, too. Very symmetrical.

"You've been having a tough time," Theo explained, shrugging. "Figured I could do something."

"Who says I've been having a tough time?" Draco said.

"Oh, only your face," Theo replied jubilantly, conspicuously turning to someone else as Harry sidled determinedly up to Draco.

"Hermione isn't dead," Harry announced without preamble.

"No," Draco confirmed again, until he realized it wasn't actually a question that time. "Wait, what?"

"She's not dead," Harry said firmly. "She goes somewhere, right? Somewhere that isn't like here."

Draco frowned. "How do you know that?"

"Well, actually, I was thinking about it," Harry said, "and I figured that had to be it. I don't really blame her for not telling us," he added. "If I could escape, I think I'd do it."

"Would you?" Draco asked doubtfully. "Seems out of character."

"I mean, maybe not forever," Harry said, shrugging. "But it's nice to have a purpose, you know? Meaning. Maybe Hermione hasn't found hers yet."

Or maybe being an omnipotent god in some sort of fairyland is it, Draco thought, and now she's never coming back.

"In any case, thanks for taking care of her," Harry said. "And the school. And a lot of things, really. But mostly her."

Draco didn't feel like pointing out that he hadn't, actually. He seemed to have only convinced her never to return.

"Yeah," Draco said. "I have to go."

He set down his beer and slipped away, heading towards the castle.

* * *

 _The World_

It struck him as he sat beneath the tree by the lake that Hermione had done an excellent job reconstructing the castle from memory. It made sense, he thought. She was observant. She had a remarkable eye for detail. There was something about her eye for emotions, too; for things that weren't quite tactile or quantitative. She'd drawn the whole thing up from nothing but the image in her head and yet, somehow, all the colors reflected in the sky around it were precisely right. The sensations of the air had been right. The distance; the feeling that the castle could loom but still be welcoming, was precisely right.

Her version was more visually arresting, though, of course. Everything was a little better through her eyes, him included.

"Hi," he heard behind him, and spun.

She was standing there, holding herself back, fidgeting. She looked like she'd been crying.

He blinked. "How did you—"

"I could always get myself out," she said. "I just didn't want to."

He swallowed. "Oh."

An owl flew by in the distance.

The branches of the tree above them rustled in the wind.

"I thought you weren't going to come back," Hermione eventually said, eyeing her feet. "I thought maybe you were done with me. And then I thought how terrible it would be if I'd made you upset, or if you thought I'd meant what I said, or what I _didn't_ say, and then I just—"

"Granger." He tilted his head back against the tree, beckoning to her. "Come here."

For once, she listened, sitting beside him.

"Ron broke up with me," she said, and he blinked. "A while ago."

"Probably because you kept dying just to avoid seeing him," Draco remarked.

"Yeah," she sighed. "I think that was probably it."

He sat up slightly. "Are you okay?"

"Kind of." She turned, giving him one of those off-kilter smiles over her shoulder. "I mean, I don't think I really wanted the relationship, but still. It's sad when things end."

She glanced at the castle, which was still a bit ruined; unlike her version of it.

"Not all endings are bad," Draco told her carefully. "When things end, new things start."

He gestured for her to come closer, which she did, and then he pointed up at the castle.

"See the greenhouse?" he murmured, and she nodded. "Longbottom and I finally got around to fixing up the north bit of it about a month ago. I don't know if it's better than the original greenhouse, but I do know that the people who fixed it could never have done so together if it had never been broken to begin with. Which I realize is quite a mad thing to say," he lamented, "considering this was very much my fault, and perhaps I should have been a better person to begin with and then _nothing_ would have broken—"

"But it looks good," Hermione interrupted. "Shiny and new."

"Yeah," Draco said. "Yeah, I guess so."

The wind rustled around them, brushing her hair back from her shoulders. He smelled something floral in her hair and breathed it in, letting it curl up in the recesses of his lungs.

"I thought you weren't coming back for me," Hermione said quietly, and he shook his head.

"I would have come back," Draco said. "For you? Trust me, Granger. I would have come back for you."

She glanced at him. "But you wouldn't have stayed?"

He shook his head. "No," he said, and then hesitated before admitting, "but not because I wouldn't want to. I just owe this world too much."

She nodded in quiet recognition. "I guess I didn't realize while I was off making my own world you've been trying to make this one better," she noted.

"Yeah, well, I figured you'd want to come back one day," he said. "And when you did, I wanted it to be a little better for you."

At that, her throat seemed tight for a moment, her lips parting briefly, and then she tentatively shifted towards him. He adjusted his position against the tree, making room for her, and she settled herself against his chest, leaning into him.

Slowly, he wrapped his arms around her. She slid a hand up, resting it over his heart, and curled her fingers into the fabric of his shirt, holding on.

He rested his head against the tree.

"This world is beautiful, too," Hermione murmured.

"It is now," he said, and she closed her eyes, both of them drifting off in the reverie of the present as their pulses gradually aligned, the sun fading into the background.

* * *

 _The Resolution_

When they returned to the flat, everyone had already gone out. Theo left a note saying they were at the Hog's Head, but they didn't read it because Hermione was pulling Draco into her bedroom, breath catching as his hands slipped under her shirt. She stumbled back, fumbling for the bed behind her, and he was kissing her neck when she realized something was out of place.

Something was gone.

"The book," she said, pausing him. "The book of worlds. It's gone."

He stopped, frowning. "Could someone have taken it?"

"I don't know," she replied.

"Want to look for it?" he asked.

She looked up at him, at the mouth she'd been kissing and the way it formed something she had tried many times to recreate, but never properly managed.

"No," she said, and then added, "By the way. Are you staying to keep working on the castle?"

"Yes," he said.

"Can I help?" she asked.

He looked down at her, at the girl he'd been in love with for months, and imagined an impossible world in which he could refuse her anything.

"Later," he suggested, and she tugged him onto the bed with her, twining her legs with his.

* * *

Because we don't have all day: He takes off her shirt. Then her jeans. Then her bra. She fumbles with his clothes and deposits them on her floor. He says he wishes he had told her sooner how he felt and she says he needs to shut up, right now, she's busy. She kisses him, he kisses her, he ventures down her torso, lips and tongue and teeth. Cunnilingus. Orgasm. Not too quickly—a realistic one, where she squirms and cries out and tightens her fingers in his hair and says yes right there don't move just right there and because he can follow instructions, orgasm is achieved. Then an attempt at fellatio in exchange, which is rebuked in favor of sex. Sex, sex, sex. God, you're so good, he says, and she murmurs I'm going to come, and he whispers something both blasphemous and obscene and they have the first of their impossible moments together and come at the same time. He tells her he thinks he loves her. She tells him she probably loves him. They laugh at their mutual stupidity. He says you are the only thing that brings me peace and she says you are the only thing that's real, and everything will be different now. This is real, he thinks when he touches her, and she thinks it, too, when she touches him. They sleep soundly and dream of pegacorns. Book, what book? Nobody here needs a book. They both know what they're doing, and yet equally, they don't. The world can burn down tomorrow, and if it does, they'll start over. They are resilient. They are creators. They are living proof that something can come from nothing.

They are evidence the world can begin again.

* * *

 _The End_

To conclude:

 _The Question  
_ What is a life without meaning?

 _The Answer  
_ Nothing but a dream.

* * *

 _ **a/n:**_ _Be sure to check my tumblr or Little Chmura's to see the art that inspired this story! We are so very lucky to have her. Also, you guys asked and I (hopefully) delivered:_ _ **The Commoner's Guide to Bedding a Royal**_ _is now available as a standalone WIP. I posted chapter 2 earlier this week. Thanks as always for reading!_


	102. Convenient Ways to Kill a Man

**Convenient Ways to Kill a Man**

 _Pairing:_ Something I will not list, because doing so is a spoiler for _How to Win Friends and Influence People_

 _Universe:_ _How to Win Friends and Influence People-_ verse (are you sensing a theme?), post-war

 _Rating:_ M

 _Summary:_ This story begins one week after the events of the _How to Win_ epilogue, so please, I beg you, do not read this unless you have read the whole story. Do you hear me? THE ENTIRE STORY. Do not show up in the reviews telling me you read this without reading _How to Win_ from beginning to end. You will be very confused, I promise you. Have you read _How to Win_? Yes? Okay good, moving on. Two people who met in the epilogue have agreed to a dinner celebrating their mutual attraction (and, if certain divinists are to be believed, their combined destinies). Unfortunately, they both have jobs to do, which means romance is perhaps less important than some other things… like taking out a dangerous criminal, for example.

* * *

 _The Arsonist  
Diagon Alley  
November 9, 2006  
8:25 p.m._

"You know, I hate to say it," she said, "but I really think this is going disastrously well."

Her lips curled up to a coy, laughing grimace of irony, and he wanted so badly to kiss her. He wanted to reach across the table, take hold of her face, and kiss her deeply. Or gently. Maybe a little bit of both. Hard at first, with a little bite of promise, but then softer. Something to remember him by.

He'd learned a lot about her over the past week; they'd been owling back and forth multiple times a day, in fact, about this and that and everything. About life. About their respective lack of lives. She was funny, he realized. The sort of funny that beautiful girls sometimes weren't. The sort of funny that was bold and brash and uncontained. She was focused, too, and honest. She was painfully honest, and she was direct and brilliant and strangely kind, and now that he was looking at her face—at the petal-pink rose of her mouth—he truly wished he hadn't done what he had.

"I'd hoped I might find something about you I didn't care for," she continued, still with that subtly endearing half-smile that was as much a weapon as it was a gift, "like maybe you had some sort of horrifying political opinions," she mused idly. "Or at least an unbearable habit I couldn't stand being around."

"I've been known to snore," he offered, and her smile broadened.

"I'd like the opportunity to find out," she returned, reaching her hand across the table for his, and he could do it, he thought. What would be the worst thing to happen? Her hazel eyes were fixed on his, and maybe he should just do it. If she pushed him away, then she pushed him away. At least he would have tried. At least he would have had one moment of being close to her, breathing her in, even if it was the only one he got. He thought maybe it would be worth it, and by the way she wasn't dropping her gaze, he was pretty sure she'd left an opening. The figurative door was ever so slightly ajar.

He leaned forward. "Daphne," he attempted, clearing his throat, and her lips parted slowly.

"Do it," she murmured, flinging the door wide open, and at the distinctly welcome offering he determinedly reached out, brushing her hair from her cheek with a careful, exquisitely painful deliberation. He leaned in, grazing his nose deftly along hers, and in response, she tipped her chin up, closing her eyes. Emboldened, he brought her lips to his, and—

"Cadell Hawkworth," came a voice behind them, and immediately, he felt her hand slip from his, the moment abruptly snatched out from beneath them. "You're under arrest for violation of your parole. Put your hands in the air where we can see them."

Cadell grimaced, glancing lamentingly down at his unfinished dinner and falling back into his chair.

"I won't go back," he replied gruffly. Heads were starting to turn; ideal. He raised his voice. "I'm never going back to Azkaban."

He spun, aiming a stunning spell at one of the Aurors behind him that narrowly missed, and as he rose to his feet, Harry Potter's expression went grim.

"Cadell," he warned, "put your wand down and your hands in the air. We're taking you into custody."

"I'd rather die," Cadell shot back, and then he heard it. A camera. Then two more. He painted a gruesome snarl on his face and raised his wand when he heard a third, aiming a wordless spell that Harry rapidly disarmed. "If you want me, you'll have to kill me first, Potter—"

"Take him in, Auror Weasley," Harry commanded, and as Ron stepped forward, Cadell lunged, Daphne already gone from his peripheral. She'd be slipping into the crowd now, backing away. Pictures were being taken, after all, and she couldn't be in them. Her anonymity was key. For him, however, visibility was paramount.

Ron extended a hand, ostensibly to take hold of Cadell's wrist, and the moment they touched—

"Oh, hello," drawled Theo Nott as Cadell stumbled sideways, nearly colliding with the brick wall in the alley. "Here's your wand," he offered, holding it out for Cadell, "and some clothes. I take it you've been briefed on the communication protocol?"

"I'll send a patronus out as soon as I make contact," Cadell confirmed stiffly, trading his jacket for the cloak Theo had offered him. "But again, you have to make sure nobody tries to contact _me_. If any messages arrive at the wrong time—"

"We know the drill," Theo assured him. "We're really much more competent than we look." He paused before adding, "Thanks for doing this, by the way. I'm sure it's not exactly what you wanted."

Cadell nodded, his fingers closing deftly around the wand which was, in fact, his. The other had been a decoy, as had the Weasley product that had transported him outside, leaving a fake bloodied limb behind.

"Not a problem," he said, clearing his throat. "Harry's right. I'm the best person to do it."

Theo shrugged. "Well, certainly never hurts to be the best. Anything else?"

Cadell considered it.

"Yeah, actually," he said after a moment. "Can you tell Daphne," he began, and paused. He wasn't sure what to say to her. He rather wished he'd thought it through. "Can you just, um. Can you tell her that…"

He trailed off. Nothing seemed good enough.

"Tell her yourself," Theo suggested, giving Cadell's shoulder a remarkably comforting pat. "Shouldn't take more than what, a couple of weeks? Build a little suspense. Just don't take too long with the runaround."

Cadell smiled weakly. "Right," he confirmed. "Okay, well—" He turned over his shoulder, eyeing the darkened alley to his left. "See you, then."

"Good luck," Theo called after him, bending to speak into his tie clip as Cadell shivered in the evening air, pulling his cloak tighter around him.

* * *

 _ **One Week Ago**_ _  
The Ministry of Magic, Department of Magical Law Enforcement  
November 2, 2006  
10:35 a.m._

"The suspect's name is Mordred," Harry said, placing one file in front of Cadell as he placed the other in front of Daphne. "Deathstar's already been briefed," he added to clarify, "but I wanted to review it with the two of you separately."

"Why?" Daphne asked, frowning as she opened the file. "Does this have something to do with the Avalonian Order we just shut down?"

"Yes and no," Harry said unhelpfully, falling back into his seat. "We went through their records and sorted out that Mordred was one of their primary donors, so to some extent that's a yes, but it seems they weren't his only beneficiaries. He's been known by other names," he explained, gesturing to the files, "but the records from the Avalonian Order match some open cases we have belonging to other wizarding terrorist groups from the last twelve years. Mordred is only his most recent iteration."

"Who is he?" Daphne asked, frowning at the blurry picture of a middle-aged man that had been tucked into the file, and Harry shrugged.

"That's the question," he returned. "Whoever Mordred is, he's extremely well-hidden. Impossible to contact unless he wants to contact you." His gaze slid slowly—knowingly—to Cadell's. "Have you heard of him?"

Cadell nodded, and Daphne's heart sank.

 _This_ was why they'd been called in.

"I know of him," Cadell clarified. "Never met him, but I know his associates."

"Could you get to him?" Harry asked.

For a moment, Cadell didn't speak. He looked at the file, obviously lost in thought.

"It would save a lot of lives if you could," Harry pressed, obviously adopting a gentler tone to soften his urging. "Mordred supplies money and resources to groups with intent to harm the public and the Ministry. He also gives them the means to avoid imprisonment." He paused before adding, "He's basically the Godfather of the magical underground."

To that, Cadell's mouth twisted. "Rhys loves those films."

Harry nodded, half-smiling. "I know. Loves them even more now that he and Daisy work for MACUSA." He waited another beat, letting the camaraderie sink in before pressing on. "Anyway, I thought maybe you could help us. If, that is, you were able to reach him. Dig up his real identity and tell us who he is." Another pause. "We can't stop him if we can't find him."

Daphne glanced sharply at Cadell, who was chewing his thoughts, looking torn. He exhaled after a moment, slowly rubbing his temple.

"Yes," he said eventually, and the moment he said it, Daphne ached for him. He'd been so relieved to be back in the wizarding world, and now…"Yes, I could find him. But everyone underground knows I'm supposed to be in Azkaban," Cadell pointed out, glancing fleetingly at Daphne. "With the Avalonian Order dismantled and me suddenly out of prison, Mordred might suspect I got clemency from the Ministry. I won't be able to get close to him if he thinks I'm working with the Auror department."

"Right," Harry agreed, "but I had a thought about that—we could stage something. A highly publicized re-arrest that goes wrong. Something that ends up in the papers," he clarified, "to make the rest of the world believe you're on the run again."

"But that will destroy his reputation," Daphne argued. "Not to mention your department!"

Harry glanced at her, grimacing. "I know. Temporarily, though, we'll have to do it. And listen, I know Cadell was going to get a desk job in the Department of Mysteries, but—"

Daphne struggled to manage her disappointment.

She'd just met him.

She'd _just_ met him.

And now he was going to be gone?

"We could really use him," Harry finished, giving Cadell a sympathetic glance. "We don't have anyone else who could go undercover like this."

"Not Draco or Hermione?" Daphne asked Harry, who shook his head.

"It already came out after Halloween that their divorce was staged. Nobody would believe them if they went undercover now. And if it were a simple assassination, that would be one thing," Harry added apologetically, "but we have reason to believe Mordred's various enterprises would continue on his orders even if he died. None of us can figure out how he transfers funds, so we can't just take him out. We have to take down his entire network, and that requires knowing who he is and who's protecting him."

"But Cadell just got his life back," Daphne began, and Cadell leaned forward, gently cutting in.

"It's fine," he told her. "Harry's right. It's a good plan." He slid his gaze briefly to Harry's. "And it won't take too long, will it? You just need me to figure out who Mordred is and report back?"

Harry nodded. "After that, no more undercover work—you have my word. You can be an Auror or an Unspeakable if you want to, up to you. But I swear, this is the last time I'll ask you to do anything like this."

"Is my department involved in the investigation, too?" Daphne asked, hoping for at least that much, but Harry shook his head slowly.

"No," he said, "and you definitely shouldn't communicate. And I'll need you to get rid of any record of his employment, Daphne, because if there's even a single shred of evidence tying Cadell to the Ministry, Mordred will find it. We think he has at least one associate on the inside, either in the Ministry or somewhere financial," Harry explained, directing that information at Cadell. "So you'll have to cut ties completely."

Gradually, Cadell managed a nod.

"Understood," he said, resigned to his fate, and beside him, Daphne suppressed a sigh, trying not to look as disappointed as she felt.

* * *

 _Daphne Greengrass' Flat  
Knockturn Alley  
November 9, 2006  
9:04 p.m._

"So," Pansy called from the fire, smiling devilishly through the flames, "how was the dinner?"

Daphne grimaced. "Pans, I _just_ got home. Can you not wait around for me like that?"

"Daphne Elizabeth Greengrass," Pansy warned. "You promised me details."

Daphne sighed, hanging her robes up by the door and falling back against the cushions of her vintage sofa. She was really rather a fan of her cozy Knockturn flat when it wasn't being invaded by nosy newly-pregnant friends; admittedly, the neighborhood left something to be desired, but seeing as a new cafe had just been put in, Daphne suspected it'd be lousing with gentrification soon enough.

"Well?" Pansy demanded. "I've just been sitting here with my feet up for hours, so—"

There was no getting around it. Better to get it over with quickly.

"I like him," Daphne confessed, withering slightly. "I do. I like him."

At once, Pansy's expression melted. Daphne thought at first it was a result of the flames, but no. Pansy's entire countenance visibly formed itself to something surprisingly human as she let out a loud, incoherent sound of relief (or pain. Difficult to tell).

"I'm so _happy_ for you," Pansy wailed; relief, Daphne confirmed internally. "It's been THREE YEARS, Daphne!"

"I'm aware," Daphne said drily.

"It's been _three years,_ and all that time, what have I been saying? That you would fi-"

"I'd find someone, yes, yes, I know, but you're getting ahead of yourself—"

"You _like_ him—oh, I'm so relieved," Pansy exhaled. "I genuinely thought I was going to have to keep setting you up on terrible first dates until one or both of us _died_ —"

"Pans, come on— _Pansy_ , are you crying?"

"It's the hormones," Pansy sniffed, pawing lightly at her face. "Anyway, why aren't you excited? This is _huge_ , Daphne! He's the first person you've taken any interest in who wasn't, I don't know, a suspect in a murder investigation—"

"Well, not quite, remember?" Daphne lamented, leaning her head back against the sofa. "I told you, he's going undercover. I won't talk to him again until he finds Mordred, and who knows how long that'll take—"

"But _why_ ," Pansy whined. "Doesn't Potter know you need to get _laid_?"

"This Mordred guy is apparently some kind of destructive billionaire with bad intentions," Daphne reminded her. "I think stopping wizarding terrorism is probably more pressing to Harry Potter's agenda than my carnal urges."

"Eh, potato, potato. In any case, I'm hearing _far_ too much work," Pansy complained, "and not nearly enough details. Spill, Daph."

"I—"

What was there to say, really? That for three years she'd barely slept for seeing Cadmus Peverell in her dreams? That for over a thousand nights she'd heard his voice and felt his touch and now, finally—when she could _finally_ think of him without crying—the only man she had any sort of connection with was gone?

"He's…"

She sighed.

He has the kindest eyes, she wanted to say. Brown and discerning and quick to take in details. He was observant in ways that struck her as meaningful; he seemed to know what she was thinking before she said a word. Not like Cadmus, who was observant in something of an impish way—a playful _how can I use this later?_ sort of way—but rather, Cadell looked at her as if he were seeing her through a totally different lens. Cadmus had known her as a girl, lost and finding her way and constantly needing to be reassured, but Cadell looked at her as a woman. A woman who'd fought for her place in the world, just as he had. He was someone now he had never been before, and no one who had known him before could conceivably see the difference. But that, Daphne thought, was something she fully understood.

Losing a love changes a person. Molds you into something unrecognizable and unfamiliar. But time changes you, too, as Daphne had learned. Eventually the pain gets easier to bear, and then even that is painful. Like maybe your body is forgetting how it felt to lay beside him, so it cruelly permits you to breathe. Sometimes the breath of relief that inevitably follows heartbreak is the very worst of the pain.

 _I know_ , Cadell had said when she told him, surprised the words even managed to leave her constitution without simply swallowing her up. _I thought for a long time I wanted to drown, only to feel guilty for continuing to swim._

 _And now?_ she'd asked him. _Is it better now?_

He'd looked at her like no one had ever looked at her. Like nobody _could_ ever look at her, for not possessing the capacity to understand the volumes of what she'd become.

 _If I know one thing about life,_ he'd started to say—in a moment so similar to one she'd had nearly three years before that she thought she might have fallen through the looking glass—and she'd paused him, reaching across the table to take his hand.

 _It's that it goes on_ , she finished for him, and she'd known right then Cadell Hawkworth wasn't something that would fade.

"Never mind. You don't have to say anything," Pansy said, interrupting Daphne's thoughts with a surprisingly gentle tone. "I can see it on your face. You like him. That's all."

Daphne nodded slowly.

Yes.

She liked him.

It didn't even feel like a betrayal of her past, really, because she would never have felt this way about Cadell Hawkworth if she'd met him back then. She could only feel this way now. She could only feel this for having been what she'd become because of Cadmus. After all, Cadmus, a man who had only ever known who he was with his brothers standing beside him, had been the one to teach Daphne she could stand alone.

"So you have to wait, what, a couple of weeks, then?" Pansy guessed, biting daintily into a chocolate frog. "You can wait that long. You already waited three years."

Daphne chuckled under her breath. "True," she agreed. "Compared to three years, a few weeks is nothing."

"Easy," Pansy assured her. "You're fine."

To that, Daphne Greengrass let out a breath she felt she'd been holding a long, long time.

"Yes," Daphne confirmed. "I'm fine."

* * *

 _ **Eight Fucking Months Later**_ _  
Lady Mystic's House of Reverie  
Knockturn Alley  
July 3, 2007  
9:15 p.m._

"Are you and Potter sure about this?" Parvati asked Daphne, the silver veil floating above her platinum-white hair. She wasn't always so formal, but considering the occasion, she'd leaned into looking unearthly and ethereal in her costume as Cassandra, Knockturn's resident Lady Mystic. Beside her, Blaise fidgeted with the gold circlet on his head, squinting at himself in the mirror. "Oi, Zabini," Parvati said, snapping her fingers. "Focus."

"Right," Blaise agreed, turning back to Daphne. "You look great."

"That's not what we were talking about," Parvati growled, glaring at him. Daphne sighed, suspecting she was being held hostage to a very niche brand of foreplay before the other two went off to play their respective roles as the heads of secret criminal enterprises. "She's putting her life in danger, you idiot—"

"I put my life in danger all the time," Daphne reminded Parvati. "It's what we do every day, isn't it?"

Parvati frowned. "Yes, but that doesn't mean I have to like it. This guy's trouble," she warned. "I don't trust him or his associates, and if this doesn't work—"

"Oh, relax, Lady Mystic," Blaise advised, his fingers brushing lightly over the small of Parvati's back. "If you get all riled up now, your revel won't be any fun at all."

"You know I hate these," Parvati told him gruffly, though she leaned in gratefully at his touch. "I'm not Dionisia, Blaise. I'm not a pimp."

"A madame, you mean," Blaise assured her with a furtive laugh, "and anyway, we know. You're just doing Potter and Deathstar a favor."

"You really are," Daphne assured her. "Cadell's been out of contact for too long. After his last message, Harry suggested this as the best way to get in touch with him discreetly, and I agreed. In fact, I offered," she added, though she pointedly didn't mention she had her own agenda for doing so—largely because Parvati already knew as much. Daphne suspected she'd known for quite a long time, though she did them both the favor of not bringing it up.

 _Love fiercely, love brightly, because someone waits for you._

"Well, fine," Parvati permitted after a moment, eyeing Daphne with approval again. "You do make an excellent harlot."

Daphne glanced down at herself, stifling a sigh. Parvati had gone with Lady Revel's previous theme of overdone French gowns (this one being at least slightly less pretentious and more luxurious, as it was one of Mel's couture designs). Daphne also wore a complex silver-powdered wig on her head that wasn't particularly comfortable, though admittedly the priestess' wimple she'd worn in the Avalonian Order had been far less flattering.

"Thanks, I guess," she sighed. "Shall we?"

"Shall we entertain a wizarding terrorist and a dozen of his most disgusting associates? If we must," Parvati sniffed distastefully, "then I suppose we shall."

* * *

 _9:23 p.m._

It had been a relief to receive the scroll inviting them to Lady Mystic's for a revel. The rebuilt House of Fortune (now House of Reverie) was still widely considered a safe haven for people of their underground circle, and was simultaneously an inconspicuous place for a meeting as much as it was the only place Cadell could conceivably speak to someone representing the Ministry. A polyjuiced Theo, he assumed, as Harry was unlikely to put himself at this much risk. Maybe Draco or Hermione.

It had never occurred to Cadell they might try to hide someone in plain sight.

"This is Lady Guinevere," said Cassandra, the public persona belonging to Parvati Patil. Cadell didn't know her well, but Harry had assured him prior to his calculated escape underground that she could be trusted. Besides, Cadell's own experience with her had certainly been… illuminating, to say the least.

The woman she beckoned stepped forward, long lashes framing unforgettable hazel eyes.

"My Lords," offered a faultlessly disguised but aptly-named Lady Guinevere, sweeping her skirts back in a flawless curtsy. "Might one of you be wanting entertainment?"

She was skirting Cadell's eye. Smart, he thought. Wouldn't want it to look planned. It was perfectly fine for him to stare at her, but certainly not the other way around.

Beside him, Mordred looked entirely too delighted. He was a notably unhandsome man, though certainly unremarkable. There was a reason his face was so difficult to identify, whether the witnesses' memories (or alternatively, their Gringotts vaults) had been modified or not. Whatever else Mordred was, he was an incredibly forgettable man—pale with watery blue eyes, slightly thick around the waist, and identifiable only by a consistently receded hairline and a tendency to wear colorless clothing—who was better known for his despicable deeds than for any notable physicalities.

"Ah," Mordred said with a laugh, "you wouldn't make it so easy for us, would you, Lady Guinevere?"

"Guinevere is my most uniquely talented offering," Cassandra cut in, loftily suggestive. "She doesn't come cheaply. Or easily."

"Hm," Mordred said, curling a hand around his mouth. "And by unique talents, you mean…?"

Lady Guinevere gave him a sweetly delicate smile. She could play the coquette like no one Cadell had ever seen, and he'd seen quite a lot. Particularly over the past eight months. His stomach churned at the knowledge, realizing again how long it had been. _I've missed you_ , he thought, willing her to hear it. _I thought of you every day, and I won't let him hurt you, I won't let him touch you—_

But of course, he'd been foolish to worry. She could handle herself. In a sweeping motion, Lady Guinevere had plucked a narrow rapier free from its place above the hearth, tossing it into the air and catching it deftly in one hand before aiming it daringly at Mordred.

"My Lord," she said with feigned bemusement, "you didn't think I meant anything _untoward_ , did you?"

Slowly, she tucked the rapier under Mordred's chin, lifting it as he smiled broadly.

"I hope you have a champion for me, My Lord," she told him, and finally permitted her gaze to rest on Cadell's. "Maybe this one?" she asked, shifting the point of the rapier to aim it against his chest.

She gave a slight flick of her wrist, prompting him to inhale sharply as the blade edged closer to his throat.

"What's your name, soldier?" beckoned Lady Guinevere.

Cadell glanced questioningly at the aptly-named Lady Mystic, who shrugged.

"This is a safe place, gentlemen," she assured him. "The only names required are the ones you wish to use."

"Well, Tal?" Mordred asked, grinning at Cadell. "You heard the lady. She wants a name and a fight, and I'm happy to give one if you'll give the other."

 _If only you meant that,_ Cadell thought grimly, _I could have been home months ago._

Home.

Not that he had even one anymore.

He fixed his attention on Lady Guinevere, who held the blade steady at his throat. "Is there a name, My Lord?"

"Talon," Mordred provided on Cadell's behalf, opting for his criminal moniker before turning to him, gesturing him forward in what was most likely a test. "You wouldn't leave the lady wanting, would you, Tal?"

Cadell arched a brow at Lady Guinevere. _Are you sure you know what you're doing?_

The corners of her lips quirked. _Always_.

He reached out without a breath of warning, taking hold of her rapier's hilt and using her own grip to yank her closer, aiming the tip of the blade upright. He locked her in place against him, drawing his concealed dagger with his free hand and carefully pressing the flat of his blade to her neck.

She held her breath, careful not to move.

"I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Sir Talon," she said. The shallow breaths she took beneath his dagger swelled against his chest. "The rapier is a weapon best suited to thrusting. Perhaps that isn't one of your skills?"

Behind them, Mordred chuckled, obviously enjoying the show.

Cadell spun Lady Guinevere out in something of a dance, leaning back on his heel to snatch the other rapier from the wall as she returned with a rapid pivot, aiming her blade directly at him.

"Lose the dagger," she commanded.

Obediently, he tucked it back into the waistband of his trousers.

"Now," she beckoned, leaning into a fighting stance, "are you sure you know how to wield something so large, My Lord?"

"You flatter me," Cadell said drily, setting himself across from her. "Aren't you worried you might be overselling?"

She smiled. "You should see me when I'm selling something," she replied, and stepped forward, taking the first shot.

He parried her blade away, stepping back and casting out for space around the room, the two of them carefully circling each other. He jabbed forward once, testing, but she was far too clever to take the bait. She swiped at his wrist instead, slicing a line into it, and he glanced down, eyeing the thin trail of blood her blade had left behind.

"I see," he said softly, tiny beads of crimson swelling up to the surface of his skin. "This isn't a game, is it?"

She shook her head, lips twisting up slyly. "Not when so many other men would die to have me, My Lord."

Behind them, Mordred chuckled again. She was playing her part perfectly.

Now, though, it was Cadell's turn.

A sharp jab forward sent her leaping back. She recovered quickly, aiming for him again, but a predictive step to the side left her unbalanced. No doubt the dress was heavy and cumbersome, and she only managed to resume her stance in time to prevent a jab near her neck. Cadell sliced quickly, a long silvery curl falling from her wig to the ground between them, and she looked down at it with surprise before glancing up at him.

"Looks better on the floor," he remarked to her, "don't you think?"

Her mouth twisted.

She lunged, and he stepped back, drawing her forward in time to duck under her blade and around to her left, materializing on her other side as she spun half a beat too late. He slid an arm around her waist, locking her against him, and shifted to hold his blade against her chest, feeling her breath rise and fall heavily under the weight of his hand.

"Drop it," he said in her ear.

She let the rapier fall from her hand.

Then, sharply, she stepped hard on his foot, prompting him to release her with a searing burst of pain, and she snatched the pommel of his rapier from his own hand, aiming the blade warningly up at his throat.

He paused, breathing hard, and looked down at her.

He could overpower her if he wanted to; the leverage required to hold the sword upright would have her at a disadvantage, given her size.

But surely this much had been believable enough.

"Whatever she costs," he said to Lady Mystic, not taking his eyes from the flawlessly camouflaged courtesan, "I'll pay it. I have to have her."

Lady Guinevere's mouth twitched, satisfied.

"Done," Cassandra said at once, and Lady Guinevere stepped backwards, falling into a curtsy. "You won't regret it, My Lord. And while you enjoy our Guinevere, we'll keep your employer busy," she added with a pointed glance at Mordred, "whatever his entertainment preferences are."

Lady Guinevere stepped forward, taking Cadell's hand, and led him up the stairs. He paused for a moment to glance over his shoulder, eyeing Mordred for evidence of suspicion; when he found none, he turned to follow his prize for the evening, her hips swaying purposefully as she led him through a hall of elaborately painted bedrooms.

"My Lord Talon," she said, beckoning him into a suite, and he strode inside without comment, waiting until the door closed behind them.

The moment it did, she let out a breath, carefully casting a silencing charm.

"Cadell," she said, and in an instant, he felt a surge of relief.

She'd bought him an hour of pretend, and it would be the realest thing he'd possessed in almost a year.

Perhaps more, even.

"Daphne," he said, and slowly, she offered him the warmth of her brilliant smile.

* * *

 _10:15 p.m._

"Are you alright?" she asked, rushing towards him. She checked the thin scratch on his wrist, healing it quickly, and he chuckled a little under his breath at her concern.

"That was nothing," he assured her. "I'm a hardened criminal now," he joked, toying with her wig as she fussed over his arm. "Can't be too upset to lose a little blood from time to time."

"Well, listen, we don't have a lot of time," she said, pulling him after her to the bed and removing the wig, setting it down on the ground. "Harry said you've been having trouble?"

"Mordred's extremely secretive," Cadell confirmed with a grimace. "He's got a vast network, too. All I know for sure is that he's definitely been funding some of the smaller attacks on the Ministry. I was able to warn Harry before the last one, but—"

"Why the Ministry?" Daphne asked, frowning. "Is he just an anarchist?"

"Honestly? Hard to tell," Cadell said. "I have no idea what his real identity is. Whoever he is, it's definitely not anyone important. He's not a pureblood," he clarified, "though he seems to have inherited a fortune somehow, or stolen one. How he did it, I have no idea."

"Anything about his background? His education?"

Cadell shook his head. "It took me six months just to earn a spot in his circle," he admitted. "And to get here, I did…" Another grimace. "A _lot_ of illegal things. The only time he even trusted me to begin with was when I started speaking out against my father, but even when I had his ear, he still wanted absolute proof I wasn't working for the Ministry." A wince. "Mordred has… extremely bloody tastes. Combined with his absurd love of treasure, he's practically a goblin."

"Oh, no," Daphne exhaled. In the months since she'd seen him, Cadell's appearance had taken on something of a hardened exterior; the streaks of silver in his hair seemed to have intensified, and his gaze had a hollowness to it he hadn't possessed before. "I'm so sorry."

"It's fine. It's necessary, actually, if it means bringing him down. Like I told Harry, this guy is dangerous," Cadell said. "He's a sadist, for sure. And he's angry at someone. But I haven't come any closer to figuring him out—certainly haven't had news in a while."

"That's why Harry sent me in," Daphne said. "He hadn't heard from you in nearly a month. He also wanted me to tell you they can pull you, if you want," she added, which was not at all what Harry had said, but something she would insist on if she had to. She didn't like Cadell being this close to danger; not after seeing his face while he spoke of Mordred. "If you want to get yourself arrested, he'll pull some strings, or I will. You have plenty of friends in the Ministry, Cadell, and—"

Cadell held a finger to his lips, abruptly pausing her to train his ears on a noise from the corridor.

"Dispel the _Muffliato_ ," he whispered. "Now."

"What? But—"

"Just do it," he said, and she flicked her wand, complying. "Good, and—"

He surveyed her with a touch of uncertainty, grimacing for a moment, and sighed.

"I'm so sorry about this," he said, and slid the dagger from his waistband.

She felt her eyes widen. "Cadell, what are you—"

He sliced up the lacing of her bodice, tearing at the silk and yanking it open, and then hurried to adjust her on the bed, angling one of her legs over his hips just as the door slammed open, revealing Mordred in the frame.

"Ah," Mordred said with an approving laugh as Cadell's hands tightened on Daphne's thigh, somewhere between pretense and apology. "I didn't actually think you had it in you, Tal."

"Are you wanting to watch, Mordred?" Cadell asked gruffly, and pointedly brushed his lips against Daphne's neck. He kept his eyes on his employer's as he slid the broad side of his tongue up over her jaw, nudging her cheek to have her tip her head back. She complied, fighting a shiver.

"It'll cost you to watch," Daphne managed to warn Mordred, pointedly clawing her nails into Cadell's back. "There are rules here, you know. One at a time, and no free shows."

To that, Cadell tugged her onto his lap, sitting her firmly in his lap.

"If that's all," she said to Mordred, pulling Cadell's mouth to her décolletage, "I have a customer, My Lord."

Mordred permitted a disgusting smile. "Very well. Try to enjoy yourself, Tal," he suggested doubtfully, and laughed again as he vacated the room, leaving Daphne to let out a stifled breath in his absence.

"He is _terrible_ ," she said, and glanced down at Cadell, who had dutifully removed his hands from her waist (and his head from her breasts) except for the effort it took to hold her bodice in place, securing it with his hands for lack of lacing. "You really spend all your time with him?"

Cadell nodded morosely. "He's deeply unpleasant. And I told you, he still clearly doesn't trust me," he added, gesturing over his shoulder. "He suspects me of Ministry cooperation, which makes sense, seeing as all my brothers are either in the British Ministry or MACUSA. Still," he exhaled, shaking his head and gesturing to her ruined bodice. "I'm genuinely sorry about this, but if he thought I wasn't…" A pause. "It would set me back months of progress. And I really don't want to be doing this much longer."

He leaned away, shifting to remove her from his lap, but at the thought of releasing him, she hastily shook her head.

"Not yet," she murmured, pulling him back to her. "He might come back."

He glanced up at her, surprised. "Probably not. I mean, not now that he thinks I'm—"

"Cadell." Daphne closed her eyes, sliding her fingers through his hair and then shifting his hands, letting her bodice fall open beneath them. "He might come back."

She felt his breath catch. "Yes, I… I suppose that's possible."

His arms came around her slowly, gently wrapping around her waist.

"Do you do this often?" she asked him.

"What, visit brothels? Mordred does. I don't generally partake, which is why I thought he might find it suspicious." He swallowed, his pulse quickening next to hers as she let her fingers slip, tracing the vertebrae of his neck. "But nobody in their right mind could deny you. If it were anyone else, I'm sure he'd have more doubts, but you, you're—"

"Did you think of me?" she asked tangentially, shifting a little on his lap. He stifled a groan and she felt her body tense in response, quietly attuned to each of his sensations.

"Yes. Constantly." He drew two fingers along the sliced opening of her bodice, lightly tracing a line from her throat to her navel. "Did you think of me?"

Yes. She wasn't even assigned to this case and still, she'd asked Harry for news from the investigation at every given opportunity. She'd checked every Gringotts account of every wealthy suspected criminal for months. She'd even done extensive research on the possible meaning of Mordred, the character from Arthurian legend. She assumed for a time Mordred's identity had been chosen for its significance to the Avalonian Order, but once she'd found it being used more than once, she realized it must mean something more. Mordred, who killed King Arthur.

Cadell's lips pressed lightly to the spot between her breasts and she tightened her fingers in his hair, her breath quickening.

Yes, she'd thought of him. Of _this_ , in fact. And yes, the whole thing was pretense, but now she knew he was alive and well (sort of), a few other things came to mind aside from the investigation about Mordred. Like the way Cadell felt when he was pressed against her, his blade held precariously to her neck. That, and the way he looked at her. Sure, she was dressed as a whore and there was certainly a lot to take in even without looking closely, but the shiver he gave her wasn't for having undressed her with his eyes. It was for how he would have touched her if she let him.

His hands slid under her dress, fingers toying with the lace of her stockings.

"You haven't answered my question," he said, glancing up at her. "Did you think of me, Daphne?"

Oh, you have no idea, she thought. If you only knew the selfish way I put you to use while you were playing sidekick to an evil man's games and betraying your name to catch a twisted murderer. If you had any clue the things I had you do to me in bed while you were here, risking your life, forced to blacken the memory of your dead father—

"Your dead father," she said, suddenly going rigid at a piece of Arthuriana she hadn't yet connected, and Cadell blinked.

"What?" he asked, leaning away. "Is that… hold on, what—"

"In the myths, Mordred is sometimes Arthur's son—and you said _this_ Mordred only trusted you after you spoke against your father," Daphne realized. "Maybe it wasn't because you were proving you weren't working for the Ministry—maybe it's because it was _your father_."

He paused, letting that sink in, and then nodded slowly.

"That makes sense." Cadell fell silent for a moment, frowning to himself. "So you think Mordred might be doing all this to act against his father? But then why attack the Ministry?"

"Arthur is a political figurehead. Maybe Mordred's father is in the Ministry, or he was," Daphne said, thoughts whirring. "Maybe they're estranged?"

"I could ask him questions about his father," Cadell agreed, thinking it over. "I've never really known what connection to make with him, but there might be something to that—"

"Yes, you'll have to," Daphne said firmly, glancing down at him. "You'll have to bond with him over it. The more details you pick up about his adolescence, the more we can figure out who he is. Do you know how old he is?"

"In his early forties?" Cadell guessed. "He projects like a man in his fifties, but he sometimes doesn't know references his older associates make. He plays it off, or tries to, but I think he's younger than he seems."

"Okay," Daphne agreed, thinking. "Yes. Okay. Hogwarts educated?"

"Unlikely," Cadell said, shaking his head. "I don't think he got a formal education. He also seems to know some things that aren't taught at Hogwarts; wandless stuff."

Daphne nodded, distractedly toying with Cadell's hair. "I can pull a list of all the children born in the 1960s and cross-reference it with a list of Hogwarts attendees in the seventies; that could help. And—"

He cut her off, tugging her closer and tugging her forehead down to his.

"Thank you," he said quietly. "Daphne, thank you."

She blinked, swallowing hard. She was suddenly highly conscious of his lips and where they rested near her cheek, just a reckless breath away from her mouth.

"It's my job," she reminded him, throat dry.

"No, it isn't," he corrected. "This is an Auror investigation. The Department of Mysteries has no involvement in this, and yet here you are. Helping me. Putting your life at risk. You could have sent _anyone_ , but—"

"But I was selfish," she cut in, running her fingers lightly over his mouth. "Because I wanted to be the one to remind you where you belong."

She felt his breath hitch beneath her touch. "You did?"

She swallowed hard, managing a nod. "I wanted you to see me, Cadell. I wanted you to walk in and find me here and feel better. I wanted to be alone with you." She paused, hesitating, and then rushed out, "And I wanted you to want me. I could have found another way to get you alone, but—"

She rested a hand on his chest, letting her fingers spread over the fabric.

"I wanted you to want me," she whispered, tightening her fingers in his shirt, and his arm slid around her waist again, securing her against him. "And now, Cadell, I want you to come home. I want you to show up at my flat, take me to dinner, and then I want you to try to take my clothes off, and I want to be able to say 'oh no, Cadell, so sorry I can't, I'm not that type of girl' and I want you to say 'of course you're not, Daphne, of course not, don't worry I'll call you tomorrow' and then I want to stop you from leaving at the last second because I _am_ that type of girl," she struggled to say, "and because it's been eight fucking months and I've been _waiting_ —"

"Daphne," Cadell exhaled, pulling her mouth to his and kissing her firmly, his hands rising to take hold of either side of her face. "I swear, if I could have been here sooner—"

"Shut up," she gasped, and with a hurried, collective push-and-pull amid antiquated skirts he had her on her back, her fingers dropping to tug at the button of his trousers. He stopped, rearing back onto his knees and frowned, his fingers looped with confusion around the belt of her stockings.

"Jesus," he said under his breath, "what is this, a trap?"

She managed a low, desperate laugh, though it caught in her throat for a moment once she watched him fumble for the dagger he'd used to cut her bodice, now pressed flat against her thigh. She held her breath, the cold metal sending a shiver up her spine.

"My sincerest apologies," he told her at a breathless murmur, and sliced the knife upwards, tearing at her underwear for good measure. "I only have an hour, you understand—"

"Yes, fine, I forgive you," she gasped, and he tossed the knife onto the nightstand beside the frame, taking her in his arms again before tugging her down on the bed, wrapping her legs around his hips.

He paused, pressing his forehead to hers, and laughed a little.

"Sorry," he whispered. "I'm a little nervous. Been a while."

She kissed the hesitation from his mouth, licking the smoky aftertaste of scotch from his lips to a little hint of spearmint, tasting it delicately on his tongue. She slid her fingers through his hair and held him steady, shifting her hips with his until the two of them were moving in perfect concert; until they were nothing but seabound tides, aligned in longing synchronicity. He slid his hand around the back of her head, cradling it, and in response, she wrapped her fingers around his wrist, locking him in place.

When he slid inside her, it was like a sigh. Like a whisper of relief. Like a breeze that came in from the shore. She tensed around him, adjusting to the feel of him, and felt him suck in a breath; like a tremor. Like an earthquake. Like a thunderclap on high.

"Come home," she whispered to him, arching her back and digging her heels into his thighs to pull him closer, closer, and please, please, _closer_. "Come home, Cadell Hawkworth, I've waited long enough—"

He shivered, fingers tightening in her hair as he slipped his lips over her neck and down to her chest, brushing reverently across her ruined bodice.

"Home," he echoed, voice hoarse with gratitude and longing, and in the same moment, Daphne felt herself shatter and fall, twisted and wrenched to searing perfection before floating, weightless, to wrap her arms around his neck, pressing her lips to the column of his throat.

* * *

 _11:15 p.m._

"How was she?" Mordred asked from a velvet fainting couch as Cadell descended the stairs, jumping at the sound of his voice.

"Jesus, fuck," Cadell exhaled, pressing the heel of his hand into his chest and then hurrying to straighten his clothes, running a hand through his hair. "Have you really just been sitting there?"

Mordred shrugged, rising to his feet to throw an arm around Cadell's shoulders. "Well, excuse my lack of faith, Tal, but I didn't think you cared much for the fairer sex," he remarked. "Never seen you delight in pleasures of the flesh before."

Cadell tried not to grimace, managing instead, "You saw her. That's not the usual offering."

"No, no, it isn't," Mordred agreed, chuckling to himself. "A remarkable find. Would've had her myself, you know, if you weren't so eager."

"Well, have to take my opportunities when they come around," Cadell said, fighting to disguise his violent opposition to the idea of Mordred touching Daphne before forcing himself to add, "Which is something my father used to say. Fucking bastard," he muttered, possibly gratuitously. "Did I ever tell you he tried to take me in himself after I killed that Snatcher?"

"Did he?" Mordred asked, mouth tightening. "Sounds like the sort of thing my father would do. Only ever put me to work, til I wasn't even good enough for that. 'Law enforcement,' what a fucking joke, and—" He blinked, catching himself. "Frankly," he amended darkly, "I wish I'd just killed him."

Cadell bit his tongue, trying not to seem too eager. "Well, happy to swap bad dad stories anytime. In the meantime, I should probably pay Lady Mystic," he said, gesturing down the corridor, and Mordred shrugged.

"Don't take too long," Mordred warned. "I've got some funds to deposit in the morning. I'll want you making sure I don't run into any…" He trailed off, smiling absently. "Problems."

Cadell fought a shudder and nodded quickly, aiming himself into the other room. Parvati was waiting expectantly and he shut the door carefully behind him, beckoning to her for a quill and parchment.

"Give this to Daphne," he murmured, sketching something onto the page and folding it up, handing it to her. "And tell her that her hunch is right. Mordred's father was in the Ministry—Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

"Will do," Parvati said, smiling slightly. "By the way," she added slyly, "I told you, didn't I? That someone was waiting for you."

 _Love fiercely, love brightly, because someone waits for you._

She'd said that to him three years ago. Had she known even then?

"You're terrifying," he told her, and her smile broadened.

"Yes," she agreed. "It's one of my many charms."

* * *

 _Daphne Greengrass' flat  
Knockturn Alley  
3:13 a.m._

"Why are you still awake?" Pansy demanded, her head flickering into the flames of Daphne's fireplace approximately five minutes after she'd sent an owl with explicit instructions to cause a ruckus. "You realize I'm supposed to be _sleeping_ , as a human child is about to come out of me at literally any moment—"

"It's Percy's, human isn't exactly a given," Daphne replied, not looking up from her books to catch Pansy's predictable scowl, "and listen, help me out with this. We know Mordred's father was in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, but we don't know when. Could his father have been, I don't know. An Auror?"

"No," Pansy said without hesitation, and Daphne looked up, frowning. "No, not an Auror. The groups and causes he supports attack municipal workers, not Aurors. If he wanted revenge on his father—" Pansy paused. "You know who we need, don't you? If we're talking problematic fathers, that is."

Five minutes later, Theo apparated into Daphne's flat.

"Yes?" he said. "I heard patricide and came running."

"Mordred is doing all of this to get revenge on his father, who must have worked for the Ministry," Daphne confirmed, and Theo tilted his head, considering that information. "Who could it be?"

"Well, anyone prominent enough in the Ministry would have recognizable children, too," Theo said, frowning. "It'd be pretty fucking hard to be anonymous."

"Not if he's an illegitimate son, like you said," Pansy reminded Daphne. "He wouldn't have gone to Hogwarts. Probably would have been homeschooled."

"Okay, so we're looking for someone who cheated on his wife about forty years ago," Daphne said, sighing, "which, to be clear, could have been anyone back then. Any ideas?"

"Well, hold on, back to the dad point," Theo said, lifting a finger in thought. "Someone who was a terrible father to his illegitimate son was probably just as bad to his legitimate children. And the Ministry is _filled_ with horrifying fathers," he added, making a face. "Draco's, for example. Or Orion Black. Hell, everyone whose son became a Death Eater, right? Look at fucking Barty Crouch—"

"God, I wonder what happened to the Crouch fortune," Pansy muttered, biting into yet another chocolate frog and pondering it as Daphne searched aimlessly through a pile of old Ministry employment records. "He and his son were the last of that pureblood line, remember?"

"Don't know," Theo said, and frowned. "Was it really a fortune?"

"Yes, absolutely it was. Their vault was near my parents'. It was _filled_ with goblin silver, I remember that much—"

"Goblin silver? Damn, wouldn't have guessed. Did they have a relationship with goblins?"

"Of course, Theodore, don't be stupid. The family was one of the co-founders of Gringotts. I heard they even knew a bit of goblin magic, having made so many deals with them over the years—"

"Wait," Daphne said, looking up. "Gringotts?"

"Yes," Pansy said, licking chocolate from her fingers. "The bank? You may have heard of it."

"Gringotts," Daphne repeated, blinking. "That could be how money gets transferred without any records! Harry said he knew someone on the _inside_ , and—oh my god," she said, jolting forward and hunting through her records, levitating the relevant ones up and grabbing them. "Barty Crouch Sr checked into Saint Mungo's for exactly thirty minutes in 1964," she said, half-squealing with disbelief as she shoved the hospital records under Theo's nose. "He wasn't there for any reason, he just signed in as a visitor at the same time— _yes,_ " she yelped, smacking Theo hard in the abdomen. "He went _one hour_ after a baby boy was born in the hospital! No name listed, fuck—give me the payment records," she commanded, rising to her feet and pacing the floor as Theo hastily rose with her, shoving them into her hands.

"Mordred's aliases must be meaningful," Daphne continued to mutter, thinking aloud. "Mordred kills his father, that's easy, but that wasn't the only name he used."

"What else was he called?" Theo asked, and Daphne scanned the list.

"Loki was his most common name," she said, frowning. "Do either of you know anything about Norse mythology?"

"Ooh, hang on," Pansy said, turning over her shoulder. "WEASLEY!"

From behind her, a muffled voice was audible. "Wh- what is i- is it time, or—?"

"No, hush, the baby's still in me. What's the significance of 'Loki' if a man who hated his father was using it as an alias?"

A rumpled Percy revealed himself in the flames beside his wife, his glasses sitting crooked on the edge of his nose.

"Loki is the Norse god of mischief," he said in the midst a broad yawn, "but—" Another yawn. "For fatherhood, specifically—"

"USE YOUR WORDS, WEASLEY," Pansy barked, and Percy hastily straightened his glasses, shoving them up his nose.

"Odin banished Loki," Percy supplied, blearily squinting at Daphne and Theo. "Why, what's this about?"

"Barty Crouch," Daphne explained grimly. "I think Mordred is his illegitimate son."

"Oh," Percy said, blinking. "Well, I worked for Crouch as his assistant. He had a… an account manager of some kind. I think. Definitely someone who had access to his money," he added, frowning. "He was also regularly in communication with goblins. And he once asked me to send an owl closing off access to his Gringotts account."

"That's the banishment! Crouch must have locked Mordred out of the Gringotts account," Daphne said, smacking Theo again. "Where's the bank records?"

He shoved them at her, pointedly holding himself at arm's length.

"Thanks… let's see… when was that, Percy?"

"1994," Percy supplied curtly.

"Great, yes, okay—"

Daphne shuffled through the records until she abruptly stopped, blinking, and stared down at the page.

"Here it is," she said, disbelieving. "You were right, Percy. One name was cut from Barty Crouch Sr's Gringotts account in 1994."

"His other son must have done it," Theo pointed out, glancing over Daphne's shoulder. "Crouch was under the Imperius curse back then."

"Yes," Percy lamented, "I remember. I'm afraid I don't have a very good eye for other people's cursed behavior."

"You think?" Pansy trumpeted brusquely, though she conceded to lean over, kissing his cheek in the fireplace.

"Oh my god," Daphne said, and looked up so sharply she knocked into Theo, sending him reeling. "Oh my god, get Harry. Get Harry right now."

"Right," Theo agreed, fumbling for his wand and conjuring a patronus. "Yes, okay, and… what do you want me to tell him, exactly?" he asked warily, frowning at Daphne with confusion.

"Tell him… tell him we've got him," she said, looking up from the Gringotts records and permitting a slow, grim smile. "Tell Harry we've finally got Mordred."

* * *

 _Somewhere literally underground  
Possibly in England?  
July 9, 2007  
10:00 p.m._

"Boss," grunted one of Mordred's men. "You got that visitor arrivin' shortly."

"Ah, excellent," Mordred said, turning to grin cruelly at Cadell. "Got a surprise for you, Tal."

"For me?" Cadell asked, abruptly discomfited. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Ah, well. More of a surprise for _me_ , actually. That Lady Mystic put out word Lady Guinevere was looking for another fare," Mordred remarked, leaning back in his chair as Cadell felt the blood drain from his face, leaving him chilled. "I told her I'd have a bite this time, if the lady felt up for a trip."

Cadell cleared his throat. "Oh. And she said—?"

There was a timely rustle of silks and the low sound of heels clipping on the wooden floor in the darkened old tavern as Daphne materialized in another elaborate French ball gown, her fingers wrapped loosely around an antique baby rattle that she then dropped none-too-carefully on the floor.

"You asked for me, My Lord?" she said to Mordred, who spared another nasty smile in Cadell's direction, beckoning for her to come closer. "I'm afraid I'm used to slightly more amenable ambiances. Where are we, exactly?"

"Ah, well there's a reason I sent your employer a portkey, love," remarked Mordred. "This place is untraceable, and even if it weren't, I'd hardly give that information away."

"Mm, of course." Daphne took a few steps forward, sparing Cadell a lascivious glance. "Not very pleased to see me again, Sir Talon?"

She gave him a meaningful look, toying with her necklace.

An ostentatious locket.

Cadell blinked, recognizing its purpose.

"Perhaps you might feel safer with me," he suggested to her, keeping his tone even. "If Mordred isn't up for making you comfortable, that is."

"Ah, well, in my experience pain can be sweet," she said, winking at Cadell, "but you're right, My Lord. I do have a strict set of rules. And if your master isn't up for following them, then, well—" She gave a pretty, delicate shrug before reaching out, brushing her fingers below his chin. "I suppose I could be amenable to another tas-"

"You're in a tavern below the Thames," Mordred cut in sharply, as Daphne turned slowly to face him, immediately extracting her hands from Cadell. "The Arrogant Bastard," he clarified at a mutter, and Daphne smiled.

"You have a very consistent aesthetic, My Lord," she told him, shoving him back in his chair and leaning forward. "Mordred. It's all very cleverly related, isn't it? The name. The clubhouse. And," she murmured, climbing delicately into his lap and turning to whisper in his ear, "the way you've spent your father's fortune systematically dismantling everything he publicly stood for."

Mordred stiffened, and Cadell blinked.

"Oh, love, I know all of it," Daphne lamented falsely, tutting softly under her breath. "Your father never gave you anything he gave to his other son, did he? His name. A Hogwarts education. You were left to your own devices your entire life, but at least he gave you a job, right? Until he took that from you, too."

Mordred's hand shifted for his wand and Cadell turned, aiming his concealed dagger directly under Mordred's chin.

"Don't move," he advised.

In the same motion, all of Mordred's associates drew their wands, aiming them at Cadell, who aimed his own with his free hand. He took stock of the room quickly, identifying everyone in the tavern and quantifying their strengths; six of Mordred's circle of twelve were present. Though, helpfully, it was the least talented six.

Daphne, meanwhile, smiled beatifically down at Mordred.

"Oh, not to worry, My Lord, I'm sure _Talon_ here could kill you faster than any of these gents can cast a spell, but we're not nearly done yet. We have a whole history lesson to go through, don't we? Let's start with your origin story," she determined, stroking a long fingernail across his cheek. "You're the son of Barty Crouch," she said, and Mordred's color drained from his face, "but he never let you claim anything, did he? You _took_ what was yours. You should have inherited what was left of his fortune, but he wouldn't have left it for you, would he? Lucky you didn't need him to. Not when you had all those goblin allies from doing your father's dirty work—they _let_ you in. After all, they practically raised you. You even have a goblin name, don't you?"

Mordred tightened his grip on the chair. "Don't you fucking say my—"

"Ragnuk." She smiled broadly as he lurched forward, stopping only as Cadell's blade kissed the side of his neck. "Ragnuk Fitzroy, born on the twenty-seventh of April, 1964. In the absence of your mother, you were raised by goblins, weren't you? In fact, that's why your father trusted you with his account."

"You fucking whore," Mordred spat. "What do you want?" he demanded. "Money?"

"Who, me? No, don't be silly," Daphne assured him, laughing. "I'm just a civic-minded whore you'll never have the pleasure of fucking who wants you to die in prison, _Mordred_. Or here," she said with a shrug. "We'll see how the rest of this goes."

"Do you realize how many people I have in my pocket?" he hissed to her. "How many fucking vaults I control?"

"Hm? Oh, yes, actually," Daphne remarked. "Which is why I brought along a few personal friends. Draco?" she asked, speaking into the locket. "Hermione, would you two join me, please? You heard Ragnuk, I presume."

"Not to worry, Daph," came Draco's voice in the room. "We arrived a couple of minutes ago."

Immediately, two of Mordred's associates dropped to the floor.

"Oh, come _on_ ," Hermione's voice sighed. "I thought we were handling this?"

"Granger, don't be ridiculous," Draco's voice remarked. "You know Potter can't help a dramatic entrance."

There was a ripple of a cloak as Harry revealed himself in the room.

"Nope," he agreed, looking immensely pleased with himself. "I certainly can't, Malfoy. Now, Ragnuk," he said to Mordred, "you can try to fight if you want. Or not." He shrugged. "With your finances already under Ministry control and your Gringotts associates apprehended, I don't think you have any favors left to call in. So, after my colleagues here arrest everyone in this room—"

He stopped, evidently waiting for something, and Mordred scowled.

"You think you're invincible, Harry Potter, but you're nothing but a—"

Harry cut him off with a finger, calling for pause.

"Hello?" Harry barked over his shoulder, and Draco and Hermione promptly flickered into view. "I had a perfect setup for you two. Didn't you hear me say to arrest everyone?"

"Sorry," Draco drawled, eyeing his fingernails. "I make a point of not listening to your maniacal speeches."

"Malfoy, honestly," Hermione sighed, throwing her hands up. "Could you _not_ —"

"That, and also, I was getting this," Draco remarked, and leisurely tossed a narrow vial to one of Mordred's associates. The glass broke easily at his feet, releasing a hazy pink vapor into the air and delivering him to collapse as one of the other associates aimed a spell at Daphne's back, forcing Cadell to counter with the wand in his left hand.

At once, there was a flurry of activity, Draco, Hermione, and Harry dueling against the other three as Daphne yanked her skirts up to retrieve her own wand from where it had been laced to her stocking, holding it under Mordred's chin.

"Just so you know," she murmured to Mordred as he glared at her, "because of you I didn't have sex for eight months, and I'm really not happy about the lost time. So, needless to say, I hope you don't come quietly," she told him, her painted lips twitching with promise, "because I know I certainly won't."

Her gaze flicked pointedly to Cadell, who hastily suppressed a smile.

"You don't need him alive for anything, do you?" he asked Daphne.

She turned to Mordred, scrutinizing him beneath her delicate lashes.

"You fucking bitch," Mordred hissed. "You're going to regret this."

"Somehow I doubt that," she replied, twisting her wand, and without another word, Mordred's chin dropped, head lolling to the side as Cadell grandly offered Daphne his hand, easing her down from Mordred's lap.

"Hi," he said as she lightly dusted her voluminous skirts, collecting herself.

"Oh, hey," she replied, straightening her wig. "What's up?"

"Not too much," he said, just as the green light of an _Avada_ zinged between them.

"Oi," Draco called to them. "Some help?"

Of Mordred's remaining associates, only one was still dueling, recklessly shooting killing curses in all directions as Harry and Hermione ducked behind shield charms, leaving Draco to fumble for another vial from his pocket. As Draco gave a moody sigh (muttering something like 'criminals these days' to himself) Cadell took another look at the people on the floor, grimacing.

It wasn't a particularly pretty sight, though Cadell knew better than anyone how richly they all deserved it. In fact, his opposition was merely limited to the fact that there were still six associates remaining. He knew where at least three of them were, given that they were running an errand for Mordred. Unrelated to financial crimes, Mordred had a number of other criminal enterprises that could continue without his leadership. Any of the remaining six could carry on in his absence. Possibly even rebuild.

Cadell sighed, yet another sinking realization uncomfortably filling the hollowness in his chest.

Daphne had already turned to Draco, rolling her eyes. "Fine, we're coming—"

"Actually, wait," Cadell said, reaching out to take her arm as she turned to him with a frown, bemused. "Arrest me with the others," he said to her. "Please."

"What?" she demanded, balking. "But—"

"Just do it. Stun me and arrest me, and please, make sure nobody outside this room knows I turned on Mordred. It's just—" He hesitated, and then exhaled, letting out the toxicity of truth. "I just saw so much _shit_ ," he confessed through his teeth, feeling her lace her fingers through his at the tension in his frame. "I could take them all down, Daphne. I thought," he began, and withered. "I thought I'd spend my whole life being the son who failed my father, who destroyed my whole family for nothing, but maybe I'm not. Not if I keep being useful—if I can do this. Not everyone Mordred worked with is in this room," he repeated emphatically as she swallowed hard, forcing a nod, "but I could find them. I could go after them, I could get them all, but—"

"Cadell." She reached up, brushing her fingers against his cheek. "You're just a damn hero, aren't you?"

He closed his eyes, heavily remorseful. "I'll come home soon," he said. "I promise."

She sighed, letting out a long, lamenting breath, and brought her lips to his.

"I just keep missing you, Tal," she murmured, and in lieu of a proper apology, he kissed her as fiercely as he could manage, determining in the process that perhaps criminal justice was a less compelling cause than resigning himself to die slowly between her legs.

"Well, on second thought," he murmured against her lips, but clever witch that she was, she'd already aimed her wand at his temple.

" _Stupefy_ ," Daphne whispered.

Cadell dropped to the floor, limp.

* * *

 _Daphne Greengrass' Flat  
Knockturn Alley  
July 21, 2007  
5:15 p.m._

"So you finally decided on a name, then?" Daphne asked Pansy's head, which had burst forth from the flames the moment she'd apparated into her flat. The highly-publicized conclusion of criminal investigations after an anonymous source had left six of the crime lord Mordred's associates tied up in a tavern under the Thames involved a huge, exhausting slew of media coverage (and for Daphne, the requisite skirting thereof). Unfortunately, it had also meant a lot of looking at the calendar, wondering how the days could be moving at such a detestably glacial pace

"If 'finally' means a mere forty-eight hours after her birth, then yes, we have. Congratulations," Pansy announced grandly, "we named her after you, which I'm sure you're aware is an honor, Daphne Elizabeth, though please do try not to weep—"

"I've _told_ you," Daphne cut in at a groan, "it doesn't count as naming her after me if it's not _my name_ —"

"Oh, hush. Her name is Gwyn," Pansy clarified, rolling her eyes, "because I know your name, you goon. Gwyn Elizabeth Weasley, actually," she added with an undeniable look of mischief, "which is an unfortunate surname, but I'm sure I'll make it up to her via my superior genetics. Mostly I think all these Arthurian crimes have been getting to me. Plus Weasley says it's topical or something, I don't know, I stopped listening—"

"Oh, Pans," Daphne said, surprised. "That's… that's such a nice name, actually."

"Yes, I'm aware," Pansy sniffed. "Now get over here, would you? You promised to come by after work."

"Yes, I know, I'm coming, I was just getting my things, and—"

She paused, something catching her eye.

"Actually—Pans?" she said to the fireplace. "I have to call you back."

"What? Daphne Elizabeth Greengrass, you get over here or _so help me_ —"

But Daphne wasn't listening.

She was looking at the silvery hawk that had landed on her kitchen counter. She'd seen a rough sketch of it once before; delivered to her by a certain Lady Mystic, in fact, after a revel that now seemed so long ago.

 _When you see this_ , Cadell's scribbled note had said, _you'll know I'm on my way._

"Hello, Tal," Daphne murmured to the patronus, watching it tilt its head to fix her with Cadell's attentive gaze as she approached. "Got a message for me?"

"Something like that," came a voice from the other side of the door.

At the sound, Daphne smiled. She took a moment, collecting herself, and then crossed the room to fling the door open, letting it swing wide.

"You know, this is a terrible neighborhood," remarked Cadell Hawkworth the moment she filled the frame, his mouth quirking slightly as he glanced down at her from his side of the threshold. "Feels a lot like a place I recently left, actually. Though, in your defense, there do seem to be fewer lifeless bodies on the floor."

She wanted to laugh, but couldn't quite manage it.

"Are you home?" she asked him instead, suddenly quite breathless, and gradually, his smile broadened.

"I'm home," Cadell promised her.

 _Love fiercely, love brightly, because someone waits for you._

"Good," Daphne murmured, slipping her arms around his neck and pulling his lips down to hers. "It's about damn time."

* * *

 _ **a/n:**_ _Okay, you people claimed you wanted it, so I DID IT. Happy wayyyy belated birthday pansparks! Also, I swear the previously promised one-shots are still happening. I_ think _the jily will be next? But then again I'm massively unreliable when it comes to these, so we'll see._


	103. Primo

**Primo**

 _Pairing:_ Nottpott (Theo Nott x Harry Potter)

 _Universe:_ modern ballet company AU

 _Rating:_ M for sex

 _Summary:_ For Colubrina, an utter fave, a ballet!nottpott with a happy ending.

* * *

It's not like they were rivals. That would imply Theo considered Harry to be competition, which he decidedly did not. Harry Potter was less a rival then he was a latent threat, which wasn't an unremarkable position, but it _was_ an important distinction.

They'd already been cast for the season's production of _Romeo and Juliet_ , which was well into rehearsals and rapidly approaching opening night. Theo was Romeo, otherwise known as the uncontested lead, and Fleur, the snobby blonde who embodied everything that was so stereotypically implied in the word 'ballerina,' was Juliet. Harry was merely Mercutio—which, okay, _fine_ , it was a decent part, and 'made a beautiful fucking tragedy out of a death scene typically played with laughably tiresome dramatics' or so the early critics would not stop raving (give or take a few embellishments on Theo's part)—but whatever, he wasn't the lead. Harry wasn't the star.

So they weren't rivals. But that certainly didn't mean Theo liked him.

It seemed to be mutual, anyway. Harry always looked at Theo as if he wanted him to stop doing whatever he was doing, eyes narrowing at something or other in a way that suggested he was mentally noting all the unchecked elbows, the incorrect placements of Theo's chin, the little wobbles in moments that could, should, might possibly be better. True, Theo didn't look like the usual dancer—too tall, too thin, derisively called 'gangling' and 'weedy' for most of his training and often dismissed on sight until the moment he actually _began_ to dance—and he certainly wasn't of the Harry Potter school of recklessly altering choreography from night to night _despite countless rehearsals_ , which Theo supposed might have made him look stiff and uncreative by comparison.

Harry Potter somehow managed to be everything Theo wasn't, and Theo positively loathed him for it. He was pretty sure Harry hated him, too, and figured Harry probably thought the same thing everyone else did: that Theo's money had landed him this. Nobody in the company was particularly sparing with affection for Theo, which was a grand total of zero surprise to him. His father was a patron of the Royal Ballet (as everyone knew and was laboriously reminded each time a show began) so in their minds, nepotism had signed Theo's contract for him.

As if his father had ever given one single fuck what he did.

"You're doing it wrong," said Harry from the doorway, interrupting Theo's after hours rehearsal and appearing in the mirror's reflection as Theo nearly had a fucking heart attack, not aware anyone was still left in the building.

He'd been rehearsing the balcony pas de deux in front of the mirror for the last several hours with Prokofiev's score on repeat in his headphones, the volume turned up each time his frustration grew and his shirt long since discarded for having suffered through hours of sweat. The balcony scene, specifically Theo's opening dance, was the only portion of the ballet which seemed not to impress anyone despite the considerable time he continued to spend on it. It wasn't that there was anything to critique, necessarily; it was simply that praise seemed to be more about Fleur's half of the dance than his. Theo, by comparison, was probably being his too-stiff, too-tall self, as if it were somehow his fault his limbs were so upsetting. He was stronger than he looked, and far more coordinated than he seemed. Still, the chainés were supposed to be captivating, not merely an opportunity for people to admire the set construction before Fleur's dramatic arabesque. He'd been here running it over and over late into the night, more agitated and further prone to stupid mistakes the more he watched himself move.

"Fuck off, Potter," Theo said, but when Harry didn't take that as the dismissal it obviously was—instead frowning at Theo's reflection in the mirror, contemplating something—Theo growled with irritation, removing his headphones from his ears. "Doing _what_ wrong?"

"I don't know. The turns. Everything." Harry was frowning at him, concentrating on something unsaid, and Theo wondered if his father had donated enough money by now that he wouldn't lose his part if he simply punched Harry in the face. "This scene," Harry said, clearing his throat, "it's about love, about the… _instability_ of it."

Theo rubbed his temple, tossing the headphones on the floor. "Great. Excellent notes, Potter. _So_ helpful."

"I'm just saying, you're just—" Harry shrugged, letting his bag fall to the floor. "You're trying too hard. You're making each step so deliberate, but that's not the choreography."

"The choreography is perfect," Theo snapped. "My timing is fine."

"Well, sure," Harry permitted warily, "but the audience can't sympathize with perfection. They don't know how to interpret it. They don't know what it means."

A heap of bullshit, as far as Theo was concerned, but it didn't look like Harry was leaving.

Actually, it looked like Harry had been in the process of leaving—warm-ups on, black hair messy and a little stiff with sweat—but he had apparently felt it worth his time to interrupt Theo instead.

"What are you doing here?" Theo asked gruffly. "It's after midnight."

"I get more done when nobody's here distracting me," Harry said, and then without pause, "I mean, do you know why the death scene works so well?"

 _Jesus._ "I don't need a lecture from you," Theo snapped.

He really didn't. He was tired of it, tired of everything, tired of Harry Potter being so fucking good he felt he had a right to comment on Theo's performance even in Theo's private rehearsal space. Theo had heard enough about Harry long before they'd both joined the company; Harry was the precocious one, the chosen one, the golden boy. He was that rare combination of talent and dedication, and by contrast, Theo was… Theo was good. Theo was excellent, obviously, or he wouldn't be the lead. But Harry, their instructors and choreographers had whispered, Harry Potter was _gifted._ A natural. The best they'd seen in decades.

Theo bristled all over again, and Harry, catching it, shook his head, hastily amending the statement. "I don't mean me," he clarified. "I was going to say the opposite, actually."

That surprised him, and Theo paused. "What?"

"Well, I'm certainly not _not_ good." Harry's mouth twitched with humor, and for whatever reason, Theo found himself curious enough to wait for the statement's probably stupid resolution. "But it's not as if it's just my scene."

It is, though, Theo would have argued if he were a more gracious person. Blaise, who played Tybalt, always managed a perfect depiction of the smuggery necessary for someone who ultimately stabs a beloved character in the back, but it was impossible to look away from Harry. Theo, who studied all his own rehearsal footage, knew grudgingly from experience that nobody but Harry Potter was visible on that stage during the scene. When Harry staggered and dropped, his face beatific with confusion and desperation and things left tragically undone, it was impossible not to feel a low ache of devastation. When Harry-as-Mercutio dies, the audience mourns him. It should be nothing but a plot point that leads to Romeo's impulsive murder, but instead, Harry always managed to make the entire room feel a palpable sense of loss.

"You know what makes it good?" Harry asked.

Theo, who loathed patronizing questions even more than he hated his rehearsal time being interrupted, did not reply. It was after hours, he thought. Maybe he could get away with a slap.

"You," Harry said, and Theo blinked.

"What?"

"You," Harry repeated, slower, "are the reason the death scene is so good."

Theo frowned. "I barely do anything."

Harry shook his head. "Not true. The audience has to feel what Romeo feels, don't they? The entire play hinges on Romeo's decision to seek revenge on Tybalt, which is ultimately his downfall—that's what leads to Romeo's banishment, and what takes him away from his true love. But first," Harry said, taking a step further into the room, "before that can happen, the audience has to believe Mercutio means enough to Romeo that he's willing to risk everything to avenge him."

Harry paused, and then, before Theo could say anything, he was off and ranting again.

"If you were to show anything less than anguish at the loss of Mercutio," Harry continued, "then Romeo's death would mean nothing. It would just be the result of a reckless choice, but because of you, I have something I can use. Because okay, so Mercutio is dying, right?" Harry tried to explain, almost laughably urgent now with his insistence. "When he's bleeding out and his life is flashing before his eyes, what makes him keep fighting? What makes him try to keep going?"

Theo said nothing.

"It's Romeo," Harry supplied firmly. "It's because Mercutio knows that if he dies, Romeo will want retribution, and he'll probably succeed. He knows Romeo will suffer, he'll be exiled, his life as he knows it will fall through his fingers and everything, Juliet included, will be lost. So Mercutio fights to stay alive to save him." Harry paused. "The way I see it," he ventured carefully, "Mercutio hangs on to every thread of life in him because if he doesn't, he can see what will happen. He knows Romeo will suffer for his death—and so, in the moments his body is fading, he tries desperately to hold on."

A not-insignificant piece of Theo wanted to tell Harry this was an extremely loose interpretation. The play called for no such anguish; Mercutio and Benvolio and Romeo were all just Italian fuckboys, one of whom happened to die in the equivalent of a street brawl after one of the others had chased the wrong girl.

"The point is, I can only be as good as you are in that scene," Harry determined, shrugging. "You play Romeo's reaction with such perfect sensitivity, like it means something to you. It makes the whole scene different. It's why people cry when Romeo dies—not just because of the love story," Harry said, shaking his head, "but because of his entire tragedy. A young life, wasted."

Another pause.

"Everything that makes this story beautiful," Harry finished, "plays out perfectly in the way Romeo holds Mercutio in his dying moments."

It was somewhat extravagant praise, which always made Theo uncomfortable. He crossed his arms over his bare chest, suddenly aware of the cool air on his skin. It wasn't like they'd never rehearsed together shirtless—even in groups it wasn't uncommon by any means—but now, all of a sudden, it felt… bare.

Theo preferred to go back to things he understood, like criticism and his latent sense of indignation. "So what's wrong with the balcony scene, then, if I'm so very good?" he drawled, and Harry rolled his eyes.

"You're just—okay, look, hang on, I can't really explain it—"

Harry broke off to remove his warm-ups, under which he was wearing a compression shirt and a pair of _unbelievably_ tight shorts.

Theo, who was wearing fitted joggers, made a face.

"What the fuck are those?" he demanded, flicking his attention to what might as well have been tiny spandex boxer-briefs, and Harry—who had a far more athletic frame and probably no reason to feel self-conscious about anything, ever—didn't even blink.

"Better to see the lines of my legs. Helps me check that the right muscles are doing the work, and listen, okay, here's the thing," Harry said, all one rushed out response as he wandered over to Theo and took his (Theo's, which was frustrating, to say the least) starting position. "Right, so you've got all these—"

Harry cut himself off in favor of _doing_ the turns, abandoning spoken word altogether to focus on the arabesques and the attitudes, the details of which Theo was furious to see were, in fact, not only managing the instinctual quality of motion Theo had been aiming for himself, but were also much easier to see with nothing obstructing the view of Harry's legs. While Harry was outdancing Theo at the steps he'd been rehearsing all night, there was a definite sense of unplaceable dizziness; a surreal quality that Theo couldn't look away from. Harry's grand jetés made him look as though he'd been plucked from the air against his will and dropped; his tours en l'air seemed to very nearly stumble until the millisecond he caught himself, all of the motions somehow managing to still be fluid and uninterrupted.

"The idea, right," Harry said, panting a little by the time he finished, "is all these motions are supposed to be imperfect. Romeo's falling in love, he's throwing caution to the wind. He's quite literally _reeling_ , and then when he touches Juliet—" He broke off. "Well, that's another thing."

Theo blinked. "What?"

Harry looked thoughtful. "You don't… you don't _hold_ her right."

"That's fucking ridiculous," Theo snapped. "Every single one of those lifts is textbook."

"Well, right," Harry said slowly, "and that's the problem. But look, it's none of my business, seeing as you clearly don't want my help."

He wandered away, heading back towards his bag, and Theo, who couldn't quite decide if he was angry or disappointed or both, suddenly found himself calling out after him.

"Prove it, then," Theo said, and in response, Harry's shoulders stiffened. The lines of muscle in his back were prominent beneath his shirt as he tilted his head, weighing the value of biting at Theo's obvious challenge without turning around. "If there's something wrong with my lifts," Theo said, "then prove it. Tell me what I'm doing wrong."

Harry pivoted gracefully, doubtful. "I don't think you can lift me, Nott."

It took everything Theo possessed not to laugh. "I'm stronger than I look, Potter."

Harry gauged him with obvious skepticism.

"You have to lift me," Harry said slowly, " _over_ your shoulders."

"Yes," Theo said. "I fucking know how the lift goes."

It was about thirty seconds long in total, though the lift in question was only about ten. Fleur started it with an arabesque, curling her leg around Theo's body with a sweeping grand rond de jambe; after that, the musical theme would soar, and then Theo would lift her onto his shoulders until she was lying parallel to the ground, giving herself to him completely in more ways than one.

It was supposed to show trust, they'd been told. That she trusted him, and then finally he would let her down and take her in his arms, pulling her close. It's the moment in the ballet that Juliet falls in love with Romeo, and it's both an emotional moment in the narrative and a challenging one in the choreography.

"I don't think you can do it." Harry had folded his arms over his chest.

"Why not?" Theo demanded. "Because my father bought me my lead, is that it? Because I work hard, Potter," he spat, "harder than you think, and just because you've been told you're the golden boy so many times—"

"I don't think that," Harry cut in sharply, flinching.

Ah, but Theo'd hit a nerve, somehow. He could see it.

"Then do it," Theo said, beckoning Harry again. "Show me what I'm doing wrong."

"I—" Harry grimaced. He seemed to be looking for every reason to refuse, but Theo knew perfectly well he wasn't going to. He couldn't resist it; if it were Theo in Harry's place, Theo knew instinctively he wouldn't either. "Fine," Harry said gruffly, stalking back towards Theo. "Are you ready?" he asked bluntly, and Theo gave a low scoff.

"You sound scared, Potter."

A scowl. "Shut up."

Theo couldn't help an irreverent smirk. "Don't tell me," he guessed derisively, "you're worried you can't lift your leg over your—"

But he was forced to break off mid-sentence as Harry moved towards him, beginning Juliet's turns without preamble as Theo shifted to reflexively set his hands on Harry's waist, muscle memory taking over. Fleur's waist was narrow and curved, tiny and soft and flared out at the hips, but Harry, by comparison, felt like a mass of carved muscle, each motion underneath Theo's hands identifiable to an upsetting degree of anatomical perfection.

The first lift, unfortunately, was less smooth than Theo would have liked. He got an arm around Harry's waist, but the shift in physiology was jarring; Theo was too conscious of how hard Harry's stomach was in comparison to Fleur's and how much broader Harry's shoulders felt against his bare chest, and when he lifted Harry off the ground he had to grit his teeth a little from strain, their collective timing not quite perfect. He set Harry back down too roughly, and when Harry's arabesque jerked slightly, lacking Fleur's delicate-limbed finesse, he turned away from watching their respective shapes in the mirror to give Theo an irritable look.

"You're going to hurt yourself making mistakes like that," Harry said.

"Fuck off," Theo replied, turning Harry the same way he always did with Fleur: one arm shifting to place both hands on Harry's waist.

For a moment, they stood still, looking at each other.

Then Harry nodded gruffly, prompting them both forward, and Theo leaned him back over one arm, Harry's torso stretching out to let his fingers skate gracefully towards the floor in one direction, then the other. Theo's cheek grazed Harry's stomach, softly brushing his chest, and by then the motion of pretending to covet his partner had been pounded into his brain, but for the first time Theo noticed details in their motions, all of it somehow made new. He catalogued it in parts: the weight of Harry in his arms. The smell of laundry detergent and sweat. The arch of Harry's back, the jutting bones of his hips, the elongated column of his neck. He held the suspended line of Harry's torso a breath longer than he would have with Fleur—feeling, in this case, the moment called for a slight dramatization—before returning to center and proceeding to drop, as the dance required, to one knee.

Harry paused for a moment, contemplating Theo again.

"You have to hold her like you love her," Harry said, a little winded as he looked down at Theo, still wary. "But not… not just like she's precious to you, even though she is. You have to hold her like you _want_ her," he clarified. "She falls for you in this moment, Nott. She's literally," he clarified with an irritatingly factual tone, "head over heels for you."

This was, of course, idiotic commentary. First of all, it wasn't as if Theo didn't know how to make a woman fall in love with him—at least not when it was required in dance form. That was mostly all ballet was: love, sensuality, desperation, all of it in different parts each time. It was all Theo knew, the motions of seduction as strictly defined by his training as anything else, and he hardly needed a lecture from Harry.

Still, he found his mouth uncomfortably dry. "Yes, Potter," he drawled. "I grasp the metaphor."

"Her body," Harry pressed him, "it… forms itself to Romeo's."

His gaze flicked briefly down to Theo's, and Theo realized for the first time that Harry Potter had the greenest eyes he'd ever seen. That, and his mouth was full of vulnerability. Above the muscle of his abs and chest and the sinewy quality of his thighs, there was a sensuality to Harry that made him obviously a dancer, not just some gym-going dickhead who knew how to bench press.

"Juliet gives herself to Romeo the moment he lifts her," Harry said, and Theo paused for a moment. He tried not to focus too closely on anything else he was currently at eye level with, or to think about anything Harry might (maybe, possibly) be implying.

"Just do the damn lift," Theo eventually said, and Harry hesitated.

"Look, if—if you need to drop me—"

Theo glared up at him, resolute. "I won't drop you."

Harry grimaced, still doubtful.

"Harry." Theo paused, hoping he wouldn't have to beg despite knowing that at this point, it wasn't entirely out of the question. "Just trust me."

The grimace tightened, then slipped away.

"Fine," Harry said, and Theo held his hand up, offering it for him.

Harry's hand slid along the inside of Theo's wrist, hesitant for a moment, and then curled around it, locking in place to use Theo's forearm as an anchor. Harry leaned across Theo's shoulders, one of Theo's hands briefly brushing the back of his legs to help him—the widths of which were, of course, nothing like Fleur's. She was strong, obviously, but slender. Harry's hamstrings might as well have been made of marble, the lines of them stark and broad, and Theo locked his hand behind Harry's knee, completing the lift for half a second before he moved.

Theo, who had always known how badly his strength was underestimated, made a point to take Harry's weight with perfect balance. Within seconds, Harry was stretched across the upper line of Theo's back, the execution performed with a faultless expense of effort.

It wasn't excessively difficult to hold Harry this way. He could see Harry's version of Fleur's motions in the mirror, the graceful, outstretched lift of one leg perfectly timed with Harry's transition from a look of hesitation—lip snagged between his teeth—to relaxation, a languid elongation of every part of him from the tips of his fingers to the outstretched point of his toes. The next part of the lift was typically Theo's least favorite; the releasing of Fleur just slightly, sending his own equilibrium entirely to one side to let her slide one leg down against him, but Harry, who had mostly abandoned his reservations by then, did it with ease. It occurred to Theo only when Harry had curled fully around him that the steps, which nearly always felt halted and too-deliberate beneath Fleur, felt oddly comfortable now. He and Harry locked eyes in the mirror for a split second, but then, caught up in the pas de deux, they moved on, the motions appearing more natural and innate than Theo had ever felt them to be.

It felt like Harry's body molded perfectly to his, and by the time Theo had released Harry from the circuitous steps of the lift, lowering him carefully to the ground, Theo realized he'd forgotten to look at his own form entirely, being instead entranced by how strangely right they looked together.

How right they _felt_ together, too.

Theo's arm slid up to Harry's shoulders; muscle memory again. The next step of the pas de deux with Fleur was to pause, to simulate an almost-kiss, arms wrapped around each other for a brief moment as she stroked his cheek and then they parted, continuing the dance.

Now, though, Harry's chest was pressed to Theo's, and both of them were breathing hard.

"So what did I do wrong?" Theo managed to croak.

"I—" Harry swallowed. "Nothing. That time was—that was different."

"Was it?"

They were nearly the same height, Harry's shoulders slightly broader, Theo's chin slightly higher and his torso narrower. It was difficult for Theo not to compare them when they stood this way, like mirror images. Both were dark-haired, both lined with similar forms of muscle, a strange exercise in symmetry. Theo wondered what it would be like to curl his tongue around the lobe of Harry's ear. He wondered how his teeth would feel sinking into Harry's bicep. He slid his hands down slightly from where they rested around Harry's scapulae to the small of Harry's back, burrowing in the indentations there.

When Harry didn't move, Theo let his hands slip to Harry's hips.

Harry took a breath, his chest expanding against Theo's.

"You sometimes look like you're thinking too hard," Harry mumbled to Theo, his fingers shifting. His hands, until then, had been hovering in the air but fell, carefully, to float gently over Theo's hair and then dropped to his shoulders, each motion its own inexplicably crafted work of beauty. "You didn't that time."

"I was hardly trying at all." Theo's throat was impossibly dry, and Harry's fingers brushed over his mouth. "You're too fucking good, you know," he said with a shake of his head. "You really are a fucking natural, Potter."

He matched the motion of Harry's forehead coming forward and the two of them paused there, skin to skin, Theo's nose sliding delicately along Harry's.

"You," Harry said softly, "are the most beautiful dancer I've ever seen. Everything about you, it's like the dance is being poured out of you, seeping out of every limb. Fleur's good, but she's not you." His voice was hushed, his hips flush against Theo's. "Your father has nothing to do with it. You're good, Nott. You don't look like a dancer and you're better for it. Because every move you make looks like reverence, like a meditation, like something you've brought to life."

"You said I was doing it wrong," Theo reminded him.

"I didn't say you were perfect," Harry growled with displeasure, shaking his head, "but can't you tell I watch you? I thought it was obvious. I can't take my eyes off you." His mouth brushed Theo's in something that wasn't a kiss; something that was just a touch, an exploration. "When you dance," Harry said softly, "I can't look away."

Theo's breath caught as Harry's mouth brushed over his again.

"I thought you hated me," Theo confessed reluctantly.

"I thought you hated me," Harry agreed.

"I do hate you," Theo said.

"I know," Harry whispered, half-smiling, "and it fucking sets me on _fire_."

His fingers slid up to trap themselves in Theo's hair but it was Theo who closed the distance; it was Theo who dragged Harry's breath up from his lungs and drew them closer, as close as they could be, one body molding perfectly to another. Theo's hips ground against Harry's and Harry's hands—his fucking _hands_ , intent and searching and sure—wandered over all the spare inches of Theo, desperate and hungry and lacking even a trace of hesitation.

Harry's palm slid under Theo's pants, tugging the waistband down, his fingers closing around Theo's cock as he laughed into Theo's mouth; a clever _I knew it_ in reply to Theo's erection that made him bite down with a shudder of both fury and ceaseless want, pressing hard against Harry's lips; a clumsy little scraping of teeth. Theo yanked at Harry's compression shirt and Harry took a step back, pulling it overhead and tossing it to the floor before pausing.

Waiting.

Harry Potter had the torso of a god; perhaps a god of war, or some sort of streamlined ancient mythological hero whose job was to kill hydras and fuck nymphs. His stomach was carved and firm and each crevice was shadowed slightly, dragging Theo's gaze down lower.

"Take the shorts off," Theo rasped, and then, "Please."

Harry didn't say a word as he slid them down, the material straining to pass over the curves of his backside and then clinging to his thighs before the hard length of him sprang up, expectant. Theo swallowed, his own dick still propped up by the band of his joggers, and let his own hand fall, stroking over the tip of it.

Harry shuddered viscerally, every angle of the motion visible from where he stood with his back to the mirror. "Come here," he said, beckoning, and Theo took three long strides to have Harry's mouth on his again.

Harry kissed like he danced. It was natural, unburdened, never too much or too little. He kissed Theo with a sense of agitation, a little yearning, like restraint had been a price, and to Theo, that did not feel unfamiliar. Ballet was discipline. It was the art they made with muscle and bone, the stories they told with pain and sweat. If Harry had been wanting, if he had been keeping his distance, then that was just another dance between them; a pas de deux begun apart before they could move together. Theo licked at Harry's swollen mouth and promised him, as best he could, that he would be worth the waiting.

Theo slithered down Harry's torso, pressing kisses and licks and little bites to the carved out sections of his stomach, then dropped to his knees, to the same place he'd been before the lift. Harry inhaled sharply, watching, and Theo looked up, passing his tongue over his lips before leaning forward to slide them over the tip of Harry's cock, waiting for a telling inhale of breath.

Harry's fingers tightened in Theo's hair as he slid his mouth, his lips and his tongue, along the length of Harry, pulling his hips closer and closer and fucking _closer_ until finally Harry lifted one leg, resting it atop Theo's shoulder in what Theo could see in the mirror—taking a brutally unsubtle and entirely selfish glance—was a faultless line from hip to toe. Harry held Theo's face in both hands, thumbs drawn over his cheeks, and with the same pressure and persistence Theo's nails scraped over Harry's hips, red marks visible in the low light of the rehearsal space. It was rough, inconsiderate, Theo's hands digging into Harry's arse while Harry tugged at his jaw, letting out gruff pants of colorful, relentless obscenities. Harry's hips ground inelegantly against Theo's mouth, his motions a stunning absence of deliberation until he let out a groan, every muscle in his legs gone rigid as he came.

Theo dragged himself up from his knees, swallowing the taste of Harry, and Harry's hand dropped not to Theo's cock—the head of which was stiff and throbbing and perhaps a little blatantly uncoy—but to the bones of Theo's hips, his thumb gliding along the crevices. He turned Theo gruffly, forcing him to face the mirror, and slid Theo's pants down with painstaking slowness, both their eyes locked on their respective reflections as the fabric pooled momentarily at Theo's feet, hurriedly kicked aside.

"I like watching your neck," Harry said, brushing his lips against it. "Other people might drop their chins, but you don't. You keep your chin high, your eyes up." His hands traveled slowly down, forming his palms to Theo's thighs, his chest pressing into the blades of Theo's shoulders as he shivered. "And your legs—"

"Skinny," Theo muttered, and Harry chuckled.

"Maybe, but I can see every line when you move," he said, flicking lightly at Theo's muscle. "I knew you were strong." A kiss to the back of his neck, then to the top of his vertebrae. "At first glance it's deceiving, but I've watched you plenty."

Theo's eyes closed, relaxing into the feel of Harry's touch, and Harry dug his fingers in tight, curling them into Theo's waist. "You didn't want me to lift you," Theo noted, cracking one eye, and Harry bit down on his shoulder, half-laughing into his skin as he met Theo's glance in the mirror.

"No, I didn't," Harry agreed. "I wasn't sure I'd be able to look at you again after being that close to you, and that," he said, sliding his tongue along a few spare inches of Theo's spine, "would have been pretty fucking bleak."

Theo tried to turn, tried to kiss him, but Harry held him still, hands steady around his ribs.

"Your father didn't get you this," Harry said in Theo's ear. "You did. You're Romeo, it's in your every step. Maybe you don't look like he's supposed to," he conceded, half-smiling, "but still, you made him yours."

"Doesn't matter, you're still better," Theo muttered, his body flooded with a lazy warmth, Harry's lips falling further down the line of his back to let his hands curl delicately around Theo's hips. "You're better than I am, it comes so easily to you. You were born for this, and I—"

"Sometimes," Harry said quietly to the small of Theo's back, "we don't always love what we're born for."

Theo's heart pounded as Harry lowered himself to his knees, his hands curving around Theo's arse and then around to his cock, stroking him. Theo held his breath, watching himself being touched by Harry, hardly able to process it. "You're so good," Theo told him roughly, a reverent truth delivered with a startled whisper. "You're so good, how could you not… _love_ it? How could it not be love, when you, you're—"

He let out a gasp, Harry's tongue sliding somewhere new and different.

"The steps, the movements, that's the easy part," Harry said with a little shrug. "You don't fall in love with something that comes easily. But I told you," he reminded Theo quietly, stroking the line of Theo's thigh, "there's a reason the death scene is so good."

 _It's you_ , Theo heard in his head, and closed his eyes as Harry's lips dragged over him again. He kicked his knees out wider, let his mind go blank; let one hand begin stroking mindlessly over his cock while the other, behind him, blindly found the roots of Harry's hair, twining his fingers tightly in the strands.

They weren't rivals, Theo decided again, more firmly this time. That would imply Theo considered Harry to be competition, which he decidedly did not. Harry was the rhapsodic swell of Prokofiev, the ardent dizziness of attraction, the progression of off-kilter leaps. Theo's breath quickened, Harry's mouth on him gradually deeper and more urgent, and the closer he came to mindless exaltation, the more forcefully he came to realize: it was all, all of it, precisely as Harry had said.

Theo had been doing the pas de deux all wrong because he hadn't known that anything could feel like this. He hadn't known it _should_ feel like this, uncontrolled and wild and tempestuous, every beat of it untamed. He thought the steps in his mind, the familiar pulse of them a new and violent rush through his veins, and understood clearly that every repetition he'd undergone until that moment had been a waste. He watched himself now, breath ragged and every muscle tensed, and saw the dance precisely as it should be performed.

He understood it now.

Theo came with a groan, spilling onto his hand, and choked out something like Harry's name, barely managing the effort of syllables. Harry, always gifted with cadence, kissed Theo slowly, indulgently—low back to scapulae, left and then right, up to the top of his spine—and leaning Theo's head back to rest limply against Harry's shoulder.

"I don't suppose you rehearse this late often, do you?" Theo asked, eyeing Harry's reflection in the mirror. "Not that I need help, obviously," he added quickly.

Harry let a slow, satisfied smile spread across his lips before he turned Theo around to face him, dragging Theo's mouth back to his. "Could be persuaded," he said wryly, and then added, with a pulse of promise, "for you."

Theo kissed him back, reveling in it.

"So, um," he said, eyes still closed, and Harry sighed.

"You want to run it again?" Harry guessed drily.

"Yes, definitely," Theo said, shoving him away and reaching for his joggers as Harry backed up with a shake of his head, tossing his shorts up from the floor with the sweeping ease of a lazy rond de jambe. "Ready?"

"Always," Harry said, rolling his eyes.

"Good," Theo said firmly, placing his feet in first and beckoning across the room, something like a leap taking off inside his chest. "I want to see you really work this time."

* * *

 _ **a/n:**_ _For Colubrina, who lured me into this despite my (obviously very weak) insistence I probably shouldn't. Hey, did you guys know I have a vlog now? You can find it on youtube, Olivie Blake is Not Writing. Also, I'll be back with a Halloween one shot for sure, so stay tuned!_


	104. Rebel North, Part I

**Rebel North, Part I**

 _Pairing:_ Jily (James Potter x Lily Evans)

 _Universe:_ magical _Outlander-_ esque AU (you do not need to have watched the show or read the books, it's simply time travel + Scottish Highlands)

 _Rating:_ M for sex

 _Summary:_ Happy Halloween! Psst, my new book is out today… but since you're here, have some smut!

When Lily's fiancé takes her to Hogwarts Castle on Halloween to work on his latest academic research in 1983, she accidentally gets transported back in time three hundred and fifty years via a strange door on the seventh floor. Lily nearly lands in the dangerous grips of the castle's baron, Lord Voldemort, but a mysterious Scottish laird with a secret of his own intervenes, setting them both on an unexpected path.

* * *

It wasn't as if Lily didn't find historical potions to be interesting; she did. She was an intellectual sort of girl—pretty _and_ smart, as her mother had always dotingly told her—but still, there was a time and a place for such things. This, a week before their wedding, was neither the time nor the place for Severus to be more interested in the potions discovery that had been made at Hogwarts Castle than he was in her undergarments.

"Sev," Lily murmured, trying to lure him discreetly into bed. "Can't it wait until morning?"

"Hm? Oh, sorry," Severus said absently, dragging his gaze up from his notes, and Lily managed a smile. It was endearing, at least, how wrapped up he got in his work, even when it was largely inconvenient. "Sorry, I know, but just one more page—it's really fascinating. For example, did you know," he began, clearing his throat and lofting a page up to squint at it as she stifled a sigh, "in the seventeenth century, because there was so little advancement in magical studies in the Scottish Highlands during the middle ages, potion incantations were still mostly wandless by the early modern era, and instead—"

He stopped, blinking, as he presumably caught the evidence of her eyes glazing over. "Sorry," he said sheepishly. "I'm boring you."

"What? No, of course not, it's just… late." She tucked her knees into her chest, bunching her fingers in the duvet. The bedding was, like everything in Hogsmeade, needlessly charming and quaint, and she wished she didn't despise it so much. "You keep reading," she assured him. "We'll just talk in the morning, shall we?"

Severus heard the little off-color note of wrongness in her voice and grimaced, reluctantly leaving his chair but conceding to settle himself beside her on the bed, taking her chin lightly. "Sorry, sweetheart," he murmured, brushing his lips against hers. "I promise, tomorrow is the last of it, okay? And then we can get back to the crushing minutiae of normality," he assured her grimly, "like whether Petunia is or isn't going to throw a fuss over her dress."

Lily gave a tired chuckle. "Well, when you put it that way, perhaps we should just stay."

He smiled. She figured he would like that very much.

"Enjoy your day, won't you?" he said, stroking her cheek. "Don't just stay locked in here fretting over your mother's phone calls. Come up to Hogwarts with me, look around," he suggested. "The castle will be in prime condition for Samhain, and it's quite fascinating, you know, all the history. They say a war with a ruthless Baron nearly destroyed the place three hundred and fifty years ago when it was taken back by a gang of Highland rebels. They even say," he mused, "that every Halloween, the ghosts of the Order rebels who defeated him pay a visit to the castle, riding around the halls and reenacting their victory."

"Oh?" Lily said, impressed. "A gang of ghost rebels sounds kind of exciting."

Severus chuckled. "'Exciting' is one way to put it, yes." He leaned forward, kissing her forehead. "Sleep well, Lily," he murmured, with one final stroke of warmth to her nose. "I promise, I'll have looked over everything tomorrow, and then we can head back to London straightaway."

He'd said that the day before. And the day before, too. The weekend mini-holiday had stretched into Tuesday. After nearly five years waiting for him to propose, Lily had grown a talent for waiting, though she certainly hadn't developed a fondness for it. This was what it was to love a man devoted to his work, she reminded herself firmly, and besides—she wouldn't love him if he were not precisely what he was.

"Okay," she said, pressing her lips to the heel of his palm. "Tomorrow, then."

* * *

Hogwarts was a fascinating place, even if it wasn't _at all_ the place Lily wanted to be. To be fair, she didn't want to be at any of her various dress fittings either, but at least at home in London she wouldn't be wandering through an empty castle alone, particularly not on Halloween. She was beginning to worry the suits of armor might wake just to ask her what she thought she was doing pacing noisily around, retracing the steps of all the men and women who'd walked the halls before her. Perhaps it was merely her frustration mixing with Severus' playful teasing, but either way, she was beginning to worry she'd end up spending the day consorting with ghosts.

The castle was littered with monuments to whichever battle had taken place there however many centuries prior, the main one being the mural painted in testament to the benevolent-looking English noble with an enormous beard who stood at its foreground. The painting was called _Reubaltaich,_ Gaelic for _rebel_ , and for whatever reason, Lily found herself looking at the painting for quite a long time, marveling a little at the odd and almost eerie dignity of the warring Scotsmen set against the castle's shadowed form at dusk.

The monument to the rebels was massive, to say the least, but it was difficult to say which room in the castle was most interesting. The Great Hall was beautiful, of course, all of it presently festive with the hallmarks of autumn. The bedchambers, now mostly portrait galleries, all featured high ceilings, vaulted and stunning, and the tapestries were rich depictions of warfare Lily could hardly dare imagine. She loved the towers, the view of the castle's grounds and the lake; up there, she almost forgot for a moment how lonely she was, and how little she knew of the future. It was easy to forget one was about to become a professor's wife when one was looking out into the Scottish Highlands. It was easy to forget one was a person at all, really, given the span of such unimaginable beauty.

It was the room on the seventh floor that was the strangest, though, as Lily could have sworn it had been an empty corridor when she'd first passed with Severus on their initial tour of the castle. The door didn't look like the others; it looked older, firstly. It wasn't one of the fire doors that had been installed in the last century like most of the others were, and it looked, somehow, like it was inherently secret; as if it might have needed a key.

"What's in that room on the seventh floor?" she asked Severus when she tried to drag him away from his studies for lunch. She'd known he wouldn't leave, of course, so she'd brought some soup down to the potion labs in the dungeons, feeling a bit victorious when she caught the hints of adoration in his grateful smile.

"There's nothing up there," Severus told her absently, biting into a piece of bread. "It's just an empty corridor."

"No, there's definitely a room," Lily said with a laugh. "I saw it myself, Sev."

There was a pause, an unusual ingredient catching his eye. Evidently, modern potion work had changed quite a bit over time; Lily supposed if medical advancements were possible, magical ones certainly were as well.

"Hm?" he said, temporarily recalling her existence. "You must have been lost, sweetheart. Maybe you meant another floor."

"I—" _No, Sev, I know what I saw_ —"I'm interrupting you," she forced out instead, managing a smile. "Shall I just come back to check on you this afternoon?"

"Maybe around dinner?" he asked. He reached out blindly, snaking an arm around her waist in a motion that was as much instinctive as it was habitual, and she leaned her head against his shoulder.

No chance they were leaving tonight.

"Sure," she sighed. "Dinner, then."

* * *

She lingered outside the door on the seventh floor for nearly ten minutes before she eventually decided she'd simply have to try it. If it was locked, then so be it. It wasn't as if she had anything better to do. The brass handle was smooth under her touch, inviting. She gave the handle a tug and it opened—just like that.

She laughed to herself. Maybe it was just a novelty toilet, or a storage room.

At first glance, she suspected it _was_ a storage room, only it was the most disorganized of such rooms she'd ever seen. Things were stacked in piles of what could only be called 'stuff,' or possibly 'junk,' disarrayed and lacking any sort of organization. She wandered around the pillars of items, gaping at the pure scope of it. How could one room contain so many things? Who on earth had built it?

And _who_ , she wondered with a wrinkle of her nose, had thought it wise to put so many expired ingredients in a broken cupboard like this?

She ventured from item to item, from broken portrait bust to tarnished tiara to umbrella stand full of racing brooms, shaking her head. What a waste of a perfectly lovely room. Light was streaming in from windows so large she couldn't imagine how anyone could have missed it; did it even make sense with the castle's external architecture? She supposed a sentient castle could draw light from anywhere, but still.

She paused beside a vial of monkshood, smiling faintly at it. Once upon a time, she'd been a fair hand at potions herself, though it was Severus who had the far deeper interest for it. Still, this was expensive. It was the main ingredient in wolfsbane, and was so prohibitively costly most werewolves struggled to get it. She tucked it into her pocket, resolving to tell Severus something should be done about whatever valuable items might be unknowingly left in this room.

She spent several hours wandering around, reading books left behind by nobles who must have lived here at some point in history before proceeding to temporarily doze on one of the crushed velvet chairs. Eventually she guessed it had darkened enough to reasonably pursue dinner, and she wound her way back through the labyrinth of the storage room to reach the door, wondering whether she could talk Severus into joining her for a pint.

It _was_ Halloween, after all. Magically speaking, Samhain was something of a significant holiday. Maybe that would sway him.

She slid into the corridor, shutting the door behind her. There was the wafting smell of food, she noted, and frowned, wondering if Severus was already eating. Couldn't he have come to find her? She didn't even know the castle still served food. She was about to head for the stairs when a hand closed around her arm, yanking her back.

"And just where do ye think you're goin', lass?" a low voice asked her, and she wrenched forcefully out of his grip.

"Get your damn hands off me," she snapped, glaring at him, and his lips curled up slowly. He had a mean look to him, a toothy grin beneath a full and wiry beard, but it was hard to take him seriously when he was dressed like one of the castle guides. She'd thought it was silly, the outfits, but Severus told her authenticity was paramount to the Hogwarts board of curators.

"Sneakin' around the castle, and with a rebel tongue to boot?" the man asked, his Highland brogue strong and thick. "Lord Voldemort will be wantin' to hear from you."

It must have been some sort of play Severus had neglected to tell her about. He'd said the castle was at its prime during Halloween, hadn't he? It wouldn't be the first time he'd neglected to inform her of an irritating detail.

"I'm not in the mood for this," Lily said, turning to leave, but the man stopped her with a flick of a hand, magically binding her in place. How had he done that? He wasn't holding a wand. She stiffened a little in panic, her mind filling in the blanks about the sorts of things that happened to young women wandering alone at night; she'd certainly heard enough rumors about what happened in university stacks.

"How _dare_ you—"

He took a step closer, yanking her flush against him, and now she was more than a little nervous. He pressed his hands into her waist, feeling over her hips. "Very interestin' clothes you have on, lass," he noted, fingering the hem of her high-waisted jeans. "Is this the latest of Dumbledore's tricks? First them cloaks, now lasses in britches?"

"Don't—" Her mouth was dry as she struggled to reach her wand, but his grip on her was ironclad. "Don't touch me."

He chuckled darkly as her pulse raced. "Lovely form for a rebel, eh? His Lordship will have a lovely time with you, I reckon. One way or another," he added with a whisper in her ear, "he'll be glad to hear you scream."

Her mouth was dry. "This isn't funny. Let me go, _now_ , or—"

He toyed with her ponytail, sniffing at her hair. "Or else what?"

"Let her go, Greyback."

Another voice echoed from down the corridor, steps materializing on the stairs. Lily's stomach roiled as the man holding her spun, facing someone else who'd entered the corridor.

"What do you want, Potter?" her captor demanded.

"That's no way to speak to a laird, Greyback," came a drily disinterested voice. It was as heavily accented as her captive's, but without the snarl underneath. "I wouldna wish to tell His Lordship his dogs have gotten rather out of hand, ye ken?"

Lily swallowed hard, unsure whether this situation was better or worse. Where was Severus? She wished she hadn't gotten so far away. Unlikely he'd manage to notice this from down in the dungeons.

"Caught this rebel sneakin' around on His Lordship's private floor," her captor snarled back at the other man. "If I want to have some fun with her first, that's my choosin'."

"Hardly," said the other voice, footsteps coming nearer, and Lily held her breath as he stepped around to face her, the shadow of his form falling over her in the flickering light of the torches.

 _Torches?_ she thought with alarm, certain they'd been normal track lighting earlier that day, but then she was distracted by the man's face coming into view.

He had black hair, she noted, like Severus, but outside of that, the two men could not have looked more different. While Severus was lean and almost slight, his posture somewhat imperfect from years spent over his books, this man was solidly built, broad-shouldered, his features strong and prominent and his hair long and loose, almost wild. He was wearing a kilt, like the other man, and Lily found herself wildly distracted by the shape of his calves, defined and sturdy. He had an athletic look to him, scars on his hands and his neck, and one, deeply carved, in his chin. His eyes were hazel, a subtle blend of amber-green-grey, and they weren't unkind. They regarded her slowly, searching her, but with something intensely asexual.

He was studying her for something, she realized, though she couldn't imagine what.

"Did Dumbledore send ye?" he breathed in a low voice, and she blinked. Swallowed. She hadn't the faintest idea what he was talking about, but she was growing rather tired of being trapped.

"I can't move," she whispered to him, and he looked up with annoyance, presumably at her captor behind her.

"Let her go," he said. "Greyback, this is a bit much, even for you."

"Fuck off, Potter," said her captor, Greyback. "Lord Voldemort might have no choice but to invite you here, but I know better, _your lairdship_."

"Your suspicions are quite charming," said the other man, Potter, unfazed. "Still, there's no reason to use a body-bind on a woman, Greyback. She's harmless," he added, flicking his gaze over her briefly as if ascertaining that for himself.

Lily scoffed lightly under her breath and Potter's eyes narrowed in warning.

"Ye'll give us both away," he said, the words barely audible. He was mouthing it almost silently, eyes locked on Greyback behind her. "Just hold your tongue, ye ken?"

This, she thought mutinously, was quite a lot for a theatrical production. She'd have to tell Severus about it—though, maybe that was for the best. This would certainly be persuasive leverage for her to insist on leaving that evening.

"I suppose we'll have to see what His Lordship has to say about this," Greyback said, and Lily saw the knuckles of Potter's hands grow tense, tightening into his palms even as he kept his face stiffly pleasant.

"I expect ye will, then," he said, waving a hand. "Take her straight down to the Great Hall or there'll be hell to pay, Greyback. I'll make sure of it." He paused tartly, then added, "In the meantime, I have business to attend to."

He glanced at her, expressing nothing, and then pivoted away, disappearing down the stairs.

Lily bit the inside of her cheek, furious. The moment this was over, she was going to have them all sacked.

* * *

The man playing Lord Voldemort looked convincingly like the portrait Lily had seen in one of the other castle rooms. How they had found him, she had no idea. She also had no idea how they'd gotten the Great Hall ready for a full banquet so quickly, or how they'd filled it with so many historically accurate actors. Surely this was something that could be better advertised? Even the food looked authentic, which couldn't have come cheap.

"Let her loose, Greyback," said Lord Voldemort, waving a hand. He was inordinately handsome, she thought, blinking a little at the sight of him. Wherever they'd found him, he could certainly have a career in films, though she doubted he could play a romantic lead. He had a distinctly villainous look to him, piercing blue eyes and a cruel mouth that lent a visceral sharpness to his beauty. "Who are you?" he asked her, scanning her swiftly.

He was English, not Scottish, she noted, as the real Baron Voldemort had been. She faintly recalled from a plaque she'd read earlier that day that his forcible occupation and installment by the king was an oppressive burden on the Scottish clans.

"My name is Lily Evans," she sighed impatiently, "I'm here with a visiting professor, and listen, I really don't have time for this. I understand if you're upset I was in the storage room, but—"

"Storage room." At that, Voldemort's voice went cold. "What storage room?"

"The room, the one with all the things," she said, waving a hand ambiguously. "The room on the seventh floor, I didn't realize—"

"There is no such room." His eyes flashed with fury. "Who are you?"

Unbelievable. Severus would need to grovel for days to make up for this. "I just _told_ you—"

"Get rid of her," he said disinterestedly, glancing at Greyback. "Now, if you like," he added, "seeing as you're so very eager."

Greyback smiled, his incisors glinting in the flickering light. "As ye wish, Your Lordship." He turned to Lily, bearing what she realized now were claws, letting them flash pointedly for her view. "Would ye like to watch?"

"Fenrir, I'm eating," Voldemort said disinterestedly. "Either an _Avada_ or the carotid will do."

Lily waited for someone to gasp, or to say something, or at least to whisper to each other about how positively savage things used to be. _Avada Kedavra_ was illegal, obviously, even then, as murder of any sort continued to be, and she was stunned to see that not one of the actors broke character. Instead, they were looking at her as if they were… hungry.

No, she thought with a shudder. _Eager._

"Wait a minute," Lily said, blinking. "That's—that's not funny, you can't—"

"Now, please?" Voldemort said, irritable with impatience. "And tell Dumbledore I grow tired of his spies. No amount of money he funnels for the Order to infect my household is going to change my mind. Send, I don't know, a finger," he suggested disinterestedly, flicking a hand at Lily. "Or her whole head, if you're worried about authenticity."

"Okay," Lily said with a growl, finally able to remove her wand from her pocket, "that's quite enough. If you could just—"

Lord Voldemort summoned the wand from her hand without a word, smacking it with a single motion into Greyback's chest. "And take this. You should have checked her for weapons before you brought her here. I prefer not to have any splinters," he said with an arched look of displeasure.

"Well, not much can be done with a stick, can it?" Greyback said gleefully, flexing and unflexing his fingers. "As for her head, I suppose I can be convinced t-"

"Your Lordship," came another voice as the man called Potter strode quickly into the hall, another tall dark-haired man (this one, too, uncomfortably handsome, his long hair tied back in a knot away from his face) at his side. "Turns out ye canna quite murder the lass after all. My apologies," he added wryly, sweeping a bow, "but I am afraid I wasna aware Sirius' cousin had joined us for the evening."

"His cousin?" Lord Voldemort asked skeptically.

"Aye, so verra sorry," said the other man, who must have been the aforementioned Sirius. "A bhobain, you canna wander off like that," he said chidingly to Lily with a bit of incomprehensible Gaelic, gesturing for her to agree before glancing up at Voldemort. "If ye dinna mind, My Lord—"

"What was she doing on the seventh floor?" Voldemort asked suspiciously.

"Oh, ye know how the lasses are," said Sirius, looking dastardly cheerful, and Lord Voldemort's eyes narrowed.

"You really expect me to believe that?" he asked. "You can't be—"

"Sirius?" Potter cut in knowingly, tilting his head. "I am afraid, Your Lordship, this has all been a misunderstanding. We'll take her," he added, his eyes slightly more amber as they fell on hers. "Dinna worry, this willna happen again, I assure you. Come now," he beckoned to Lily, beckoning her like a dog. "We'll deal with you later."

Greyback looked somewhere between furious and disappointed as Lord Voldemort set his jaw, intent on something.

"Do you mean to tell me," he said slowly, "that she disobeyed her guardian's direct orders?"

"What?" Lily demanded, turning to glare at him. "This isn't funny anymore, I want t-"

"Oh, aye, she's headstrong, My Lord, but surely isna a threat," Potter cut in smoothly. "If ye simply let her come with us—"

"She's disrespected me twice in my own house," Lord Voldemort said firmly, "and for that, she'll have to be punished. Anyone else in her position would be. Do you disagree, Potter?" he asked curtly. "Or is there some reason you're suddenly so desperate to have her spared?"

"It's," Potter said, looking abruptly trapped. "It's not—"

Greyback stepped forward, smiling mercilessly. "I'm happy to take care of this now, Your Lordship. A few lashes would put the lass in her place."

"You're joking," Lily said, infuriated. "This has gone too far! All of this, this—" She sputtered, unable to put her outrage into words. "This _pretense_ has to end, this is unacceptable—"

"Ah, hush, lass," Sirius said, somewhat nervously. "Er, dear, sweet cousin—"

"Lashes will be fine," Lord Voldemort said, leaning back in his chair. "Just end this, please, Fenrir. The food is getting cold."

Greyback stepped forward eagerly, smiling his chilling smile at Lily. He, she thought, was the least likely to be pretending; no man could fake his degree of bloodlust, no matter how well-trained.

Was it possible this was… real?

"Wait," Lily said, scrambling away until one of Lord Voldemort's guards prodded her back in place. "Wait, wait a minute, _wait_ —"

"I'll take them," Potter cut in brusquely, and Lily froze, as did Sirius beside him.

"James," Sirius whispered urgently. "Dinna be noble now, ye stubborn arse, ye know he'll kill ye if he gets the chance—"

"What was that, Potter?" Lord Voldemort said, leaning forward.

"I'll take her punishment," Potter said staunchly, not looking at Lily, and Voldemort's lips curled up in a slow smile.

"Does she mean something to you, James?" he murmured. "Is she someone… important to you? Or, perhaps, to Dumbledore?"

Abruptly, Lily recalled what James had said to her: _You'll give us both away._

It seemed his lairdship, whoever he was—or whatever character he was playing—had something of his own to protect.

"If you're asking if I want to see her pretty skin bleed, the answer is no, I dinna wish it," Potter said stonily. "As the patron of the arts ye claim to be, Your Lordship, I expect you'll understand that something this lovely shouldna be broken by _this_ ," he said with a glare at Greyback, "bit of filth."

Lord Voldemort chuckled. "Well, she'd be a better wife for you, James. More your style than that English heiress whose treasury I know you're chasing," he added at a murmur, and Potter flinched slightly. "I always told you money and power didn't suit you, James. Perhaps this one is more your speed. Evans, wasn't it?" he asked Lily. "That doesn't sound like any of the clans. Certainly doesn't sound like _Black_ ," he added with a knowing glance at Sirius, who grimaced.

Lily answered with a muted glare.

"Thought so," Lord Voldemort murmured to her, turning back to Potter. "I think it's high time you were settled and sent back to your little country house, James. You've been a guest here long enough."

Potter's mouth tightened. Lily wasn't sure she understood what was going on in the narrative, but she knew whatever the logistics of this was, it was a successful trap. Lord Voldemort rose to his feet, stepping closer to Potter and leaning in, his voice nearly inaudible from where Lily was sitting.

"I know you've been corresponding with someone, and I have my suspicions who it is," Lord Voldemort said, and Potter's mouth stiffened. "I also know you're pursuing a marriage for the wealth your overtaxed clan so _humbly_ lacks, and I know what someone like you would do with that kind of money. Or do you think I don't know what you're all planning?"

Potter's mouth stiffened, and Voldemort laughed. "I could kill you," he mused, curling a hand thoughtfully around his mouth. "Would save me a lot of trouble, only I don't need a reason to upset the other lairds by killing one of their own. This, though." Another low chuckle. "This would be quite the neat solution. Get rid of you, the Order, _and_ Dumbledore's spy, all in one stroke."

He leaned away, and Potter said nothing.

"Your choice, James," Lord Voldemort said, shrugging. "Give the girl to me to punish or claim her as your own. Cousins notwithstanding," he added with a skeptical glance at Sirius. "Marry your little Evans girl or she dies."

Potter glanced at Lily, his mouth tight.

Surely this was a play, she thought.

 _Surely_ this wasn't happening.

"Fine," he said, gritting it out. "Come on, then," he beckoned to her, prompting her to freeze with uncertainty, but Lord Voldemort held up a hand with a laugh.

"She still defied my authority," he said. "That still calls for punishment."

Potter looked furious. "Did ye not say—"

"I know what I said. Fenrir?" he called to Greyback, and Potter scowled.

"Fine," he said. "But I'll take my beating in fists, na lashes, and put your filthy claws away," he warned Greyback, who smiled thinly.

"Oh, I've been waitin' for this," he said, and before Lily realized what was happening, Greyback had punched Potter hard below the sternum, aiming a shot that brought the other man to his knees.

He didn't make a sound. He simply collapsed, betrayed by the functions of his body, and met her eye with his. He looked angry, furious, resigned, pained, and then Greyback yanked him up by the collar of his shirt, smiling as he aimed another shot; this time to Potter's ribs, surely breaking at least one with the impact. Potter staggered backwards, looking dazed, and Lily, who could barely stand to watch despite the delighted whispers from the audience, knew only one thing for certain.

This was _not_ pretend.

* * *

Sirius was half-carrying Potter into his rooms, lowering him onto the bed as Lily followed in silence, eyeing her feet. Greyback had broken Potter's ribs, his nose, and probably damaged his organs, too. She had forced herself not to look away, knowing this was somehow her fault. She didn't know where she was, but she understood silence was imperative. She'd only said one thing, actually.

"My wand," she'd said to Sirius in a low voice, followed by his frown. "I need my wand."

"Wand?" he echoed, and she grimaced.

"The stick," she whispered, gesturing to it in Greyback's pocket. "I need it back."

"Oh, is it some sort of weapon? Did Dumbledore tell ye t- sorry," he said at her silencing glare, "never mind—oi, the stick," Sirius announced quickly to Greyback, who bit lightly on the edge of it, testing it for something Lily couldn't begin to imagine before conceding gruffly to hand it over.

Now that Potter was seated, barely conscious, Lily fidgeted for a moment, uncertain whether she might unintentionally make things worse before eventually resigning herself to giving it a try, shoving Sirius out of the way.

"Hold still," she told Potter, which was probably a stupid thing to say, all things considered, and then she held her wand to his ribs. " _Ferula_."

Potter let out an anguished roar of opposition, glaring at her, but she didn't have time to worry about his discomfort. She hurried to cast every healing spell she could think of, easing the pressure on his organs before turning her attention to his face.

"Wait," he gasped, snatching the tip of her wand. "Leave… leave it. He'll… check."

"What?" she asked, unable to understand him through his groans of pain, and Sirius leapt forward.

"James is right," Sirius said quickly. "Voldemort will be expecting to see a bruise, ye ken? He canna know you're a healer," he explained to her, "or he'll suspect he made a bad deal."

"I'm not a healer," Lily said, frowning. "These are standard spells, things we learn in our first year."

"First year of what?" Sirius asked. "Healer training? Did ye study with a shaman?" he pressed curiously. "I hear there are some who still use Merlin's healing books. What is the stick for?"

"It's—" She gaped at him. "This is a wand. Why has nobody seen one?"

"A wand?" Sirius echoed, eyeing it suspiciously. "Is it dangerous?"

"Only if I do something dangerous with it," Lily grumbled, but at Sirius' widening eyes, she hurried to reassure him. "I'm just a witch, honestly—"

"Na a normal one," Potter coughed up, wincing. He seemed to be breathing easier now, the pain of the healing spells subsiding, and after a testing inhale-exhale from his lungs, he pressed his hands to his ribs, looking up at her with awe. "How'd ye do that? Did Dumbledore teach you?"

"And what did he send you there for? That's dangerous, even for him," Sirius said, looking troubled. "Besides, isna a thing up there. We all ken that."

"There's a room there," Lily said. "It's filled with, I don't know. Things. Items. Haven't you seen it?" she asked, and Potter and Sirius exchanged a glance.

"Nobody goes there," Potter said slowly, "on pain of punishment, as I expect ye mighta sorted out."

"Well, I need to," Lily insisted, folding her arms over her chest. It seemed straightforward enough; whatever time or place she was in now, she wasn't where she was supposed to be. She'd have to go back. "I need to get into that room tonight," she said firmly, and rose to her feet, heading for the door.

"Are ye _mad_?" Potter gritted out, flinging out a hand to hold her back. "You canna go back there, certainly not _now_ —he'll kill you, and me, too—"

"Well, I need to," she said, and paused. "Dumbledore said I needed to," she added, hoping that would work, and James and Sirius exchanged another glance.

Sirius relented first. "If Dumbledore said to, then—"

" _Fuck_ Dumbledore," Potter hissed. "I'm na prepared to die today, Sirius, ye ken?"

"Take the cloak," Sirius urged. "Greyback knows about it, but still, if ye take proper care—"

"This is mad," Potter said, setting his jaw. "This is mad, and reckless, and—"

"You don't have to come with me," Lily cut in, jolting his attention back to her. "I can go by myself without your help."

"Dinna be ridiculous," Potter growled, getting to his feet and then pausing, surprised, as if he'd been expecting pain. Clearly, Lily thought, their healing spells left something to be desired. "If Greyback caught ye," he continued brusquely, "or worse, Voldemort himself—"

"I'm not your responsibility," Lily said, rolling her eyes. "I can take care of myself, and—"

"No, you canna take care of yourself, actually," Potter shot back with a glare, "or else I wouldna have to marry you, would I?"

"I—" She broke off. "That was _real_?"

"Of course it was—" He stopped himself, shaking his head. "Never ye mind," Potter snapped. "Just… sit down, we'll think of how we can sort this out tomorrow, and—"

"No," Lily said flatly, a little panicked now. "No, I can't marry you. I'm—I'm engaged, and—"

"So am I," Potter retorted. "But as I have to marry you or one of us _dies_ , it seems our previous promises dinna count for much."

"No," Lily said, suddenly overwhelmed. "No, I have to—I have to get back there, I have… I have to—"

She was breathing hard, losing her grip on reality. Severus always called them 'Lily panics' in a tender sort of way, which she'd hated. She'd eventually tire herself out, but in the moment it brought her chest pain, a lurking sense of _wrong_ , as if the pieces of her life were all out of place. She was a person who liked things a certain way, everything lined up neatly and in control. She liked Severus because he was stable, reliable, calming, and now— _and now_ —

"Hey. Lass." Potter's hands closed tentatively around her shoulders, smoothing down to her arms. "Breathe. Can ye hear me?" he asked, and she managed a nod. "Breathe in, then. That's a good lass." His voice was low and soft and she inhaled raggedly, half-choking. "Breathe out. Let it out." He set a rhythm for her, in and out, his fingers curled loosely around her arms as her hands shot out, clutching at his elbows. "Nighean mhath," he murmured to her, "good girl, just breathe."

She calmed slowly, his hand rising from her arm to tuck her hair behind her ear.

"Better?" he asked, and she nodded slowly. "Good," he said, and nudged her a step back. "Now I can get back to telling ye how stupid you sound."

She glared at him, and behind them, Sirius chuckled.

"Better just take her, aye, James?" he advised drily. "Seems the lass is a wee bit stubborn."

Potter shook his head, grimacing over his shoulder, and then turned back to Lily.

"Are ye ready to risk your life for this?" he asked her plainly, and she nodded, perfectly sure of that. Better to die trying to get back to where she'd been than to die of cholera in whatever place this was. If that was the real Lord Voldemort, then this was… the seventeenth century?

She'd surely die of _the plague_ , and she'd read too much about that to chance it now.

"Yes," she said, lifting her chin. "I'll risk it. I'm going, whether you help me or not."

Potter sighed. "I reckon I owe ye a bit." He glanced down, checking his ribs. "Still, I hope you willna make me save your life again, reubaltaich."

She recalled that word from the painting in the castle earlier that day. _Reubaltaich._

Rebel.

 _Not today,_ she thought.

"Good," she said firmly.

After tonight she'd be gone, and then it wouldn't be a problem for either of them.

* * *

Except the door was gone.

The door was _gone_.

"No," Lily whispered, pressing her hand to the castle's stone, and Potter looked apprehensively over his shoulder. "It was here, I—I _swear,_ it was right here, and—"

"We shouldna stay here," he warned her. "We can ask Dumbledore about it, I'm sure he would know, and—"

"Wait." She turned beneath the cloak—a very fine one, considering the lack of magic elsewhere—to glance imploringly at him. "You," she began, and paused. "You believe me, don't you?"

He looked down at her, bemused. "What?"

"I," she attempted again, and winced. "I'm not lying, I swear, there _was_ a door here, there was a room, and—"

She broke off, pained, and he paused for a moment, his face momentarily unreadable.

"Ye say there was a door here, I believe ye," he said. "I dinna think you'd have any good reason to lie. Am I wrong?"

"What? No, of course not, but—" She flattened her palm against the wall. "I wouldn't blame you," she said quietly, "if you thought I was totally mad."

He swallowed, glancing at his hands for a moment before looking back at her.

"I dinna think you're mad," he said, and hesitated for a moment. "I mighta died from my injuries this evening," he told her, his voice quiet. "I'm sorry I didna say so sooner, but I know verra well I would be dying slowly in my bed if not for you."

She shook her head weakly. "Someone could have healed you."

"Not like you. Not this well. You saved my life." He paused, and then cleared his throat. "Now," he said gently, "let me save yours."

She looked up to find him slowly resigning himself to something, breathing out.

"About this marriage," he said tentatively, and she glanced at the wall.

 _Please,_ she begged it, _please, let me back in. Bring me back to the man I love. Put me where I belong._

Nothing.

 _Nothing_.

"I was meant to wed an English girl, the daughter of one of Dumbledore's allies," Potter said quietly. "It woulda meant supplies, weapons, magic, money—but I'll find some other way. I'll find another way." He looked at her for a long time, searching her for something. "I'm verra sorry the kindest thing I can do for you is claim ye, but if it helps, I will do it."

She shivered. "Will he really kill me if I don't?" she asked carefully, and Potter nodded solemnly.

"You dinna want to test him," he said, swallowing. "It will come down on both our heads."

She believed him. It had come down on his already, and why lie? He had nothing to gain by marrying her.

How had any of this happened?

She shut her eyes, shaking her head.

"Can you do something for me?" she asked, and he gave her a wary nod. "Can you answer three questions for me, but not ask me why I'm asking? You said you believed me," she pointed out, gesturing to the wall when he frowned with uncertainty. "Can I ask you to trust me again?"

He paused, considering her request, then nodded slowly.

She took a deep breath.

"Where am I?" she asked, and he blinked, but delicately ventured an answer.

"Hogwarts Castle," he said. "Hogsmeade, north of Edinburgh."

So it wasn't an issue of place, then. She was precisely where she'd been since the previous weekend. That was disheartening.

"What day is it?" she asked, bracing herself.

He blinked again. "Samhain." Halloween, precisely as it had been when she'd left—which meant only one impossible thing.

She held her breath. "And the year?"

The words fell with a dull thud. "1633."

 _No, no, no_.

"Ah." Her mind spun, tipping her thoughts off balance until she suspected they might slide out from her skull. "Okay."

"Now I have a question for you, lass." He tilted her chin up, searching her face. "What's your name?"

It seemed silly he'd agreed to marry a woman whose name he didn't even know. Silly, she thought, or stupidly chivalrous. "Lily," she said, extending a hand. "Lily Elizabeth Evans."

He glanced at her hand, then offered his. His palm was callused and strong, the raised scars on the backs of his hands brushing hers as he took hold of it, though he didn't give it a shake. Instead he raised her fingers to his lips, touching them briefly to her knuckles.

"Lily," he repeated softly. "My name is James Potter."

"James," she echoed. It slid comfortably from her lips.

She didn't notice he was still holding her hand in his until he shifted his free hand, resting it lightly on her hips. She was wearing jeans, of course. She was always wearing jeans when her mother wasn't pestering her about her clothes, time-travel through a Scottish castle notwithstanding, and James was curiously running his thumb over the material, marveling at its construction.

Or so she assumed. He might have been contemplating what lay beneath the fabric, but she wasn't sure she was ready to consider that possibility yet.

"You will need a gown," he said after a moment, clearing his throat and removing his hand. "Do ye have anything?"

She shook her head silently.

"Alright, then. I'll arrange it." A pause. "Lily," he said, and she looked up, the sound of it strangely delicate, as if he'd crafted it carefully on his tongue before saying it aloud.

"Yes, James?" she asked.

"We'd better get out of here before we get killed," he said.

"Oh," she realized, feeling her cheeks flush. "Yes. Right."

* * *

It was hard not to think of the wedding dress she was supposed to have worn on Saturday, only a few days away, when she'd planned to marry a long-familiar man in a black suit, not a stranger in a red and gold kilt. James looked well enough; his hair was slicked back from his face, skin polished with cleanliness, and his jacket—which certainly looked less silly on him than she thought clothes from this period should look on a man—was fitted perfectly to his broad shoulders. Unfortunately, the bruising around his eye had set in, the shadows above his cheeks purpled and swollen. It was something he could have charmed away or eased and instead opted not to, which was a distraction throughout the ceremony.

That, of course, and the fact that he wasn't the man she'd wanted to marry.

Worse, Lord Voldemort was there, and Greyback, and a collection of dirty, stern-looking men who were ostensibly members of James' clan. One, a grumpy man who managed to have both a false eye and a false leg like some sort of Scottish pirate, had been the one to bring Lily her gown. "Here, from Jamie," he'd said, almost intelligible in his thick brogue. He'd thrust it into her hands and then turned and left, not even sticking around long enough for her to realize who he'd meant.

The dress was mostly red, deep and crimson, surprisingly form-fitting and with long, tapered sleeves, a white damask beneath the soft and supple velvet. It was a beautiful gown, though Lily thought she looked a bit odd in it. Her _actual_ wedding dress—the one waiting for her three hundred and fifty years plus a few days away—was white, mostly tulle; a ballgown, and it certainly hadn't required this level of corset-lacing. Her face looked too pale, her auburn hair colorless against the gown.

Perhaps the worst thing about the ceremony was the contrast between Lord Voldemort's gleeful look of triumph and the somber expressions on the faces of James' collection of friends and allies, all of whom seemed to take the loss of James' alternate betrothal as a blow that Lily herself had dealt them. She understood that, in some abstract way. They didn't want her, and she didn't want them. The only thing that kept her from running out of the small stone church was the steady lock of James' gaze on hers, and the single word he said to her when he met her at the church:

"Reubaltaich."

The whole thing went by in a blur, and then the man with one eye was on his feet, heading towards them with a knife. Lily went rigid, startled, and James, seeing her distress, paused the man, taking the knife from him.

"Ye just have to repeat after me, ye ken?" he murmured to her, drawing a thin line in his wrist and then holding his hand out for hers. "Can ye do that?"

Lily's heart sank. Magic like this, with blood, was sacred. More than. There was no getting around it. They'd be bound together as long as their blood still ran in their veins. She wanted terribly to refuse, but now, like before, he was standing there bleeding for her against his will, and it was the second time in two days he had done so.

She held out her hand without an answer. He slid his thumb gently across her wrist, following with the knife so quickly and with such care she felt nothing but the fragility of his touch. Then the man with one eye gruffly tied their hands together, holding them in place as Lily held her breath, uncertain.

"Ye are Blood of my Blood," James said quietly, "and Bone of my Bone. I give ye my Body, that we Two might be One. I give ye my Spirit, 'til our Life shall be Done."

She repeated it back to him, stumbling only slightly on _til our life be done_ , and he gave her a smile that was more of a grimace. She returned with something she hoped was a better attempt, and beside them, the priest beckoned for a kiss.

She tilted her chin up, waiting, but James took hold of her waist first, gently. He pulled her in close, pausing just before their lips met, and slid his nose along hers; comforting her, asking her permission, which she granted with an inhalation, drawing it sharply into her lungs.

"Lily," he said, half-smiling, and kissed her.

She hadn't expected it to feel like much of anything. She'd kissed hello, goodbye, salutation and felicitation, and none of those had ever meant anything. She expected it to be something like that; just skin-to-skin contact, good intentions, and nothing else.

Only it wasn't.

His breath tasted a little like the mead he must have drunk, scented with spices, and he smelled clean, the way a river smells as it rushes between the trees. He filled her nose and her mouth and her lungs and it was a relief, in a way, her lips meeting his. It was as if she'd been running, sprinting at top speed, and had collided with safe harbor, with safety, with the rush of a current before landing smoothly on solid ground. He felt like sun; like too much time in the sun; like the earth when it was cool beneath the shade. Her heart raced and danced and leapt, away and back and forward, cast out on a gust of wind, and his lips were sweet, honeyed, wild. Like she'd pressed her tongue to the taste of adventure itself.

They pulled apart, and she was breathless. He was holding his breath, too. And from his seat in the audience, Lord Voldemort's smile faltered, catching something: a small detail gone awry.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife," said the priest, and abruptly, Lily's cheeks flamed.

She'd married another man. Somewhere Severus was alone and she was here, her hand in someone else's, her blood bound to a stranger she'd only met yesterday. She hadn't even thought of Severus when she'd kissed James Potter.

What had happened to her?

James, catching her expression, visibly faltered. There had been a stunned little smile on his lips after their kiss, a pleasant look of surprise, but it was gone now, the light of it dimmed almost to nothing.

"Well," Lord Voldemort said cheerfully, rising to his feet. "That's that, then. Shall we celebrate?"

Apt, Lily thought, as he was the only one with anything to celebrate.

She let James tuck her hand into the crook of his arm and followed, a floating sense of numbness filling her chest at the knowledge there would still be a long night ahead.

* * *

"I'm sorry, lass," James said, grimacing a little as he closed the door behind him, the raucous sounds echoing up from the Great Hall as she settled herself uncomfortably on the edge of the bed. "They're bawdy lads, Voldemort's men, and I fear they willna leave."

"This is all so primitive," Lily muttered, glancing at the finery of her dress and the bedding and scowling at it, wishing it more adequately reflected the rottenness of the situation. "It's barbaric."

"Well, this may surprise ye, lass, but it's no great pleasure for me to lie with a woman who shrinks from my touch," James said, his voice dry and reluctant again. "This wasna my choosing anymore than it was yours."

She glanced at him, more than tipsy; a little annoyed, too, and a little sorry, though she wasn't sure which feeling she wanted to indulge at the moment. "Who were you supposed to marry?" she asked bluntly, apparently opting for the former. "The rest of your friends seem to wish I'd never been born."

"I reckon they do," James said, and she glared at him. He raised his hands, shrugging. "You're just as unhappy to have me, Lily, as they are to have you. I dinna know why it's necessary to pretend."

"That man, though," she said, making a face. "With the eye, he's just so— _coarse_."

"Mad-Eye?" James said with a laugh. "He's soft as they come, lass. You canna let a missing leg put you off."

"He doesn't seem soft," she muttered grumpily. "He seems like he wants me to live a life of constant misery."

"Constant vigilance," James corrected, and she gave him a skeptical glance. "It's just something he says. Isna important."

She opened her mouth to say something, and then paused, suddenly remembering something she hadn't thought about yet. "He calls you Jamie," she recalled, and James gave her a slow, almost syrupy grin.

"He's known me since I was a wee scrap of a thing, Mad-Eye, and he's too old to change," he said with a laugh. "But I prefer if my wife dinna call me by a lad's name, ye ken?"

 _Wife_. There it was again. Her head and her morals spun and she grimaced, eyeing her hands. James had leaned closer as they spoke, but she shifted away, angling herself elsewhere.

"At least… tell me something," she urged him. "Tell me about her. Your erstwhile bride," she said with a moody laugh, and he shook his head.

"Well, I havena met her," James said, half-laughing as he leaned against the post of the bed. "It woulda been an arrangement, same as this one, to provide us some of the things we presently lack—though this one leaves us just as starving as we were before," he said grudgingly, "what with Voldemort taking as he does— _and_ with a lady of the house who isna wee bit experienced at running one, much less an entire clan."

She glared at him. "How do you know I have no experience?"

"Just a guess, lass." He leaned forward, resting his forehead against his arm where it propped him up against the bedpost. "If I am not the husband you wanted, Lily, I am verra sorry about that. But as we are both left with no other options, I expect we shouldna spend our wedding night locked in a fight we canna win."

She grimaced. He was right, but still. It wasn't like she was thrilled with the idea of opening her legs for some medieval Scot who, while nice enough, wasn't _at all_ the man she'd been in a relationship with for the past five years, and friends with long before that. She'd been with a few people before Severus had come to his senses and asked her out (most of them foolish regrets, ultimately, hardly even worth it) but this—while apparently tempting enough at times, if their kiss was to be believed—wasn't exactly what she'd dreamed about.

"Did you love him?"

She looked up, startled, to find James looking at her.

"Your betrothed," he clarified. "Was it… a love match, between ye?"

"Oh." Her voice was small and quiet. "Yes, yes it was." She cleared her throat. "But he, um. He's gone," she said softly, feeling her throat tighten. "He's gone now."

"Oh, Lily." James' voice carried a low hum of sadness and she looked up, surprised to find the amber in his eyes settling on hers with palpable sympathy. "I'm verra sorry to hear that. How did he die?"

"Oh no, he's—" She swallowed, half unable to think of a lie, half unable to speak. "It's… he's just, um—"

She trailed off, unsure what to say, and James cleared his throat after a moment.

"Perhaps," he said, pausing to carefully consider his words. "I willna try to fill his place, then." Another pause, a little tick of hesitation in his breath. "Perhaps," he said, "I'll simply be me, and you be you, and whatever we are together, Lily, let it be nothing like it was before. I wasna ready for you, nor you for me, but we can be something different now, can we not? No better or worse, just… us."

In the weighty pause that followed, he grimaced, shaking his head. "Perhaps it's a bit foolish."

"No, James, it's—" It wasn't foolish at all. It was, much to her surprise, precisely what she'd needed to hear. "It's nice," she said after a moment's pause. "I'd like that."

Perhaps Severus would understand. She tried to imagine telling him what had happened; instead, though, she could only picture him bent over his books, poring over his notes.

Briefly, a tiny voice in her mind echoed with something disconcerting.

What if he hadn't even noticed she was gone?

She felt James drawing her towards him before she fully realized what was happening, having been lost in the reedy hum of her darker thoughts until the moment she was colliding with his chest. She caught the hint of his scent again, that vivid sense of rivers rushing, and looked up to watch the amber shift to grey and green and back again, adjusting to the view of her face.

"Ye looked a bit lost," he said. "I thought perhaps I should find you."

"That's," she began, and felt her cheeks flush. "That's quite a line, James. Do you use that on all the girls?"

His mouth twisted upwards in a progression of animated stages, as if he'd fought his amusement for dominance and somehow, she'd won out. "I normally dinna have a problem keeping the attention of a lass, but I suppose you're na a usual one of them, are ye?"

She turned away, feeling silly. She felt doe-eyed and slight in his arms; like the heroine of a romance novel, which she resolutely _was not_. "You barely know me, James."

"I dinna know you at all, Lily," he agreed with a laugh, the sound of it light and airy as it brushed across her cheek. "I only know you are a dangerous woman, and a hell of a witch."

"Yes, and that's all you need to know," she assured him, a bit distracted by the shape of his mouth. It looked different when he was smiling like this, without restriction. He looked younger, freer, reckless and wild, and there was something about him now that was as familiar to her as her youth. To look at him was to remember sneaking out of her house; tiptoeing across the lawn; borrowing her mother's car without asking. It was that first sip of an amaretto sour on a _school night_ , makeup smeared across her eyes, kissing a boy she'd just met. It was putting on glitter for a rock show, placing her head to the ironing board and making her hair stiff and straight, tying her shirt above her navel and pulling her jeans down low.

Being in James' arms felt like breaking the rules, more dizzying than the mead she'd drunk, and the ghost of who she might have been if she'd never suffered a single consequence crept slowly out of her bones, seizing her fingers and directing her touch until she had tightened them with undeniable longing in the fabric of his shirt.

He shifted out of his jacket, letting it fall to the floor, and paused before brushing the hem of her dress, his fingers hovering above her décolletage. "Do ye need help," he said softly. "With… with the lacing?"

Her heart pounded, ricocheting through her ribs.

"Sure," she said, turning to place her hands against the bedpost. He rested his hands carefully on her waist, steadying her—or himself, unclear—and slid his hands smoothly over the blades of her shoulder, putting himself to work.

His movements were sure and measured, almost rhythmic with their precision. She felt her ribs creak from strain as the dress loosened around them, and James' hands brushed the bit of bare skin between the nape of her neck and the top vertebrae of her spine as she permitted the gown to fall from her shoulders, leaving only her shift.

"Your hands are warm," she said, dazed, and he smiled.

"I'm a wizard myself," he told her. "Just not quite so good as you." He turned her carefully, taking her hand in his, and exhaled softly across her knuckles, warming them. "Some things," he said quietly. "Some things I can do."

She blinked. Blinked again.

"Anything else?" she asked, voice just a touch above hoarse, and his mouth curved and bent, accommodating a smile that became a look of solemnity as he reached for her, carefully cupping his palm around the shape of her cheek.

Tentative would have been the wrong word for his kiss. It was more like testing, experimental, exploratory. He was tasting her with the way he ran the tip of his tongue over her lower lip, applying it with a gentle pulse of pressure. It was a meditative give and take, a brush of his lips to be met with hers, and then a little more, with a pause to see what she offered in return.

At first his hand remained on her cheek, but as she leaned closer, pressing the full weight of her palm against his chest, his fingers slowly traveled up from where he'd set them on her waist, taking a little more distance each time. Up to the base of her ribs, down to her hips. Up slightly higher, dragging his thumb up from the first to the second, then pressure to her waist, then down again to her hips. Up, just under the swell of her breast, then down, further in, lingering at her navel before falling lower.

And then his hands paused.

"Have ye been with a man before?" he asked her, and she nodded somewhat guiltily. It was an unhelpful time to think of the way Severus made love to her, which was detailed and practiced and as meticulous as his notes, equally academic. She enjoyed it thoroughly, but Severus was a man of concentration, at times as severe as his name suggested. There was a sense, with him, of getting it right, doing things by the book.

James was curious in a different way. Each new inch of her he'd gained by virtue of his touch brought a new expression of lightness to his face; a little new awe with each new bit of distance.

"Yes," she said. "And you?"

"No," James said, joking, "havena been with a man myself," and she smiled.

"Yes, but I meant—"

"I know what you meant." He pressed his forehead to hers, half-smiling. "Will ye think less of me, Lily, if I tell you I havena been with a woman?"

She blinked, surprised. He didn't exactly scream inexperience. "You haven't?"

"I'm a laird, Lily," he said with a chuckle. "My father died when I was still verra young, and I have responsibilities to my home, to my clan. Besides, I'm a rebel, at that. I didna have time to waste on stolen pleasures." He stroked the backs of his fingers against her cheek. "And I had a responsibility to my future wife," he told her softly, "though I didna ken who she might be."

 _Wife_. She was his _wife_.

Lily swallowed. "And are you disappointed?"

"With you? Ah, you're headstrong, Lily. You're trouble. Ye'll be the death of me, I reckon I'm quite sure of that." He drew her face up to his again. "But," he murmured to her lips, letting her savor the taste of a silver lining, "I couldna dreamt you. I coulda wished for many things in a wife," he murmured, "that she be beautiful and clever and strong, and still, I wouldna ken she'd be as beautiful or as clever or as strong as you are, Lily."

"Lily," he repeated, with a kiss this time that she returned, leaning into the taste of it. "Mo leannan. My Lily. _Mine_ ," he repeated, snaking an arm around her waist and drawing her so close to him she thought she might simply shatter in his hold, letting out a gasp that tore out from her mouth into his.

He slid one of her legs up—proving they could, in fact, be closer—and she felt the hard length of him pressing against her. An inch and he could slide inside her, and she'd be ready for him, too. Already she was aching, tied up in knots that pulsed for him, throbbing with each careful motion of his hips. He angled her knee wider, the entirety of her body suffering a jolt as his thigh brushed her clit.

"For a virgin," she told him, half-panting, "you really have a handle on this."

His mouth twitched with humor. "I'm a rebel, Lily. Surely you didna think I was too pure of heart."

He did it again, this time shifting lower so his hips rubbed against her. God, she could come like this, right now, without him even inside her. She felt like a teenager all over again, discovering the simple magic of friction. She remembered once thinking dry-humping was more fun than sex—that pretending at sex was much more exciting than the act of sex itself—but now she wished she could go back and tell her younger self that she was wrong; she was so, _so_ wrong.

This wasn't nearly enough. She dug her fingers into the back of James' neck and pulled his lips to hers, finding a way to tell him; to show him with her kiss how much she desperately wanted more.

"Do you want me to teach you?" she asked him, and he paused, his tongue darting hungrily over his lips.

"Show me," he said, taking hold of her hips and pressing her back against the bed. "Please."

She arched a brow, amused. "Have you never even seen a naked woman before?"

"Not one like you." His mouth twitched up. "And not one that's mine."

It was hard not to find his satisfaction with her somewhat compelling.

"Well, your first lesson is that a woman needs more than a man does," she told him, folding her arms over her chest. "So I want to see you first."

His mouth twitched up at one corner, then the other. "Verra well," he agreed, kicking off his boots, one and then the other, before lowering his fingers to the belt wrapped around his kilt. He let the belt fall, then the fabric; then eyed her for a moment before he reached over his shoulder, bunching the back of his shirt with one hand and tugging it over his head.

He let the shirt fall from his hand, kicking the kilt aside, and stood bare in front of her, permitting her to look. "Terrible view, I take it?" he asked, smiling somewhat roguishly at her. "What are your thoughts, lass?"

"My thoughts?" she echoed, unsure how to put them in words.

Primarily: that it might have been a mistake to make him go first.

He was, in a word, physical perfection. Which was not to say he was unblemished, as his body had as many scars as his hands and face, flecked all over his skin in crevices and marks—but the construction of him was faultless. He had crevices of muscle that bore evidence of use, of craftsmanship, all structured arms and broad shoulders and shapely chest. His stomach was a broad ripple of curves and angles leading to the defined slope of his hips, and perhaps at another moment she might have noticed the toned lines of his legs, long and firm, had something else not directed her attention to the unmistakable hardness that sat between them.

"Oh," she said faintly, taking a step around him, peering from a new and reprehensibly faultless angle to find that his arse, as she might have suspected, was positively carved from marble. "I take it you've, um." A pause, a sharp inhale caught between her hesitant teeth. "You seem to lift heavy things from time to time."

She watched him bite back a laugh, politely smothering it between his lips.

"Only when required," he assured her carefully, letting her continue her scrutinizing circle around him before reaching out, taking hold of her elbow gently with one hand. "Lass," he said softly. "Fair is fair."

She blinked, pausing in place, and nodded. There was really no point putting it off. She slid the shift from her shoulders, stumbling a little as she let it pool on the floor, and turned to face him, holding her breath.

He did her the kindness of not making her wait for judgment. "Mo leannen," he said, taking a step towards her, "you are." A pause, and then a kiss to the left side of her neck, the warmth of his sigh skating across her shoulder. Then a stroke to her clavicle, his finger sliding slowly between her breasts. "Perfect," he murmured, looking as if he were watching the motion of her breath, and she swallowed hard.

Perfect she most certainly wasn't. She was still betraying one man and lying to the other, and she would need more than several drinks and a few bleary-eyed glances for her to cross that line—but at this point, drawing it out would only make it worse.

"I'm going to… lie back," she said, clearing her throat as she fumbled for the bed behind her, sitting down and sliding herself back across the duvet. "And, um, then you'll just—"

"What do you like?" James asked, turning to face her, and she blinked.

"What?"

"How do ye like to be touched?" he asked, clarifying himself with a distinct lack of chagrin, and she stared at him, breathing hard.

"Oh," she said. "Well, um—"

He leaned forward, resting his palms on the bed, and in her surprise at his proximity, she instinctively clamped her thighs in place; the motion was such a nervous jolt of agitation her knees knocked together, and she let out a growling hiss of 'fuck' before turning her head away, embarrassed. He gave a low chuckle, climbing further on top of the bed and lightly kissing the bone of her patella, gently drawing her ankles apart.

"Show me," he beckoned quietly, and after settling himself near her, he drew her legs on either side of his hips, sitting patiently between them.

The ache inside her after seeing him—after _touching_ him, after breathing his air and feeling his pulse and politely asking her mind not to run wild with thoughts of his hands, his lips, his tongue—was adamant now, and she was grateful, despite her initial surprise, for the chance to relieve some of her festering need for pressure. She slid a hand down, circling the swollen lips of her cunt and dipping lower, inside her. His brows rose, surprised, as she let out a little hiss of need, trying unsuccessfully to trap it in her mouth as she drew her fingers out, sliding them on either side of her clit.

"This," she said with difficulty, "is, um. It's—"

"Let me try," he said, tugging her hips towards him with a look of determination, the white imprints of his teeth momentarily lingering on the swell of his lower lip. His hands fit comfortably around the circumference of her thighs and then dropped, cupping her bum. He brushed his knuckles over her clit and she moaned, clapping her hand over her mouth. "Did I hurt ye?" he asked, looking concerned, and she shook her head.

"No, it's—it's good, I just—"

"Do ye like," he began, and paused. "Other things?"

She blinked. "Like what?"

"Like—" A pause. "Stop me," he said, "if it's… if you dinna like it."

He leaned forward, one hand sliding up to press her hips flat against the mattress, and brushed his lips against her. He kissed her there like he'd kissed her on the mouth, with a slow, careful pulse of his lips, and then tentatively drew his tongue over her. She gasped, and he looked up.

"Bad?"

She shook her head wordlessly and he nodded, grasping the point, and dropped to lay flat on his stomach, her legs pushed up over his shoulders. The muscle of them shifted as she watched, his arms coming up around her thighs to pull her close as he lowered his mouth to the heat of her again. He made a slow motion with his lips, the warmth of his breath tingling against the sensitive flesh of her cunt, and as he slid his tongue inside her, she tightened her fingers in his hair, tugging at the roots.

"James," she whispered.

He responded with another kiss, gentle, and then a motion of his tongue. Up, down, around, swirling around her in a deep, fluid motion. Her hips jerked beneath his touch and he did it again. Again. He learned fast, too fast. He slowed down, sliding his thumb over the place his lips had just been. She shuddered and groaned. He did it again. Trial and error, pause for evaluation, repeat. He scraped his knuckles against her clit and she yanked at his head. "Too much," she growled, and he grinned, directing a kiss of apology to the mound of her pussy. Then he licked, south to north, and sucked lightly.

"Again," she said faintly.

He obliged.

She was twisting and writhing beneath him, hips held unsuccessfully in place with his left hand as he slid the thumb of his right one against her, and—once, twice, a third, a shift of his palm to cup around her as she ground against him—she was shaking, hands fisted in this sheets as her body went rigid and then flooded with release, tingling down to her toes as James lifted his head, curiously watching her face.

"Is that," he said, and paused. "Does that mean—"

She reached down, taking hold of his chin and dragging his face up to hers to press her lips against his without finesse, with urgency, with a barely stifled moan until he had fumbled to fit between her legs, the leaking head of his cock angled at the slit of her cunt. He glanced at her, blinking with momentary hesitation, and she slid her fingers through the thick strands of his black hair.

"James," she said softly, "you're my husband now." _Husband_. The impact of it struck her square in the chest, and he nodded slowly, understanding.

"Still," he said. "I would prefer if ye… wanted me. Like I—" He broke off, resting his forehead against her. "Like I want to have you," he said, his voice a heated barely-whisper, and she drew his lips down to hers.

"I want to," she told him, tightening her fingers in his hair. "You can—"

A swallow. A pause. A kiss of desperation as she gave in, discarding the last of her reservations; the lost face that lingered at the back of her mind. She would find her way back to Severus somehow, and when she did… She couldn't think about that now. Right now, her survival depended on James Potter, and he needed three words from her.

"I want you," she whispered, and with that, James pushed himself into her, prompting them both to a collective, visceral gasp.

His hips thrusted against hers with patience, slowly, carefully, gradually gaining speed as he went deeper, pouring himself into her as she disentangled herself from any sense of control. It was like a panic attack, just as uncontained and frantic, but this time, as she lost herself, she wasn't spinning out; she wasn't cast out into oblivion alone. James was there, the broad presence of him grounding her in place as they both came, sweat from his brow glinting across her clavicle.

He let his weight drop against her, shifting from his arms to lay against her chest, and while he was solid as a rock, she felt oddly comforted by his body pressing into hers. She ran her fingers over his spine, toying with his skin, and gradually he rolled onto his side, looking at her.

This was it, she thought. His wife. Her husband.

The reality of it flung itself onto her, heavier even than he had been. She was promised to someone else, and she'd betrayed him. Necessity or not, she'd enjoyed the feel of another man; she'd promised her life and her body to someone who wasn't the man she'd said I love you to just the day before.

Did that make her a liar, or just a fool?

"Perhaps we should sleep," James said. He was watching her face, the light of the candles flickering over them both to swath them in uneven glimpses of color, and she turned away, reaching for her shift.

"Perhaps we should," she agreed, slipping it back on and getting into bed beside him, facing her back to him.

She waited, but she never heard the sound of rhythmic breathing. Both of them, it seemed, could do nothing but lie awake, separately caught in a web of their respective sacrifices.

* * *

 _ **a/n:**_ _So, this was YET AGAIN a one-shot that got carried away, so the next two parts will post over the next two days. Happy Halloween! If you have any interest in my original work,_ _ **Lovely Tangled Vices**_ _(my latest book, featuring rival witch sisters, a coven masquerading as a sorority, and my staple: inadvisable romance) is now available on Amazon. You can find links to it (including a wild cocktail recipe, be careful) on olivieblake dot com. See you back here tomorrow for more rebel lairds!_


	105. Rebel North, Part II

**Rebel North, Part II**

 _Pairing:_ Jily (James Potter x Lily Evans)

 _Universe:_ magical _Outlander-_ esque AU (time travel + Scottish Highlands)

 _Rating:_ M for sex

 _Summary:_ Part II of _Rebel North,_ continued. Having unwillingly married a Scottish laird who's been all but exiled, Lily has no choice but to join him and his men on their progress back home. Along the way, though, she learns there's far more to her new husband than meets the eye, and she manages to make herself useful in a time of less sophisticated magic.

* * *

The next morning was no particular thrill. Opening her eyes to a world she'd inadvertently chained herself to (until it had become willing, she thought with a grimace) was hardly ideal, and especially not when a near-stranger was stirring beside her. James turned his head, looking at her.

"I hope it wasna too terrible," he said in a low voice, and for as much as she wanted to deny everything— _especially_ her own pleasure—she found she could as easily let him linger in disappointment as she could kick a puppy.

"It wasn't, James," she said, turning onto her side to face him. He shifted to face her, brow furrowed with concern. "It's not… it's not anything you did, it's just—"

"The situation?" James guessed.

"Yes." She swallowed. "Yes, it's… all a bit much, I'm afraid."

"Maybe Dumbledore can help ye, Lily. Maybe ye dinna need to stay." He looked perfectly miserable as he reached out, brushing her hair from her cheek. "I dinna wish ye to be unhappy."

"I—" This was torture. Exquisite torment, particularly as she could see the shape of his chest, the muscle of his arms. She could feel the heat of him beside her, bringing an unavoidable flush to her cheeks. Was she really _this_ kind of girl? Could she really throw away the relationship she'd had before, all because the man in her bed was—admittedly—quite up to the task of bedding her?

She shoved it aside.

"I'm not unhappy, James. It'll just… take some getting used to." She exhaled, shaking her head. "I'll need some time to adjust."

He nodded. In the spare glow of morning light from the window his black hair took on a rosy sheen, the wild thickness of it spilling onto his forehead as his eyes changed again, softening to amber. "Ye'll have it. All the time ye need. If you dinna wish to—" He broke off, hesitating. "If ye dinna wish to have me again, you willna need to, seeing as we'll hardly have the time. It's a verra long ways to my family home."

"What?" Lily asked, blinking. "Wait, we're leaving the castle? Today?"

"Yes." His mouth quirked slightly. "I told ye you would need to run a household, did I not?"

"Yes, but—"

"Our marriage is for Voldemort to be rid of me. We dinna have a choice, mo leannan."

"I know, but—"

She broke off, suddenly remembering something.

"What does that word mean?" she asked, frowning as she noted his repeated use of unfamiliar Gaelic. "You called me that last night."

"Oh, ah." James' cheeks flushed slightly. "Nothing, dinna worry. Just a pet name."

"A pet name?" Lily asked, arching a brow. "What, like… darling?"

"Aye, something like that," he said, not quite looking at her. "You havena much to pack, I reckon?" he continued, changing the subject back to what it had been and chuckling to himself. "While we're on the road, Lily, ye'll have to tell us how a lass such as yourself came to be without even a single worldly possession."

"Oh, um—" She hardly wanted to have that conversation. "Yes, I suppose I'll need to find some things. Some clothes," she added, clearing her throat. "It'll be quite cold, won't it?"

"Yes," James said, nodding, "but dinna worry. I'll have Mad-Eye fetch ye something."

"Oh, you don't have to do that," Lily said warily, and to that, James gave her a bright, ferociously adamant look of opposition.

"You're my wife, Lily," he told her, though it seemed to mean something different to hear him say it this time. "You have ownership now of my name, my clan, and you have the protection of my body, if ye require it." He sobered for a moment, contemplating her. "This is what it means to be one with me, reubaltaich, and to be mine, as I am yours. From now on, you will never stand alone, and as for your needs, whatever they are—" He shrugged, the sheet slipping from his shoulder. "Ye willna want for nothing, Lily, so long as I can help it."

Lily swallowed hard. It was… an excessive offer, to say the least.

Appealingly so.

"James," she said softly, reaching out for him, and his eyes widened for a moment with surprise, darkening to slate as he looked at her. She brushed her fingertips across his lips, saying thank you with the quietest of pressures, and he closed his eyes, leaning into her touch before snaking a hand out around her waist, pulling her closer.

He was still bare beneath the covers. She felt her heart leap in her chest, plummeting rapidly elsewhere, and as his eyes floated open, she could already taste the closeness of him; the still-strange, newly-familiar sense of being near him, breathing in the clean smell of his hair.

"Will ye kiss me, Lily?" he asked her, the words melting on her lips, and she shivered a little, letting him mistake her wanting for cold and permitting herself to be pulled closer, sheltered within the broadness of his frame.

 _You have the protection of my body._

"James," she said again, gratitude rasping into her voice, and tilted her chin up, touching her lips tentatively to his. He let her linger there, meandering slowly into the kiss, before his arms grew tight around her, yanking her closer, _closer_ , hiking the material of her shift up to slide his palm smoothly over her thigh.

She could feel the tightness of his fingers where they fisted in her shift, holding it at her waist, all the tension between them channeled into the consequence of his grip as he slid her leg between his, putting skin on skin. Lily, feeling bold, ran her tongue across his lower lip, tasting him, and in response he groaned, lost to even the smallest of her movements. How many times had she made love to Severus knowing he was thinking of something else? Some research, some other thing he had to do, some stress or worry? And here was James, a man forced out from his rightful position because of her, treating her kiss like it was the fullest of luxuries. She parted her lips to deepen the kiss, shifting to take hold of the hand that had stilled at her side and easing the tightness of his fist, twining her fingers with his.

He was content to hold her hand, gently running his thumb over her knuckles, and she placed his hand on her hip, sliding it up to her ribs. She felt his breath stutter with understanding, with anticipation, and then he covered one of her breasts with his hand, smoothing his callused palm over it before tweaking lightly at her nipple. She gasped, the sound bursting out without her permission, and in answer he bucked his hips against hers, no longer quite so patient. He rolled on top of her, the sheet falling from his back as she traced her fingers up his spine, and it occurred to her that perhaps the night before hadn't been some trick of ale or desperation.

She wanted him, badly—and what did that say about her?

She went rigid beneath him and he stopped, pulling back to look at her with confusion on his face.

"Did I hurt ye?" he asked, voice gravelly with concern, and she swallowed hard.

She wanted terribly to have him again, to feel him. She wanted nothing more than to arch her hips up, to tell him to fill her, to whisper to him how safe she felt in his arms. She wanted to cry out obscenities about wanting to fuck him—truly, to _be_ fucked by him—and every single one of them choked her into anguished silence, uncertain how she could possibly want him so badly even while knowing he wasn't the one.

"No," she whispered. "No, but I—"

"JAMIE." It was Mad-Eye's voice. "JAMIE, GET YER ARSE OUT OF BED, WE'RE LEAVIN'."

James winced, turning over his shoulder. "I'm a bit busy, Mad-Eye," he shouted, and the door burst open, leaving Lily to let out a squeak of dismay as James sat upright, blocking her from view.

"Let's go," Mad-Eye said gruffly, his good eye falling approvingly on where Lily was tucked behind James. "Congratulations on yer virility, lad, but it'll have to wait."

"I dinna appreciate you breaking into my bedchambers, Mad-Eye," James sighed, carelessly raking a hand through his tousled hair. "My wife requires a certain amount of privacy, ye ken?"

"Oh, I ken, alrigh'," Mad-Eye said with a laugh. "Proud of ye, Jamie, for keepin' the lass wantin' more at this hour—"

"Mad-Eye," James growled warningly.

"—but still, put yer cockstand away, we canna stay much longer. Remus needs ye," he added, and Lily felt the blades of James' shoulders going stiff.

"So soon? I thought it would be at least a week yet until the next moon."

Mad-Eye shook his head. "Days, lad."

Lily frowned, glancing questioningly at James. She couldn't see his expression from where she was hiding behind him, but she caught evidence of stress along the back of his neck.

"Get Lily some clothes," James said, suddenly a laird again. Even like this, naked and admonished, Lily had to admit he had a presence; a palpable sense of authority, which was hard not to admire. "We'll leave in an hour."

Lily blinked. "An hour?" she asked tentatively, and James twisted around to look at her. "That's… it's just so soon—"

"Mad-Eye'll get you some clothes," James said. "I dinna have a choice, it must be now. Unless there's something else you'll be needing?"

Yes, she thought. To revisit the room on the seventh floor, to go home, to have never wanted you.

To have never _tasted_ you.

"No," she said eventually, and James nodded.

"Verra well," he said, and slid out from the covers, reaching for his kilt. "We'll be off shortly, then."

* * *

She couldn't decide if it was better or worse to be mounted in front of James on his horse. She wasn't exactly proficient on her own, but still. She hardly needed the steady rise and fall of his chest to remind her of her disastrous conflict about him—which manifested in the occasional drifting of her thoughts to the feel of his thighs astride hers, or the way his arms wrapped around her. Luckily, he seemed equally distracted, muttering things in Gaelic to Sirius or to Mad-Eye as they went, but paying little attention to her. Something was worrying him; whoever this Remus person was, he was important to James, and by the looks of it, to the others as well.

They hadn't ventured far from Hogwarts when James called their travel party to a halt, pausing in the midst of the castle's surrounding forest. "Wait here," he said to Lily, who blinked, startled.

"What? _No_ ," she said through gritted teeth, glancing skeptically around. "Alone?"

"I'll have someone wait with ye," James promised. "Mad-Eye willna let anything happen to ye—"

"I'm going with you," Lily insisted staunchly, and James grimaced.

"Reubaltaich, dinna be stubborn today, I beg ye. It'll be naught but a moment, I swear it—"

"I'm not going to wait here, James," she told him. "Why can't I come?"

He grimaced. "It's dangerous."

"So? _This_ is dangerous," she reminded him, waving a hand at the forest and, more importantly, at his ragged crew of disciples. "I'd rather be closer to you than stay here with people I hardly know."

At that, his expression wavered slightly, humor passing over it. "Ye hardly know _me_ , lass, in case you didna remember."

She set her jaw, irritated. "Still. You're not leaving me behind."

He scowled slightly, glancing at an expectant Sirius and then back at her.

"Lily, you dinna understand—"

"It's a werewolf," Lily said, and James blinked. "Right?"

"I," James began, immediately faltering. "I wouldna say—"

"It _is_ ," Lily said firmly, "and I can help him. Or her. Or whoever." She folded her arms over her chest. "I helped you, didn't I? And I have—" She blinked, remembering what she'd transferred from her cast-off jeans and placed in the little pouch she'd been given to keep tied around her waist. "I have monkshood, which will ease his transition, and—"

He seemed to have connected the offer with something that might succeed in helping, which even in her rightful time in history was woefully minimal.

"Alright then, lass. Sirius," James barked over his shoulder, holding out a hand to help Lily down from the saddle. She didn't hesitate, instead exhaling relief, letting him lift her with an inconceivable lack of effort before setting her on the ground. "Let's go," James said, steadying her as she nearly stumbled into his chest, finding the earth beneath her feet slightly uneven.

She looked up, her breath catching slightly at her view of him from where she leaned against his chest. His black hair was softer in the forest light, a crown of trees forming regally around his head, and at this proximity, his eyes fell like darkened jade on hers.

"Dinna be afraid of him," James said quietly to her. "He's kind, Remus. But his condition pains him."

"I'm not afraid," Lily said, and to that, James' smile broadened.

"No, I suspect you dinna fear much, mo leannan," he said to her before setting her upright on her own, beckoning for her to follow. "Now come on," he said, gesturing over his shoulder. "We have to find him yet."

* * *

The man called Remus was shivering slightly in the cold, wearing little more than rags. He was young, like James and Sirius, but had scratches and scars all over him; clearly the result of his transformations. There was a faint yellowness to his eyes as he looked up at them, fixing temporarily on her, and Lily tried not to falter, but she hung back in deference to James and Sirius as they approached carefully, hands outstretched.

"Remus?" James said. "Moony, can ye hear me?"

Remus turned his head slowly, acknowledging James' presence, but didn't take his eyes from Lily.

"This is Lily," James said, exchanging a worried glance with Sirius, "and she knows how to help ye, Moony. If you let her, she can help ye."

Remus let out a soft snort, his feet pawing with agitation at the ground. Lily could see he was missing a shoe.

"He'll get frostbite," she hissed to James, who didn't look at her. He shook his head, holding a warning finger to his lips.

"Moony," Sirius said, his voice pitched to a low, soothing tone, "it's nearly time. But she can make it easier, ye ken?"

Remus gave a growled-out sort of scoff.

"Just give it a chance, would ye? Ye stubborn arse," Sirius muttered under his breath, surprising Lily. "For once in your life, Remus Lupin, would ye do as you're told? Ye bloody cunt," he added, and though Lily was taken aback by the comment, it seemed to have done the trick. The yellow faded from Remus' eyes, becoming a lighter, softer brown, and he seemed to shake free of it for a moment, his posture going slack.

"Padfoot," croaked Remus, and then, with a slow glance at James, "Prongs."

"Well look at you, ye menace," Sirius drawled, beckoning Lily forward. "Seems the monster within manages some reprieves."

James laughed, the tension broken, and Lily took the opportunity to step closer, holding out the monkshood flower. "I don't have time to make a full wolfsbane potion before you turn," she said apologetically, "but if you just… if you crush this up, there's a bit of a waxy film, and if you rub it on your top lip, just under your nose—"

"Who's this?" Remus asked, glancing at James. "Got yourself a real witch, then, Prongs?"

He was English. Lily was stunned. She hadn't expected him to be so human so quickly, but it seemed the other two were favorable influences.

"I'll have ye ken this is my wife, ye abominable creature," James said, now perfectly relaxed. "Sorry you missed the wedding, but it was rather unplanned."

"Well, it's wonderful to make your acquaintance," Remus said, continuing to surprise Lily with every word he spoke. He reached out a hand, letting her place the monkshood on his palm. "Under my nose, you said? Like some sort of inhalant?"

"Yes," she said, blinking. "It'll ease your symptoms as you transition."

"I'm surprised you're so at ease," Remus remarked, crushing the bulb of the flower between his fingers. "It's not too many people who can stand to be around werewolves."

"Well—" She broke off, recalling his missing shoe. "May I?" she asked, reaching for her wand, and when Remus bared his teeth, hissing at the sudden motion, James launched himself in front of her.

"Careful," he warned her over his shoulder, one hand keeping Remus at bay. "He's an old friend, but still. This close to the full moon, there's no predicting."

"Right," she said softly, reaching slowly for her wand. "Um, may I?"

"May you poke me with a stick?" Remus asked, blinking back the brief return of his wolfishness, and she gave an uncomfortable laugh.

"No, um… just, this," she explained, transfiguring the leaves below his bare foot into a boot to match the other, wrapping around his foot and securing itself. "There," she said, pleased. She hadn't had a chance to do that in a while; Severus usually insisted on fixing things. "And if you'd let me mend your clothes—"

"Let you? My god, please," Remus said, blinking with wonderment as he wiggled his toes. "This is the most human I've felt in weeks."

James warily stepped away, letting Lily venture forward to repair the holes in Remus' clothes, coming close enough watch the fabric stitch itself over. She relaxed into Remus' presence, moving slowly and carefully, and when she was done, he looked at her with a deep, solemn appreciation.

"I am forever in your debt," he told her.

"What, for this?" she asked doubfully, shaking her head. "This is nothing. The wolfsbane will be more complicated, but—"

"Wolfsbane?" Remus echoed.

"Yes, it's a potion to help you between full moons," Lily explained. "To, um. Keep your more troublesome instincts at bay, I suppose you might say."

"Would that mean he can travel with us?" Sirius asked, stepping forward, and Lily turned over her shoulder.

"Yes, of course," she said. "He'll live a perfectly normal life with wolfsbane, minus the actual full moon—but so long as you all take precautions, I see no reason why he couldn-"

She broke off, finding herself enveloped in a hug from Sirius that prevented her from continuing, the rest of the statement muffled into his shirt.

"Thank you," Sirius said fiercely, his grip on her so tight she wondered if her ribs might break. "Ye've no idea, none at all, how much I thank ye."

"Oh, um. You're welcome," Lily managed to say, blinking with surprise as he released her. "It's nothing, really, it's just—"

She turned, catching James' eye. He was looking at her with a strange expression on his face; something like surprise, but also tinged with a bit of pride. As if he were proud of _her_ , in fact. _I'm not the one who's good at potions_ , she nearly said, breaths away from saying Severus' name, but instead, she let him step forward to take her hands.

"You canna possibly imagine," James told her, "how much ye've helped us. Remus especially, but Sirius, too. And me."

"Oh, it's nothing," she said, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Really, it's… it's not difficult, it's—"

"It isna difficult, to look a man in the eye and make him feel he isna a monster? No, Lily," James told her, slipping a finger below her chin and lifting her gaze to his. "It is so difficult most men canna manage it, but you," he exhaled, pausing to shake his head.

In the moment, the trees rustling overhead and leaves displacing themselves at their feet, she could have sworn she saw something change in his eyes.

"I couldna wished for a better woman," he told her quietly.

She wanted to kiss him.

She wanted desperately, achingly, to throw her arms around his neck, to pull his lips to hers, to thank him; to cry and rage and sob that he could make her feel things she didn't wish to feel.

Instead, she merely nodded, stepping back.

"I'm happy to help," she said. "Though I should start working on the potion. I'll need to gather ingredients, get it brewing. He can start taking it the moment the full moon has passed."

James blinked, registering the distance she'd put between them, and gave a tentative nod.

"Verra well," he said, his voice slightly clipped. "Then I reckon we should get started."

* * *

James decided to camp for a few days on the outskirts of the wood, biding their time until the full moon. He spent some of that time with her, helping her to find the necessary ingredients for wolfsbane, but much of it was spent in the woods with Remus and Sirius. When he returned, Lily often noticed twigs in his hair, new marks and scratches on his arms; she asked him what he was doing but he only ever demurred, claiming it was "just lads being scoundrels, dinna worry, reubaltaich."

She noticed, though, that the rest of James' crew—Mad-Eye, a set of twins she couldn't keep straight named Prewett, a stocky man called Caradoc Dearborn, and a mostly-cheerful one called Benjy Fenwick—didn't seem to find anything odd about these occurrences. They mostly kept away from her, speaking to each other exclusively in Gaelic, and weren't overly fond of her, though she noticed they were typically hanging around to stand guard in her presence.

Considering they seemed more concerned with her than with the ominous threat of open woods, though, she began to wonder if this was less about her safety than it was about James' privacy. After all, Voldemort had certainly hinted at James' involvement in something nefarious, or at the very least, secretive.

"What's he up to?" she asked one of the twins. She was pretty sure this one was Fabian, though there was no telling.

"Never ye mind, lass," said probably Fabian, possibly Gideon.

Lily, however, was never one to easily give up. She reached discreetly for her wand, conjuring a series of glittering charmed birds. She'd always been especially good with charms, though Severus had considered that more a party trick than a skill. She'd told him party tricks _were_ skills, and not everything required being bent over a musty cauldron.

"Hey, look over there," she said, pointing to the flashes of wings, and the person who actually might have been Gideon—now that she thought about it—pivoted sharply, taken aback.

"Ooh, shiny," said 90% probably Gideon, and Lily slipped away, making her way into the trees where she'd last seen James.

She followed a set of large footsteps, presuming them to be his, but much to her dismay, she was deep into the woods by the time they disappeared entirely, as if he'd vanished altogether. She blinked, staring around the soft earth of a forest clearing, and wandered its perimeter looking for something; broken twigs, perhaps, or something similar she could track. She saw nothing. She frowned, bewildered, and turned around to head back when she noticed something very interesting indeed about woods.

That when you didn't know them very well, it was a very simple matter to get lost in them.

"Fuck," she said under her breath, something catching her attention from out of sight as she whipped around, holding her wand out. "Who's there? James?" she called into the trees. "Sirius?"

She hesitated, then attempted, "Remus?"

Nothing.

She swallowed hard, trying to find the footsteps she'd used to make her way here. She couldn't identify the direction she'd come from and grimaced, finding any trace of footsteps far more difficult to see in this softer, more malleable earth. She took a step, about to simply guess at which way she'd come, when she heard another sound behind her.

She pivoted quickly, wand outstretched. "James," she said.

No answer.

Where could he have gone?

What could he have been up to with Remus?

Something itched in her brain.

Hadn't Remus called him something else?

"Prongs?" she called tentatively, and then something moved behind the trees.

It took her a moment to realize it was a deer; a stag, specifically, and one with a full set of antlers. It gave her the oddest impression she'd seen it before, and she blinked with the recollection of the trees against James' head, forming a crown of branches precisely the same way the antlers curled around the head of the stag.

"Prongs?" she asked again, and the stag flickered quickly out of sight. Then she heard rustling, twigs snapping; footsteps. She tightened her fingers on her wand. "I swear to god, whoever you are, you'd better reveal yourself or I'll—"

"Lily, is it really so verra difficult to do as you're told?" came an exhausted version of James' voice, and Lily let her wand fall with a sigh, stomping towards it.

"James, if you would just—"

She broke off, spotting him where he was standing behind the circle of trees, reaching down for his kilt.

He was…

She swallowed.

He was naked.

He was _spectacularly_ naked.

And—

"Your back," she blurted loudly, and he turned, frowning slightly at her.

"What?"

"Your back, it's—" She shook herself, launching forward. "It's bleeding," she explained, about to reach out towards the trickle of blood that ran parallel to his spine until he turned to face her, distracting her with his… well, and his—

She blinked.

"Yes?" James asked, obviously stifling a laugh at her expense.

"You're naked," she said.

He shrugged. "Yes. A bit."

"A bit?"

"It happens."

"You—" She blinked, piecing it together: _Prongs_. "You're the stag, aren't you?"

He grimaced. "Yes. Which you shouldna know."

"But why would you—"

"For Remus," he said. "So he willna be alone when he turns."

"But—"

"Lily."

"But you," she blurted, stopping as he stepped closer. "But you… you lied to me," she attempted lamely, looking anywhere but at his chest, or his…

She swallowed.

"Yes. Because it isna permitted," he said, lips curling up with a grim bit of reticence. "A dastardly offense, all of this. Consorting with monsters, transforming ourselves—"

"You didn't trust me?" Lily demanded, and when James' expression faltered, she glared at him. "Turn around," she snapped, and he balked, obviously unused to being told what to do. "Now," she clarified impatiently, "before you get infected."

His eyes narrowed, but he obeyed. This was, of course, only marginally helpful. She could no longer see his dick or his abs, but she _was_ , however, subjected to an eyeful of his sculpted back and arse, which were certainly no poorer a view. She forced herself to be as clinical as possible, casting a healing charm to repair the gash on his back.

"There," she said, watching the skin stitch itself over the same way Remus' clothes had done before stepping away, averting her gaze in relief. "And now, of course, I'll head back. To camp." She swallowed, pivoting sharply. "Just as soon as I figure out which way it is, and then—"

She broke off again, catching motion from her periphery as the frame of his shoulders vibrated soundlessly.

He was _laughing_ at her.

"Don't," she hurled at him, and he laughed harder still, the sound joyously escaping his lips this time as she glared at him.

"Is there something you wish to tell me, mo leannan?" he managed to ask. "Perhaps something you feel you need to say about any of this?"

He was infuriating.

"Yes, actually," she sniffed, lifting her chin. "How is it you can't heal yourself, but you can somehow transform into a deer?"

He shrugged. "Necessity, I reckon."

"And why a deer?"

"Couldna say, lass. Was simply the form which came most naturally."

"And you do this for Remus," Lily said irritably. "So he won't be alone?"

James nodded. "Isna easy," he said. "Feeling alone. Feeling different."

She forced her mouth, which ached to be on his, into a scowl.

"You should have told me," she said. "I would have understood."

For once, he managed to look a bit remorseful. "You may be right about that."

"Yes. I am."

"I'm verra sorry," he told her, softening. "I didna think anyone would understand, ye ken? I shoulda known better—shouldna assumed, seeing as you've never given me a reason to doubt ye," he clarified, "and for that, I am truly sorry, Lily."

She didn't know what she'd expected, but it certainly hadn't been that.

"You're sorry?" she echoed.

"Yes," James said, nodding soberly. "Do ye forgive me?"

God, he was impossible.

She turned her head away. "You're going to freeze like that."

"Well, you didna say I could dress, did you?"

At that, she looked up, startled. "What?"

"You were upset," he said. "I reckon listening was the more important task."

"But—" She stared at him. "What?"

"Was I wrong?" he asked, stepping closer to her.

She was breaths away from him now. If he even inhaled too sharply, his bare chest might brush against the fabric of her dress. She counted the little skips of his pulse near his throat and wondered how loudly his heart was beating; whether his heart, like hers, had raced.

"Tell me, Lily," he said softly to her, "what would you have me do?"

She shut her eyes.

Take me. Have me. Trust me.

Kiss me. Fuck me. Love me.

"James," she said miserably, driven half mad with torment, and he reached out, curling a hand around her cheek.

"Would ye have me, Lily?" he asked her.

She shivered, raising a hand to his chest and placing her palm against it, smoothing her fingers out slowly. She savored the heat of him, felt his pulse quicken beneath her hand, and scraped her nails lightly over his chest, lower to the ridges of his stomach, finally letting her fingers settle around his hip to stroke her thumb beside the throbbing stiffness of his cock.

He was hard for her already. She was, without reservation, desperately wet for him, her breathing shallow and forced. He leaned forward, as if he might have kissed her, but merely slid his nose along her cheek, lips finding her ear.

"Say yes," he murmured to her.

Was there any other answer?

"Yes," she exhaled dizzily, and he swept her up in a fluid, rapid motion, yanking her into him with a growl and backing her against the broadness of the tree behind her.

She'd known him no more than a week, had made love to him only once, and yet her body molded perfectly into his, her back arched to press every inch of herself against him. Her breasts strained against the fabric of her dress and he bent his head, dragging her neckline lower, passing his tongue in tiny, circular swirls over the bud of her nipple until she cried out in desperation, tangling her fingers in his hair. He glanced askance, eyes wild, and located his kilt, moving to take hold of it; probably to lay it (and subsequently, her) over the ground, but she couldn't release him, not even for a moment.

"No," she whispered. "Now. Here."

She could see the glazed look of hunger on his face. "Are ye sure?"

In answer, she yanked her skirt up and grabbed his hand, propping one leg over his hips and dragging the tips of his fingers over the wetness between her thighs. "Do you feel that?" she whispered to him, watching him convulse with longing. "It means I want you, James. It means I want to have you _now_ , right now, circumstances be damned."

He let his fingers saturate with the feel of her, stroking her until she let out a mewl of impatience.

"James, _please_ —"

He grinned, bending to press his lips to her neck. He slid his tongue over her skin, languidly continuing to stroke her, exploring in broader and broader circles until she was sure her knees were going to buckle beneath her.

"James, you bloody impossible arseh-"

He kissed her gruffly, his tongue slipping between her parted lips as she gasped, clinging to him. She was hovering around the brink of orgasm now, precariously balanced on the edge of it, and he slid a finger inside her, then another, working them in and out of her with criminal patience, her breath coming short in his mouth.

She shoved his hand away before she came, yanking her skirts up (wishing, not for the first time, to be in one of her more helpful miniskirts if only for purposes of ease) and he grasped her hips with both hands, effortlessly lifting her to slide his cock inside her in nearly the same motion, both of them choking on groans of satisfaction.

"Yes, like that, James," she said, deliriously pleading with him as he thrusted into her, her skirts shoved up to her waist. She didn't care who saw, didn't care who heard; she only knew she wanted him, _needed_ him; she could think of nothing but him, her vision blurred to everything but the forest's crown of branches around his head. "James," she gasped, legs and arms and cunt squeezed tight around him as she came, the rippling pulse of her orgasm thundering down the entire length of her limbs.

He came with a strangled groan after a few more thrusts, falling against her as she went limp. She couldn't begin to imagine the pair they must have made, him stark naked and covered in scratches and dirt and her with her dress yanked not only up past her hips but also down below her breasts. Still, she refused to release him, holding tightly to claw her nails into his shoulders, digging into the span of his back. The moment they parted, she was sure the remorse would set in; the sensation of wrongness, of having been so impossibly selfish she could manage to forget what her life had once been.

But for now, with him still inside her, she could think only about the way he filled her up, from the tiny little vacancies of her heart she hadn't known she possessed to the voracious craving she had for him, which she'd never known herself to have for anyone before. With him this close to her, holding her like this, she could forget anything else had ever existed, and that alone was far too blissful to release.

"Is this real?" James asked her raggedly, breaking the spell of silence. "Can this be possible? I didna ken I could want something so badly," he murmured, an uncanny mirror of her thoughts. "Does it always feel like this, Lily?"

He seemed to be begging her for an answer, for reassurance, and she wished she could have answered yes. She wished with all her conviction that she could say she had felt this for Severus, the man she'd always loved. The man she'd promised her life to.

But she knew it would be a lie, and that, out of everything, was the worst of it.

"No," she whispered to him, closing her eyes and curling her fingers into the dark waves of his hair. "No, James, it doesn't."

"I canna breathe," he muttered to her shoulder, shaking his head. "Thinking of you, watching you, my breath comes short. I fear ye will be the death of me, reubaltaich, for how much I want ye. You could ask me to cut out my heart and leave it at your feet and still, I wouldna hesitate to slice open my chest."

She shivered, wondering if this between them was madness, or possibly something else.

Something worse.

"Are ye cold?" he asked, leaning back with concern, and she forced a nod, disentangling herself from him.

"Yes," she said, and with all the restraint she possessed, added, "We should get back."

* * *

The first full moon after Samhain was, magically speaking, not to be underestimated. They had camped in place for days, anticipating its effects, and the day they knew the moon would be at its fullest left Lily feeling oddly restless.

"I'm worried, that's all," she said when James questioned her about it. She'd been almost finished with the wolfsbane, which would help Remus recover well enough to join them on the road. She would have enough to ease his condition until the next full moon, but she felt helpless for having little to do to prevent his turning that evening. "What if he gets hurt?"

"Ah, Remus only looks harmless," James said with a laugh. "He's got a set of claws, our Moony. You needna worry about him, reubaltaich."

She bit her lip, not wanting to confess it wasn't actually Remus she was worried about. James had come back from the woods that day with his arms covered in thin, shallow slashes, and Sirius had a freshly gruesome gash beside his eye.

"Just try not to do anything stupid," she told James flatly, and his mouth twitched at the corners.

"Me, lass? I almost never do stupid things," he assured her. "Aside from marrying reckless English rebels from time to time, I reckon I'm as careful as they come."

"He's a wolf, James," she said sternly. "It's not his fault, but his instincts make you prey. If he tries to hunt you—"

"Mo leannan, this isna my first full moon," he told her, vaulting her chin up with one strong hand. "It's a welcome surprise, though, to see you're so verra filled with concern for me."

They hadn't touched since the time in the woods two days prior. She was keeping her distance, and she suspected he was letting her. He hadn't said anything about it, letting her stick to the lie that she needed to focus on her potion, but now, with his thumb so close to her lips—close enough to stroke them, lightly, as she knew he would do if she let him—she tore her gaze away with a lurch, shaking her head.

"You're needed," she reminded him. "You're the laird. You're necessary."

"Oh?" he asked, laughing. "And who needs me for anything around here, hm? Not you, of course."

"Not me," she agreed, vehemently shaking your head. "But what am I supposed to do if… if something happens to you? You can't think to leave me here with Mad-Eye," she grumbled, thinking unhappily of the way his one good eye continued to fix on her with palpable disapproval. "I'd find you and kill you myself," she warned him.

"Ah," James said, "and as you're so busy already, that would be verra inconsiderate of me, would it?"

"Yes." She glared at him. He was laughing at her again, albeit silently. "I have a lot of things to do, James Potter. Murdering you would take a lot out of my day."

"Not to mention the necessary penance," he said, nodding sagely. "And the grieving."

"Grieving? You mistake me for one of your simpering lasses, your lairdship," she informed him stiffly. "We've known each other hardly over a week, and I assure you, I'd be perfectly fine."

To her alarm, he stepped closer at that, catching her off guard as she gasped and stumbled, her hand flying out only to be caught by his quick fingers.

"Lily," he said gruffly, pulling her into him and pressing her, hard, against his chest. "I will never make you grieve for me."

She swallowed, closing her eyes, and let her forehead fall against the beating pulse beneath his sternum. His arms wrapped around her, soothing her into quietude, and for a moment, she simply breathed with him, letting the expansion of his ribs be the rhythm guiding her to comfort.

"It's been barely over a week," she said again.

"Yes," James murmured, brushing his lips against the top of her head.

"This doesn't happen," she mumbled to him. "I don't… it isn't happening."

"You dinna want to care for me, lass?" He looked down, teasing her chin up again. "Am I so verra displeasing?"

No. No, he wasn't. He was kind to his friends. She'd seen him get his hands dirty for them, even though he was above them. Even though it was probably one of _their_ jobs to repair something or to hunt or to cook or to tend the fire, James always did what needed to be done. He was funny, charismatic, clever. He was quick to temper, but easily cooled. He listened when others spoke. He was one of them, an equal, but he was still decisive, firm, logical. When there were problems, everyone came to James for his thoughts. Mad-Eye respected him. The others adored him. James Potter was handsome and charming and full of youth, full of loyalty, full of life.

He was irresistible, and what was worse, Lily couldn't resist him. True, these were circumstances beyond her control, but shouldn't she have had _some_ reservation? Shouldn't she be warier of him? Severus would think him irresponsible, she was sure, and James was that and more, definitely. He was reckless, and for what she knew of the times, extremely careless with his own life for someone who had no living heirs. He was shamelessly, flagrantly absent any self-preservation, which Severus would surely detest.

If Severus were here, Lily knew, he'd call James arrogant, perhaps even smug. She'd probably even agree with him.

But Severus wasn't here.

And James was looking at her _like that_ , and—

"I dinna need time," he told her simply. "A week, a year, a lifetime—I reckon I'd scarcely know the difference. Some things a man just knows, Lily," he said softly to her, bending towards her. "Some things a man feels in his bones and knows to be true."

She pulled away, flinching, before he could kiss her. If he kissed her after saying that, she'd fall for him. She'd fall for him, inescapably, and if there was one thing she couldn't do, it was that. She had to make her way back to Severus; back to her time, and to her _life_ , and she couldn't allow James, with whatever strange appeal he possessed, to keep her from it.

"Just be careful," she said, and turned away, returning to her draught.

He waited a few beats of silence without moving.

"I see," he murmured eventually, and then he turned. "I willna bother ye any further, then."

She didn't answer.

His footsteps quietly faded away, and she felt a gruesome twisting in her chest that she told herself wasn't regret; it was homesickness. She missed Severus. She _loved_ Severus. There was no denying those things were still true.

But once James was gone, the forest suddenly seemed completely empty, and she felt more alone than ever before.

* * *

She woke in the early hours of the morning to the sound of shouting. She'd gone to bed without any further sight of James, figuring she would simply see him in the morning when he returned from his little animagus jaunt with Remus.

With _Remus_.

She jolted upright, hurriedly reaching for her boots and tugging them on, grabbing her wand. She didn't bother to fully dress; merely pulled her cloak over her shift and ran outside, spotting Mad-Eye carrying something in his arms.

Not something, she realized, the blood draining from her face.

Someone.

"James," she shouted, and shot forward, shoving Benjy and possibly Gideon aside to reach him. "James," she exhaled, catching the troubling pallor of his face; he'd been wrapped up in his kilt, but it was obvious he was injured. He was unconscious, and his breathing looked shallow. "What happened?" she demanded from Mad-Eye, who grimaced in non-answer, shaking his head. "Get him in the tent. _Now_ ," Lily snarled, and Mad-Eye, who looked as though he'd never been ordered about by a woman half his size before, scowled at her.

"Listen to her," Sirius said, appearing from behind them. He had his arm around a pale-faced Remus, who looked stricken and traumatized with guilt. "Ye'll do as she says, Mad-Eye, or I'll strike you down where ye stand!"

"He's my husband," Lily insisted, her heart racing. James hadn't moved, and his color looked… She swallowed hard, dismayed. She was no healer by training, but he didn't look nearly as alive as he should have. He should have been laughing, telling a bawdy joke; he shouldn't be like this, limp and unable to stand. "He's my husband," she said again, unsteadily this time, "and I can heal him—"

Mad-Eye nodded gruffly, beckoning for her to lead as she hurried him into her tent. James had slept with his men in the open; the tent had been for her privacy. Now it would be for his, she thought with a grimace, noting the men who crowded with worry around them.

"Leave him alone," she snapped impatiently, shooing them away once Mad-Eye had settled James on the ground in her bedding. "Do you hear me? GET OUT," she said, letting Mad-Eye and Sirius take over the process of removing people as she ducked inside, peeling away the fabric of James' kilt to eye the damage.

It was bad. He'd definitely been thoroughly clawed at, though if he'd been bitten, it wasn't a werewolf bite. She fumbled for her wand; she'd have to repair the damage to his intestines, regrow the skin. He'd be dead without a spell, that was for certain, but she had to be calm enough to cast it. She had to focus, and she had to do everything in her power not to panic. She inhaled slowly once, exhaled it out, and searched for something to ease her apprehension.

 _Some things a man just knows, Lily._

She swallowed hard, shaking her head.

"Don't die on me," she whispered to him. "Not today, you idiot. You stupid, stupid rebel laird. You will not die on me today."

She held her wand to his wounds and got to work; it would be a lengthy process. His injuries were substantial, and she certainly wasn't a healer by trade. Still, he was young, his body was healthy… he had things to live for. Surely the rest of him would fight to stay alive.

There was a weariness in her bones before long. The muscle in her neck and shoulders pained her, and the tension in them just from enduring the use of the spells was enough to strain the rest of her limbs. Her head hurt, her heart pounded, she could feel beads of sweat dripping down her spine, but this was for James. For James, who'd taken a beating for her that nearly killed him. Who married her at great cost to himself, just to save her life.

When the skin closed up, stitching itself neatly (it would scar, but James had scars already, all over his torso and back and littering his arms and legs) she waited, eyes closed, for what might come. Perhaps nothing for some time. His body would still need to recover its usual functions; he may not be conscious for many hours yet. She lay down at his side, facing him, and realized he would need to be warmed. She took her cloak, spreading it over them both, and pressed herself close to him.

Then she waited, his shallow breathing beside her identifiable, but slow.

So she waited.

And waited.

Outside, the light came and went.

And still Lily lay beside him, waiting for him to wake.

* * *

"Lily."

Her eyes snapped open. He'd said it raspingly, croaked it out, his eyes still closed. She sat up quickly, checking him, though for what, she had no idea. She ran her fingers over his chest, his stomach, lightly brushing over his new wounds, and his arm shifted, his fingers closing around her wrist.

"Careful," he said with a little laugh, "ye keep touching me like that, mo leannan, and I willna be able to keep myself from returning the favor."

"Oh god, _James_ ," she exhaled, bending over him with palpable, furious relief. "You bastard," she muttered into the skin of his chest, his hand rising slowly to cup the back of her head, fingers twining languidly into her hair. "I specifically told you not to die!"

"Aye, and I listened, did I not?" he murmured to her, laughing weakly. "It wasna Remus," he explained. "We ran afoul of some other creatures—"

"I don't care. God, I don't care, I never want to hear it, I'm never letting you out of my sight again. You bastard. You bloody fucking bastard." She felt his fingers tighten in her hair, both of them seeming to realize at the same moment and with precisely the same stiffening of surprise that she was crying into his chest. "You fucking arsehole, you nearly—you were almost—"

"I wouldna left you, Lily." His voice was soft now, tender and comforting. As if _she'd_ been the one who'd nearly died instead of him. "I made a promise to you, reubaltaich. You'll grow old with me, ye poor lass." He pulled her closer, tucking her against him, and she curled up into his side, letting him cradle her head against his chest. "I promised you I would love you for your whole life," he whispered to her, "and I swear, mo leannan, I meant it. No pack of wolves could take me away from you, Lily. No force on earth could keep me from your side."

She shuddered without a sound, clutching him.

And then, after a moment, she felt him swallow. "If ye'll have me, that is."

She shut her eyes.

"I don't want you to die," she said. "I don't—I can't—"

"Aye, you saved me again, after everything," he noted to himself, toying with her fingers. "I'm beginning to owe you so many lives, reubaltaich, I reckon I owe ye my devotion for more than just the one of them."

It was terrible. Impossible. _He_ was the most impossible man, and she doubted this would be the last time she would have to save his life.

She didn't want to make promises. She didn't want to say forever.

But god, she wanted _him_.

She reached up without warning, abruptly giving in, and pulled his mouth down to hers to kiss him so fiercely he gasped, choking slightly with pain. "Ah, lass—"

"Sorry, sorry," she said quietly, whispering it and stroking her fingers over his cheeks, his nose, the shape of his brow, the scar on his chin. "Just… let me," she said, and in the dark she felt his brow furrow, not grasping her intent.

"Lily, I—"

She kissed him again, softer this time, and then slid down his torso, carefully trailing her lips over his injuries, old and new. She kissed his ribs, his sternum, down to his navel; kissed the places she had just healed, and then slid lower, listening to his breath come short.

"Lily—"

His cock was hard, unmistakably so, and she took it in her hand, wetting her lips and sliding her tongue over his tip.

He inhaled so sharply she was sure it must have hurt. "Lily, what are ye—"

She didn't let him finish. She drew her mouth over him, running her tongue along the shape of his cock. She'd done this plenty of times, for Severus and for other people. It had always been a chore, something of a stopover to better, more desirable things. Who'd ever liked getting something speared inelegantly into their throats? But with James, it felt like a necessity to taste him, to run her lips and tongue along the shape of his hardness, to feel him writhe helplessly beneath her. She moved with excruciating slowness, taking him deeper with each thrust into her mouth. A shallow motion at first, sweeping her tongue broadly across his tip, and then deeper.

He groaned, something unequivocally obscene falling from his lips in Gaelic; he slapped a hand over his own mouth, realizing belatedly that someone outside might be listening, and she felt a little thrill of satisfaction. She was wet and throbbing, aching to take him inside her to ease the growing pulse of desire between her legs, but she also wanted him to know she was more than just a healer. More than just an unwanting, unwilling wife. And most of all, she wanted him keening for her again, calling out for her, begging for her with the motion of his hips.

She had wanted him so badly and so powerfully she now needed him to want her just as fiercely. She wanted him, the next time he came close to recklessness or death, to think of how her lips felt when they were wrapped snugly around his cock and decide to turn away, preferring the precariousness of being in her grasp to any other form of risk.

When "Lily, please," slipped half-whispered from his lips, his hands trembling where his fingers slid into her hair, she sat upright, lifting the fabric of her shift and straddling him carefully, delicately, so as not to disturb his wounds. His hands wrapped tightly around her hips and she moved with exquisite slowness, holding the tip of his cock to the wet slit of her cunt and then taking him inside her, inch by blessed fucking inch, until he filled her up entirely, both of them stifling gasps.

She rode him slowly, quietly, his hands rising up to slide under her shift and cupping her breasts, thumbs brushing over her nipples. He was staring up at her, the outline of his face just visible from the dying embers of the fire outside, and she looked back at him, watching the ardent parting of his lips.

The ache at her core grew, desperation festering to molten need inside her, and she bent to kiss James just as she came, crying out softly into his mouth. He held tightly to her, reaching for every part of her he could touch, his arms circling around her with a defiant, immovable certainty.

"Do you fear it," he whispered to her, "whatever this is between us?"

"Yes," she told him honestly, and he gave a ragged exhale, his breath coming short.

"You are not alone in that, Lily," he said, barely more than a murmur. She could feel him struggle, restraint lining the edges of his mouth. "I fear you almost as much as I want you."

In answer, she picked up the pace of her motions, grinding against him and letting him guide her hips as he wished. His fingers dug into her thighs, his teeth clenched as he came close, so very close to release, his head falling back.

"Dinna send me away," he gritted out. "Please," he said, the effort of pleading manifesting in his touch, "I canna bear it, Lily. If ye must push me away, then let me stay gone, but if you dinna wish to—" He broke off, teeth clenched. "If you want me at all, Lily, please—"

"I won't do it again." She knew that much. Whatever this was, it seemed more and more pointless to deny it. "I won't push you away again, I promise, I won't—"

He came with a groan, pulling her into him and rolling firmly over her as she gasped, panicked.

"You were just _injured_ , James, you shouldn't—"

"What life is worth saving if it means I canna kiss my wife when I damn well wish to?" he informed her, and she shivered beneath him, giving in.

"They'll want to know you're alive," she told him, admonishing him with something she hoped was a requisite sternness. "They'll want to see you, and—"

"They can wait," James said gruffly, and kissed her again as she relented, savoring the brush of his tongue against her lips.

* * *

By morning, James was almost fully healed. Lily, who had never considered herself a particularly skilled healer, was pleased to see she'd done moderately good work. Severus could have done better, she was fairly sure, but James was positively exuberant in his praise of her, and even Mad-Eye appeared to have softened slightly, grudgingly making his way over to her and muttering, "Ta, lass, for savin' our Jamie," softly in her ear.

They camped an additional day in place, James eating ravenously to regain his strength, before setting off again towards James' home in the northern Highlands. Remus, who had been sheepishly avoiding camp, came at Lily's beckoning to receive his wolfsbane potion.

"Here," she said briskly, shoving the draught at him. "Once you take this, you'll be perfectly fine to travel with us."

"I'm not sure I should," Remus said, eyeing it. "I'm grateful to you, of course, but… I don't know. I worry about what trouble my presence will bring for the others."

"Don't be ridiculous," she told him, shaking her head. "James and Sirius want you along, so you're coming. Everyone knows that what happened to James wasn't your fault."

"Wasn't it, though?" Remus' eyes made their way tentatively to hers. "Surely you must have blamed me at least once when you—" He swallowed. "When you saw him like that."

"Why?" Lily demanded.

"Well, I—" Remus hesitated again. "If I were you," he said, lowering his voice quietly, "I would blame me. For putting him in harm's way. He could have died, and all because of me."

Lily vehemently shook her head. "James always knew what he was doing when he joined you that night. We all knew it would be dangerous."

"Still." He cracked a wary smile. "I cannot imagine you thanked me much when you saw your husband nearly bled to death."

"I—" She meant to scold him again, but in truth, the vision of James' shallow breathing hadn't fully left her. "I was worried about him, yes," she conceded, "but he's strong, and it was his choice. He chooses to stand by his friends, whatever the cost to himself," she said firmly, "and for that, I could never hold it against you. It would be thoroughly pointless to deny the best parts of him by wasting my time blaming you."

Remus' smile broadened. "You really care for him, don't you?" he asked, and she hastily demurred, holding out the potion for him again. "I'm fairly certain it's mutual. Many young women have been infatuated with our Prongs," he informed her wryly, accepting the draught from her this time, "but it's something different between you."

 _Don't remind me_ , she thought grimly, but forced a smile.

"He's a good man," she said simply, watching Remus drink the potion. "By the way, how did you two manage to meet?"

It must have tasted something awful. Remus shuddered a little, then shook himself.

"I was on the run," he explained. "I was chased out of my own village, for obvious reasons," he said as she grimaced her understanding, "and I was making my way as far north as I could go. James and Sirius were riding by when I was stopped by some Death Eaters."

"Death Eaters?" Lily echoed, and Remus nodded.

"Lord Voldemort's private army, his guards. They've overrun the Highlands, harassing the clans and stealing from countrymen," he said, scowling. "They surely would have killed me for having nothing to take from me—or for simply being what I am," he muttered, and Lily nodded, "only James came to my aid. He was… my god," Remus exhaled, shaking his head, "we were all only teenagers then, and he took a thrashing for intervening." His tone was reverently grateful. "I am only alive today because of James' protection, and I do not forget that."

Lily, who knew well the old look of countless scars on James' body, found herself lost for words.

"Same," she managed to say, and Remus smiled thinly.

"So, then you see," he told her. "Don't you? How I would hate myself for eternity if I ever harmed him. Or if he were harmed in any way because of me."

She nodded, wordless, and let the thought turn over in her mind as they readied themselves to resume their travel. The next time she saw James—who had been helping the Prewett twins with the horses—he was holding his hands out for hers, readying to help her into the saddle.

Instead, she took hold of him without hesitation, yanking him into her, and kissed him as thoroughly as she could manage, her hands coveting the angles of his face as he stiffened slightly, startled, and then melted into it, gradually throwing both his arms around her. The rest of his men lewdly whooped their approval; he chuckled against her lips and turned her, concealing her from view to kiss her longer and ending on a distinct note of sweetness before they parted.

"What was that for?" he asked, hazel eyes a warm and molten amber with surprise before adding hurriedly, "Not that I disapprove. I verra much enjoy your enthusiasm, but—"

"Nothing." She brushed his hair from his forehead; the color was back in his cheeks, and he looked well again, as if nothing had ever happened. As if he'd never been circling death in her arms. "You're just… you're my husband," she reminded him. "I can kiss you however I like, can't I? And you promised to let me."

He smiled at her, pleased.

"I did, aye," he said. "Lucky thing, that."

He was staring down at her, a little transfixed, and she was considering the prospect of kissing him again until he suddenly took hold of her waist, lifting her roughly onto the saddle before giving her arse a light and artless smack.

"Well, off we go, then," he told her, swinging himself up behind her, and she sighed, rolling her eyes.

"You ruined a very nice moment," she informed him, glaring over her shoulder, and he laughed, leaning forward to speak in her ear.

"Only because I wish to have you in our bed, reubaltaich," he whispered, hands pointedly brushing the curve of her thigh, "without a moment's delay."

* * *

For two days they rode almost incessantly, barely stopping to make camp. Twice, James nearly fell asleep on horseback, Lily only catching him as she noticed his iron grip on her going slack. She asked him more than once—sore as she was, considering she'd hardly experienced that sort of discomfort much before—why he was so loath to stop, even with his men growing tired, but he only shrugged, saying the roads weren't safe.

Partway through day three of travel, she finally understood what he'd feared.

"Stop," called someone in a uniform she only half-recognized, noting the design of a snake interlaced through a skull. "Where do you lot think you're going?"

James nudged their horse forward, addressing the uniformed men—two or three of them, all in uniform—as Lily caught sight of Sirius and Remus slipping out of view, concealing themselves behind the caravan.

"James Potter," he said, "Laird of Clan Potter. We've been sent from Hogwarts at your master's behest."

"Ah, Jamie, we meet again," said the man Lily realized was a Death Eater, now recognizing Lord Voldemort's ensignia on him. "Have you got your werewolf in tow, hm? Bet you do. Come to think of it, we owe him something, don't we lads?" he muttered over his shoulder to the others, who glared, unsmiling, at James. "Ah, and you've got yourself a lovely little whore now, too—"

"Leave us alone," Lily said flatly, and the Death Eater chuckled.

"Ah, feisty, I see," he said. "Are you well, sweetheart? Hope these filthy Scots haven't roughed you up too much. To think," he mused, "what harm could befall them for kidnapping an Englishwoman, lads? Hate to consider the consequences—"

"You're the only filthy one here," Lily snapped, but James' hand tightened warningly on her waist.

"I havena seen a werewolf myself, save for the one in your master's keeping," James said coolly, "but I'm sure he would happily inform you it's on his orders my wife and I are heading north."

"Wife, hm?" the Death Eater said, openly staring at Lily's breasts. "Well, pity that—"

"Yes, _quite_ a pity," James half-snarled, obviously barely restraining himself from doing far worse. "If that's all, Lestrange?"

"Oh, that's all," Lestrange replied with a laugh, "for now. But we'll be watching you, Jamie. The moment you slip, or that werewolf of yours makes an appearance—"

"I dinna think ye should be threatening me, Lestrange," James snapped. "Unless ye've forgotten what harm came to ye last time you ran afoul of my arm."

Lestrange turned impassively to Lily, ignoring James' warning. "My goodness, I don't know how you understand him. Unless you happen to speak dumb brute quite fluently?"

She set her jaw. "Are we done here?"

Lestrange gave their horse's flanks a smack. "For now, My Lady," he said with a mocking bow, and James led the horse back onto the path, his knuckles white with tension where he gripped at the reins.

"I'm sorry I couldna do worse to him for insulting you," he said. "I simply wished to be out of there with some haste, for Remus' sake—"

"No, I understand," she said quickly. "I don't need you getting in trouble for something as stupidly ill-conceived as that bastard's fuckery."

James snorted lightly, prompting her to turn towards him. "What?" she demanded, and realized he was yet again laughing at her. " _What_ , James—"

"You've got quite a mouth on ye, mo leannan," he said, looking somewhere between impressed and amused. "I thought it was just passion when ye said it before, but I'm na sure it was just that, was it?"

"What, fuck?" she asked, watching him fight a laugh again.

"I havena heard an Englishwoman—or _any_ woman," he corrected himself, "swear as mightily as you do, Lily."

"Well, perhaps none of them have been as angry as I am," she informed him. "You shouldn't have to take that sort of nonsense from Lord Voldemort, and certainly not from his men. Isn't there something to be done about it?"

James shook his head. "Voldemort controls most of the Highlands since he took over Hogwarts," he said. "He has more magic, more money, more weapons, and aside from that, the English have always enjoyed meddling in our affairs," he informed her, resting his chin on her shoulder. "Hence Mad-Eye's… well, his certain _coolness_ towards ye, lass, ye ken?"

She'd forgotten most of her history, it seemed.

Though, speaking of history—

"Why don't you simply take Hogwarts back?" she asked, abruptly recalling the painting she'd seen from the Battle of Hogwarts memorial in the castle's modern iteration. "Surely if you could gather enough support from the other Highland clans, you could stand against Lord Voldemort, couldn't you?"

"There are many who fear His Lordship's wrath," James said, shaking his head. "He is an unnaturally cruel man, and not many have the stones to stand against him."

"But _you_ do," she said, and James' brows arched, surprised at her enthusiasm. Suddenly, she felt it quite obvious what needed to be done. "I mean, if _you_ led them, James—"

"Me?" he asked, surprised. "I thought perhaps Dumbledore, but—"

"Fuck Dumbledore," Lily said, stunning James into silence. "I mean sure, he could help—everyone could _help_ —but it's you who'll win, James." She twisted around to look at him. "You're actually from here," she reminded him. "This is _your_ land, _your_ home. You're brave, you're strong, your men love you—I'd be willing to bet there's not a single Scot who wouldn't follow you into battle. If you lead them, James," she murmured to him, reaching around to run her fingers appealingly through his hair, "I promise you, you'll win."

He rested his forehead against hers, shaking his head. "How can you be so sure, reubaltaich?" he asked her. "Nothing is ever so certain."

In her case, though, it was.

"How could you not win?" she asked him. His mouth was perilously close to hers, his breath hot against her cheeks, his hands resting on her thighs. Her entire body seemed conscious of the fact that it had been some time since they'd last put skin on skin, and every inch of her craved to feel him again. "I don't need to see the future to know it for certain, James. You were meant to do this. Reubaltaich," she said in a low voice, trying to mimic his pronunciation of it, and he gave a dry, throaty laugh, obviously as aware of his closeness to her body as she was to his. "If you lead them, James, there's no way Voldemort could stand against you. You'll win."

He lifted one hand, stroking it slowly over the column of her throat.

"You are so verra dangerous for me, Lily," he said in her ear.

She wanted his hands on her breasts, his mouth on her cunt. She wanted to feel his cock inside her again, his hips thrusting into her with her hands smoothing over the firm curve of his arse.

At the same time, though, it occurred to her that coming back to Hogwarts meant trying again with the door on the seventh floor. If James took back Hogwarts, there was a chance it might appear; that if it did, she could go _home_.

Perhaps this was merely infatuation, she reminded herself. It would pass, and then what would she really want? Her parents, her friends, her sister, Severus—she could be back with all of them, and surely that would outlast her hunger for one man, however appealing he was.

Still, that was a question for another day.

"Are we home yet?" she breathed to James, who groaned softly in her ear.

"I might go mad before we reach it," he answered her, and she shivered, equally in agreement.

* * *

It took another two days before they arrived at James' 'house,' which was really more of a castle, though significantly less so than Hogwarts. It became clear to Lily just what it meant that James was a laird when many of the men and women inside were quick to show him deference, quite obviously pleased with his return.

She was also surprised to see how much attention was lavished on _her_ —minus the younger women, who seemed instantly furious with her existence—and noticed people were quick to come to her aid. Mostly, though, she was desperate for a bath.

"Minerva here will take care of ye," James said, swiftly kissing Lily's cheek and gesturing her towards the stern-looking woman who'd been running the house in James' absence. "Minnie, may I entrust my wife to you?"

Lily noted the pleasure James took in the phrase _my wife_ , using it as often and as pointedly as possible. She wanted to laugh at how endearing it was, only at the moment, it seemed Minerva was quite unamused.

"Come, then, lass," she said briskly, beckoning for Lily to follow, though Lily paused, apprehensively catching James' arm before he left.

"Will you, um. Be long?" Lily asked, and James smiled at her, reaching out to stroke his thumb across her cheek.

"Not a moment longer than required, mo leannan." He kissed her firmly, ignoring the throngs of people watching; Lily felt it shamelessly obvious what he was promising her with the kiss, and though she was a bit more hesitant with such a keen audience, she figured it wasn't the worst thing for the rest of his household to know their laird was a man who bedded his wife well (or, at least, thoroughly).

"I only need to chat with Mad-Eye about your… proposition." James winked at her, spinning her with a kiss to her cheek to face Minerva. "Take good care of her, Minnie."

"Impertinent lad," Minerva sniffed, but she seemed to have warmed slightly, beckoning for Lily to follow her. "Come on, then."

Lily was startled to find she'd been more comfortable with James' men than with the women who worked in his household; she realized she was now essentially their employer, and felt immensely uncomfortable at having to order them around.

"Oh, you don't have to do that," she said to one girl, a scullery maid who was unpacking what little things Lily possessed, but Minerva scoffed.

"She certainly does," Minerva insisted. "You're Jamie's wife, and the lady of this house. Dinna be putting silly ideas into her head about what she can and canna do. You're livin' in her ladyship's chambers now." She busied herself with the bath water, eyeing Lily closely. "You're too thin," Minerva ruled after a moment. "We'll need to feed you better than those troublesome lads did if you're plannin' to bear Jamie's sons. Why, Jamie himself was a wee bit of a thing and still, he nearly broke his poor mother in two—"

Lily blinked. "I—what?"

"Jamie wrote me about ye before you left the castle," Minerva continued, brusquely stripping Lily of her shift and leaving her to awkwardly cover her private bits, "and I will confess, I didna think you'd be any more than an arrangement. But hearin' what he called you—"

"What?" Lily asked. "Reubaltaich? It's just a joke, really—"

"What? No, lass." Minerva stopped for a moment, staring at her, before putting two and two together, realizing Lily was missing something. "Lass, Jamie calls you his love," she explained, softening.

"I—" Lily blinked. "He does?"

"Do ye not know, you silly child? 'Mo leannan,'" Minerva clarified. "It's what Jamie's father called his mother before they passed, bless them both—"

"It is?" Lily echoed, swallowing. "I thought it just meant… you know, like, 'sweetheart,' or something—"

"Oh, aye, it does," Minerva agreed, holding a hand out to help Lily into the bathtub, "but our Jamie, he would only call ye that if he meant it. He's a sweet lad," she added fondly, with an incongruously iron grip on Lily as she helped her into the water. "If he loves ye like he says he does, then you are a lucky lass indeed."

Lily, scalded by the hot water, scarcely noted her displeasure, distracted by what Minerva had just told her.

"He loves me?" she asked, and for the first time, Minerva smiled at her. It looked unnatural, rare and unpracticed and somewhat crooked, but still, it was a smile nonetheless.

"Can ye not tell by how he looks at ye?" Minerva asked. "Like you are the only woman in the world."

At that, all Lily could feel was a perilous bliss floating up in her chest.

"I suppose," she managed faintly, the water settling to warmth against her limbs.

* * *

 _ **a/n:**_ _More tomorrow!_


	106. Rebel North, Part III

**Rebel North, Part III**

 _Pairing:_ Jily (James Potter x Lily Evans)

 _Universe:_ magical _Outlander_ -esque AU (time travel + Scottish Highlands)

 _Rating:_ M for sex

 _Summary:_ The continued saga of _Rebel North_ , thusly concluded. When Lily's identity is revealed, she faces a difficult choice between two loves while the Order prepares to take back Hogwarts Castle from Lord Voldemort's control.

An alternate summary, courtesy of aurorarsinistra: _"Male significant other got you down? Not doing the dishes? Not listening? Not transforming into a deer in his free time? Well, I've got just the escapism for you!"_

* * *

It was late by the time James came to find her. He bounded noisily into the room as Lily was already preparing for bed, turning with surprise at his sudden entry.

"Take that off," he said, lips twisting up in a smile as he pointedly eyed the outline of her breasts beneath the thin material of her shift. "I want to see you, wife."

He seemed a little tipsy, certainly merrier than usual, but no less impossible to resist. The candles flickering beside the bed gave him an entrancing glow, and he stripped his shirt off one-handed in that careless way he always did, one hand bunching the fabric to yank it overhead.

Still, she bided her time, playing at disinterest. "Is that the best you can do, James?" she sniffed, turning away, but he was quicker.

"Ah, my apologies—" He reached out, catching her arm, and drew her back flush against his torso, forming her spine to the shape of his chest. "Is this better?" he asked her, running his hands from her hips to her waist, curving around her breasts. She let him tilt her chin over her shoulder, the spice of the mead he'd drunk warming her lips as he kissed her slowly. "I dinna think I would survive such a wait," he murmured to her, one hand coming around her jaw. "I wasna sure I could keep myself from touching you much longer."

His hands drifted low, fisting the fabric of her shift tightly. He slid the material up her legs, fingers tracing the slopes and valleys of her, and she lifted her arms for him to pull it gruffly over her head before he stepped back, looking at her.

"Lily," he said, swallowing appreciatively as she turned to face him. "My Lily. Mo leannan. You're beautiful."

She felt a flush creep up in her cheeks at the heat of his eyes on her. "You don't know any better," she reminded him. "You've only been with me."

He shook his head. "I only need you."

She opened her mouth, considering an argument, but then shook her head instead, sitting back against the bed and gesturing.

"Take off your kilt," she said.

He blinked. "My kilt?"

"No, take your shoes off first," she corrected herself, and he bent down with a grin, kicking off one boot, then the other. "Okay. Now the kilt."

"Yes, my Lady," he said, removing his belt to let the material fall away. "Anything else ye wish?"

She pushed herself back on the bed, propping herself up on her elbows. "Come here," she said, beckoning to him, and he took three eager steps forward until she held up a hand, shaking her head. "Stop," she said. "Wait there."

He groaned a little. "Lily, ye little minx—"

"How was the meeting?" she asked neutrally, adjusting her hair to fall away from her bare breasts.

His gaze raked openly over her torso, hungrily taking her in. "Fine," he said, swallowing. "We… we made plans. Sirius and Remus will get a message to Dumbledore about gathering the Order." His throat was dry, his cock already unapologetically hard for her. He slid a hand over it, just once, but didn't look away. "I, meanwhile," he muttered, "have plans to never leave my wife's bed until I return to Hogwarts—"

"You?" Lily echoed, suddenly abandoning her pretense and sitting upright. "You mean _we_ , don't you?"

He blinked, catching her shift in tone. "Surely you dinna mean to suggest I bring ye with me."

She felt a bit of panic rise up in her chest. "You'd leave me here?"

"It's my job to protect you." His voice was grave now, and solemn. "I wouldna dare to put you in danger, Lily. I dinna think it unreasonable to keep you here, safe, where ye canna be harmed."

"I'm coming with you," Lily said, scowling at him, "because that's ridiculous. You think it's your job to protect _me_ , James? Let me remind you I've already saved your life twice," she snapped at him, and he frowned. "Who do you think will do it if I'm not there?"

"But—"

"No buts," she said, and then, flatly, "Come here."

He blinked, then stepped forward.

"Lily—"

"Tell me you want me," she told him, reproachfully folding her arms over her chest. "Not just in bed. Not just as something to amuse yourself with. I'm not just a warm body, James, I'm _useful_ , I'm—" She blinked, something infuriating rising up in her throat. "You can't honestly think I'll let you do this without me."

"But—"

"You can't just want my tits or my cunt," she told him, watching his hazel eyes darken to sage as she spoke. "You have to want my brain, James. My abilities. You have to want my—"

"Your strength," he cut in, with something else in his tone that was just as hungry as before, but markedly distinct. "Your defiance."

She swallowed.

"You are braver than any man I know, reubaltaich," he said softly, reverently. "I wasna thinking clearly."

He dropped to his knees in front of her, his hands rising to the bed to curl around her calves.

"Forgive me, I dinna think—I wasna in my right mind," he said, turning to press his lips to the curve of her thigh. "I canna do it without you, Lily. I was wrong to think it. Can ye forgive me?" he murmured, and he nudged her knees apart just slightly; just enough to let his lips gently brush across her clit. It was a kiss, soft and sweet, to the most intimate part of her.

"If ye wish me to beg, Lily," James said, "I willna hesitate."

"I—"

His lips meandered slowly, gradually making his way over her. His tongue slid out every now and then, darting over her with pensive longing before moving slower, savoring her. It was blissfully perfect, terribly distracting. She gasped, his tongue laving inside her, and then he took the whole of her clit in his mouth and sucked experimentally, intensifying his efforts the more her legs started to shake around him.

"James," she gasped, placing the arch of her foot firmly on his shoulder and shoving him away. "I want you inside me, _now_ —"

"I havena been forgiven," he said, hands firmly digging into her hips as his mouth returned to her cunt, and she nearly cried out in frustration.

"James," she attempted, his tongue steadily passing over her as his thumb circled her throbbing slit, dipping inside her once before being replaced with his fingers. "James, my god, James, I'm going t- oh _god_ —"

She came with a cry she was certain the rest of the castle had heard, shoving him away as the aftershocks of her orgasm ricocheted through her. She shuddered, feeling the ripple of pleasure leave her like a wrench of dissipation, the whole of her going numb.

But even as she panted out her satisfaction, letting the waves of pleasure ebb gradually away, James remained on his knees at the edge of the bed, waiting for her approval.

"Will ye come with me, Lily?" he asked her solemnly. "I willna be able to do it alone. I will need you by my side."

She was aflame for him, her entire body arched with craving.

"Yes, fine," she panted, shuddering again as he rose to his feet, one hand on the utter luxury of his shaft as he waited for an answer. "Yes, I'll come with you, just— _fuck_ me," she gritted out, scrambling back as he knelt onto the mattress, making his way towards her with an infuriating slowness. "Please, I want you so badly, James, _please_ —"

"You dinna have to beg for me," he said with a laugh, gruffly catching her around the ankle, "but I will admit, reubaltaich, it isna unwelcome."

He stroked her swollen clit, gaze dropping to look at her. Even in the candlelight, she could see how pornographically wet she was for him, her clit that rose-red color of desperation as he positioned himself between her legs, the rest of her keening shamelessly for want of him.

"I want ye like I've never wanted anything," he told her, his voice gravelly and low. "Truth be told," he murmured, stroking his tip over her clit and diminishing her to a shiver, "I wanted ye the moment I saw ye. I dinna think you'd want me, not like this."

"James." She was practically crying for him now, her voice hoarse. "Please. I need to have you. I need to feel you—"

"Do ye want it slow, reubaltaich?" he asked her. "Because I dinna think I will be able to control myself. When I see you like this, I canna stop my thoughts. I want to bite the little pearls of your breasts," he said, leaning forward to slide his tongue over her nipple. "I want to put my teeth on your perfect skin. I want to feel the heat of you around my cock," he whispered to the unsteady race of her pulse, "and I dinna want slow, Lily. Sometimes, I want you so much I dinna know how to control myself—"

"Don't go slow," she whispered to him, aching. "Have me, James. Take me, have me as hard as you want and I swear, I want it too—"

"Dinna play with me, reubaltaich." He swallowed. "You are my wife. You are no common whore, and I wouldna—"

"James." She let her hand drop down, stroking at his cock as he gritted his teeth. "In this, whores and wives are no different. Don't think I don't enjoy it, because I do." She sat up, picking up the pace of her grip on his cock. "You think I don't like sex?" she whispered to him. "That I only want slow and gentle, even when I ask you for more?"

"I—" His eyelids were heavy. "I…"

"I like it, James. I like it very much, and I like it with you. I like the way you feel inside me. I like how hard you get for me." She saturated her thumb in the pooling wetness at his tip. "I like when you lose control, when you take me and—"

She let out a yelp as he shoved her slightly onto her back, yanking her hips down and filling her in the same motion, both of them delivered to the immediacy of need. He seemed to have taken her words to heart, one of her legs wrenched over his shoulder, and he slammed so perfectly into her she knew it would be a matter of seconds before she came.

It was sex, but it was more than just carnality. Their rhythms were equally paced with desperation, their motions perfectly fluid, each of their bodies so keenly fitted to the other. For once, she didn't care how her hair looked, or whether she'd eaten too much at dinner; she didn't care about anything, not even the sweat pooling between them. The only thing that mattered was that she and James were touching in every possible place, not an inch between them wasted, and as the pressure of her orgasm built—agonizing urgency built-up and knotted, tangled somewhere inside her—his thrusts were hardly gentle, but still, in his arms, she was safe. She was wanted. She was coveted like this, and rough as he was, and as unsanctified the act—however wrong it was—it was still fervent, almost worshipful. There was no missing the devotion in his touch.

In return, she made sure to let him see, the moment her orgasm hit her, how much she'd enjoyed it; she let her head fall back, his name ripping from her throat as the full impact of what he'd built inside her quaked in fissures through her body. She let the unabashed unloveliness of orgasm take over, the gruesome, elated anguish of it unhidden on her face, and he stared down at her in disbelief, one of his hands stroking gently at her cheek.

She turned her head, catching the tip of his finger on her tongue, and sucked it lightly. He gave a visceral shiver and came with a sputter of "Lily," choked out so passionately and so reverently on his tongue she wouldn't have ever guessed it to be her name.

She'd never had sex like that with Severus.

She'd never had sex like that _at all_ , and she wondered now if it was merely chemistry, a simple matter of physicality, or if it was something else entirely. Something as indescribable, and as undeniable, as the existence of magic itself.

"Mo leannan," James whispered to her as he collapsed against her, so quietly it might have been a breath.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, the rise and fall of their chests gradually joining in syncopated comfort.

"My love," she murmured back to him, and he buried his lips in her neck, sighing into her skin.

* * *

Now that they were in James' house, it was impossible to ignore whatever was growing between them. Lily still felt it unlikely to truly be love—at least not the sort of love that was practical, and meant to last—but it was certainly something very like it. She was ravenous for him; not merely for sex, but for his company as well. He was something different here in his own house. A bolder, even more certain version of himself (something she hadn't imagined possible, and yet…) and more commanding, too. Among his men he was an equal, a friend, a confidante—but here, he was in his element as a leader, particularly when piecing together what disarrayed pieces existed of their resistance against Lord Voldemort. Other lairds had begun approaching James since he'd sent Sirius and Remus off to speak with Dumbledore, all of them pledging their loyalty to the Order, and what Lily might have called arrogance before was serving him well now, easily establishing him as the most influential man in the room.

Which is why it certainly wasn't _not_ sex. Flawed as she was, she couldn't separate her admiration for him and her want; instead, she religiously counted the hours until dark when he would join her in their chambers, undressing her without a word and taking her without hesitation. They found ways to touch each other during the day, too, his fingers stroking her spine or resting too long on the small of her back, and she would let her hand linger in his, discreetly tracing the lining of his forearm. His house was large enough that they could get lost in it for a few minutes at a time, and even after weeks with him—when her appetite for him had still not faded—she was still pulling him into vacant corridors more often than she cared to admit, letting him wrestle with her skirts as her back pressed against the cold stone walls.

He'd been a virgin when they'd met, and now he was haute couture, bespoke to her desires and designed for every inch of her pleasure. There were plenty of pretty young girls who tried to tempt him, positioning themselves favorably to brush against him in the halls, but it was Lily alone who held his eye. He watched her so closely, his gaze fixed so intently on everything she did, that she half-felt it necessary to warn him that everyone could plainly see what was on his mind.

She didn't, though. She felt a new and irrepressible thrill at being wanted so often and so badly it burned between them even when they stood apart, and she had no compelling interest in dousing that particular flame.

"Lily," James would whisper while he pulled her astride him, letting her take the lead while she leaned back to let him run his tongue along her sternum. "Mo leannan, ye always taste so verra sweet."

She loved the smell of him; something she wouldn't have thought she'd say about a man who spent most of his days sweating through some new physical task. She would bury her nose and lips in the crook of his neck, her fingers tangled in his thick black hair, and inhale the scent of wood and trees, clean air on cedar skin. _Prongs_ , she'd whisper, his true self always there on the tip of her tongue, at the edge of each inhale. Salt and sage and pounding hearts.

The rest of his household adjusted to her presence. Mad-Eye was kinder to her now, in his way, and she even learned to identify the Prewett twins—Gideon had a birthmark on his left ear, while Fabian had a scar across his knuckles. Minerva was a relentless taskmaster, always reminding Lily of household things that needed to be done, but after seeing that Lily's magical proficiency could ease both their workloads considerably, Minerva spared a rare expression of satisfaction for her (which of course earned a scullery maid a scolding for gadding about, presumably in the interest of balance).

About a month after their arrival, Lily thought she'd finally found a place there amid forced blood oaths and unwilling marriages. She was even beginning to consider herself happy, perhaps even lucky.

She should have known that couldn't last forever. It lasted very specifically until the disruption of a stolen moment—James was kissing her breasts against the wall of an empty corridor, his tongue on the edge of fabric and fingers drifting under the edge of the bodice—when they were interrupted by a loud, throat-clearing cough, the two of them leaping apart.

"Aye, Sirius, what is it?" James said gruffly, blocking Lily from view as she hurried to adjust her bodice.

"Oh, nothing really," Sirius said spiritedly. "Only that Dumbledore's here."

"What?" James asked, and Lily glanced sharply at Sirius, equally surprised. James said Dumbledore's magical and financial aid would be crucially important, but he hadn't expected him to arrive in the flesh. "He came here? Does that mean—"

"He's willing to help the Order? Aye," Sirius said, as Lily swallowed hard, abruptly chilled with a flood of concern. "He's brought some men and guns, too, and he wishes to speak with ye."

"Oh, that's—" James blinked, reaching behind him for Lily's hand. "Do ye need a moment," he murmured to her, "or are ye ready to see him now?"

"Me?" she managed to say before being tugged after him, his footsteps quickening with urgency. "James, I—this is a very important guest," she said faintly, though her concern was far less for Dumbledore than it was for herself. "Perhaps I should make sure Minerva has everything she n-"

"Nonsense, Minnie's been waiting for this day since she was born," James said firmly, pausing before entering the castle's receiving hall. "Is Remus with him?" he asked Sirius, who shook his head.

"No," Sirius said. "He said he wished to speak to you alone."

"Verra well—" James paused, glancing at Lily, who was desperately seeking a way out of the introduction.

"Are you sure?" she asked him, warily eyeing the door. "If he says he wants to speak to you alone—"

"What's got ye so skittish, reubaltaich? It's na like you to be so meek," James said with a laugh, resting a steadying hand on her waist. "Surely you're na afraid of Dumbledore, are ye?"

"Well, you're the one who told me I hadn't any idea how to run a house," Lily retorted, swallowing hard. She was hovering near another episode of panic, reaching somewhat frantically for a reason— _any_ reason—not to enter the room, despite knowing she could hardly avoid it for long. "This is my first real test, James, and I don't want to disappoint you—"

"Mo leannan." He tilted her chin up, pausing her. "When I said that, I was a laird in need of a lady. Now, I am a man wedded happily to a woman, and I require nothing but you, just as you are." He bent down, pressing his forehead to hers. "Any lass can make sure there's food in the kitchen, Lily. If something goes wrong, so be it. In this, you canna disappoint me."

"I—" There was no getting around it. "Okay," she said lamely, and James tucked her hand into the crook of his arm, nodding to a fondly smirking Sirius to open the door.

Inside the hall, an older man was waiting, salt and pepper flecked into a long auburn beard that shifted as he turned over his shoulder. Abruptly, Lily recognized the face of the man who had been painted on the wall of Hogwarts Castle in 1983, all of the pieces coming together in history even as the pieces of her life remained in disarray.

"Dumbledore," James said, sweeping into a bow as Lily dropped to a semi-awkward curtsy. "I dinna expect us to join us."

"Ah, I hope you don't mind the imposition," Dumbledore said, turning a blankly polite smile to Lily.

"Nonsense, you are verra welcome here—and surely you know my bride, Lily," James said. "You are the reason we are wed, are ye not?" he laughed, and Dumbledore nodded blankly, acknowledging neither Lily nor the reference.

"Well, my congratulations to you both," Dumbledore said with an obvious lack of recognition, prompting James' expression to falter, his brow stitching together with confusion. "Shall we discuss how we're going to get you into Hogwarts? I'm sure it won't interest the lady at all," he remarked, and Lily nodded quickly. She curtseyed again and pulled hastily away from James, who was hesitant to release her.

"Surely you want Lily here," James said to Dumbledore slowly. "Do ye not?"

Dumbledore's smile faltered. "If you prefer, James, but—"

"She's gotten into the castle for you before," James said firmly, "has she not?"

"James," Lily said quietly, watching Dumbledore's gaze fall on her with suspicion. "You two can talk privately. I'll speak with you when you're finished."

"Very kind of you," Dumbledore told her as James seemed to fumble with uncertainty.

"I dinna understand," he said, and Lily shook her head.

"We'll talk later, James. My Lord," she said, bidding farewell to Dumbledore with a nod, and then she turned briskly, not bothering to see if James' glance of dismay had followed her out the door.

* * *

She was hiding in her chambers when he came to find her, the look on his face precisely as she feared it would be. As if she were a fraud, a liar, a stranger.

It was worse to know she was all three.

"Who are you?" he asked her, and she cast her gaze down, stung.

"You know who I am," she said quietly, and he shook his head.

"I know who I thought ye were," he said, frowning.

He stared down at her for a moment where she sat on the bed.

"Dumbledore never sent you," he said eventually.

She swallowed hard. "No."

"Then how did ye get there? What were ye doing in Hogwarts?"

She said nothing.

He exhaled raggedly.

"Are you a spy?" James asked, and she looked up, startled.

"What?"

"This. This marriage between us," he said slowly. "Were ye trying to… to—"

"To what?" she demanded, rising sharply to her feet. "You honestly think I was spying on you, James? That I saved your life just so I could betray you, is that it?"

"Dumbledore thinks it's possible Voldemort arranged this," James said, turning his gaze away from her. "He suspects that you are a spy for him."

Lily stared at him, stunned. "You really think that?"

He wouldn't look at her. She reached out, forcing his chin towards her, and he stepped backwards with a grimace.

"I dinna what to think," James said stonily, folding his arms over his chest. "I dinna wish to believe the worst of you, Lily, but I need you to tell me why you're here."

"I… I _can't_ ," she said, shifting away from him and starting to pace the floor. She'd known this was coming, and still, she hadn't prepared a defense.

What defense could she possibly have?

"James, listen to me, I'm not a _spy_ , I was never—I wasn't trying to hurt you, I didn't want to harm you or even… I never wanted _this_ ," she spat, gesturing to the ring on her finger. "I wasn't—I was just… James, you have to—" She broke off, choking. "You have to believe me, I wouldn't—I would never—"

The room was spinning, her mind heavy, chest flooded once again with panic; she felt somewhere between tears and vomit, knowing he would never believe the truth just as she knew there were no satisfactory lies. He obviously worshipped Dumbledore; what if he believed him over her? What was she going to do if he cast her out, or worse? What would she do without him? The reality of her situation crashed down on her with ruthless uncertainty and she reached out to steady herself on the post of her bed— _their_ bed.

"James, please—please, you have t-"

"Lily." He exhaled it out, sighing it, and came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her ribs and holding her tightly, his cheek resting beside hers as she inhaled sharply and gasped it out. "Breathe, Lily. In, out." He went through the motions with her, his chest filling and emptying against hers. "In," he said with her again, his fingers stretching out to capture hers, "and out."

Her breath steadied, his hand firm on her waist.

"Tell me the truth," he said quietly, his voice a low vibration in her ear. "I will listen, I promise ye. I swore it on my blood," he reminded her, "on my heart and my life, and I only need ye to be honest, Lily, and tell me the truth."

She shut her eyes, fearful still. "You won't believe me."

"I believed you once," he reminded her. "I can do it again, mo leannan, as many times as you wish me to."

She hated how much she didn't hate him. How patient he was, and how fair.

Maybe he would listen to her.

She inhaled shakily, sighing it out, and turned to face him.

"I'm not… from here," she said, and he nodded, having known as much already. "Not… not just from England. I'm… I got to Hogwarts by accident. Well, I was there with my fiancé," she said slowly, "and then I went through a door on the seventh floor, and then… you found me."

James blinked, startled. "I dinna understand. You… never left?"

She shook her head. "When I walked in through the door, it was Samhain in 1983," she said, watching his eyes widen, "and then when I walked out—" She waved a hand, gesturing between them. "This is why my magic is so different, James, and why I have a wand. And this is how I know you'll win," she told him, watching his hand rise helplessly to his mouth. "I know because it already _happened_ , James. You're going to take Hogwarts back, you and the Order, and I—"

"Your… betrothed. He's alive?" James asked, feeling behind him for the bed. "You… you are promised to another man. He is waiting for you?"

"Yes," Lily said slowly, wincing as James sat down with a heavy drop, obviously shaken. "It's why I… why I didn't want this to get, well, here." She sat down beside him, shaking her head. "I didn't see a way around it, and I certainly didn't think you'd believe me. I tried to go back, but—"

"The castle is magic. Even I know strange things happen there, though I wouldna imagined something this strange." James stared down at his hands, shaking his head. "The door wouldna reveal itself to you a second time?"

"No. You saw, it wasn't there." Her stomach twisted with anguish. "And I know, James," she rushed out, "that you have no reason to believe me, but at least let me help you. I can help you fight for your freedom, and—"

"Do you wish to go back?" he asked, not looking at her. "Is that what you want, Lily? To return to where ye belong?"

She swallowed hard. Hadn't she been asking herself precisely the same question for over a month?

"I don't know," she said slowly, which was obviously the wrong answer. His mouth tightened, and she hurried to reassure him. "I didn't think I could feel this way," she said, reaching out for him, "but I left a whole life behind, James. I have my parents, my sister. I have—"

"Your betrothed." He looked stricken with pain. "I dinna realize. I dinna know, I was—"

"Of course not, James. I couldn't tell you, but I—" She reached out for his hand, holding it to her lips; she kissed his knuckles, then uncurled his unwilling fingers, placing a kiss in the center of his palm. "I haven't been pretending with you, I swear. This, between us, it's real, James. I just… I already made promises, and now—"

Abruptly, he pulled his hand from her reach and turned to look at her.

"This is why ye wished to come to Hogwarts," he said flatly, and she blinked.

"James, no, I—"

"Perhaps ye wanted to help me," he conceded grudgingly. "But it was him you were trying to return to."

She couldn't deny it. Still, it felt wrong to let him remain in his thoughts. She reached out, taking hold of his chin to turn his face towards her.

"You're the one who said we should start over," she told him firmly. "You and I were supposed to have something that was just ours, just yours and mine. Weren't we?"

He wouldn't look at her. "I didna know the truth then."

"And I didn't know I could feel like this. For anyone. For you." He looked up, grudgingly meeting her eye, and she took his face in both hands. "Everything between us, James, it's been real. Yes, I was engaged to another man. But what I feel for him, and what I feel for you…" She swallowed. "It couldn't be more different."

James exhaled wearily. "But you love him."

Again, she couldn't deny it. "Yes."

He was silent for a few long moments.

He turned, pressing his lips to the inside of her wrist, and then he carefully removed her hands from his face, placing them gently in her lap.

"We will leave tomorrow for Hogwarts," he said carefully. "I will take you back to that room myself."

"James—"

He rose to his feet, shaking his head.

"Stay here tonight," he said. "I will sleep in my chambers."

Her chest heaved with difficulty. "James."

"I willna ask you to… to break your word again."

He turned to the door, about to leave, and Lily rose hastily, chasing after him.

She grabbed his arm, pulling him back. "James—"

He caught her around the waist, his forehead falling to hers. She could see the pain on his face, unmissable in the contortion of his features, but as she slid her nose along his, trying to comfort him, he skirted her kiss.

"I don't know what to do," she whispered to him, pleading. "I'm bound to you by blood, I know, but I'm not… I don't belong here, and—"

"Dinna worry about the blood oath," he said. "I release ye from it."

"James, it doesn't work like that," she said, shaking her head. "You can't just… release me, it's… it's blood magic, it's binding, and you could—"

"Die?" he asked drily. "I may die verra soon regardless. You dinna say I would survive, did ye? Only that the Order will win."

"I—"

It was true she didn't know for sure; he wasn't the one whose name or face had been remembered. Something could happen to him. Something could happen to him, and that was unbearable. Unutterable. Unthinkable.

"Mo leannan," she choked out, but he exhaled raggedly, shaking his head.

"Good night, Lily," he said, and then he tore himself away, departing from the room without another word.

* * *

The journey from Potter castle to Hogwarts was a difficult one. They were traveling through mud, trying desperately to cover the weapons Dumbledore had brought for the men who would be joining the Order from the other Highland clans, and this time, James had procured Lily a horse of her own. It was a journey made unquestionably worse for lack of his chest comforting her through the long hours on the road, and though her horse was docile enough, Lily felt more isolated than ever. James wasn't outwardly cold to her, but still—it was obvious that everyone knew something had come between them.

"You look unhappy," Remus noted, sidling up to her one evening when she sat alone before the fire. James had brought her food, nodding curtly before wandering over to see if the Prewett twins needed anything, but outside of that, everyone had mostly left her alone, save for Remus. "Something wrong?"

She watched James climb atop one of the caravans, pulling the protective lining taut.

"A few things," she murmured, and Remus gave her a sympathetic glance.

"Whatever it is, I'm sure the two of you will be back to normal soon," he told her, and she shook her head.

"Not this time." She tore her gaze away, staring down at her lap. "I think I've lost him this time."

Which was probably for the best, she didn't add.

It made her decision easier, at least— _if_ the door actually managed to appear for her this time.

"Ah, I don't think you've lost him." Remus shook his head, chuckling a little under his breath. "You didn't happen to see Mad-Eye today, did you?"

"No," Lily said, frowning. "Why?"

"Well, if you happen to notice he's sporting a bit of a bruise on his eye, know it's because James took a shot at him for saying you shouldn't be here. James said just this morning you were worth ten men, and that he'd prefer you by his side over anyone." He turned to look at her, half-smiling. "He loves you," he told her, shaking his head. "Whatever's come between you, believe me, James will either fight it head-on eventually, or it will pass."

Lily wondered which she preferred. After all, wasn't it much easier, knowing she could go back to the life she'd known? It _was_ easier, wasn't it, when she had only loved Severus?

She fought the briefest image of her last night with Severus, his face lit by his desk lamp as she waited for him to come to bed, and exhaled slowly.

"I suppose we'll see," she said, and Remus patted her shoulder, rising to his feet as they made to return their journey on the road.

* * *

Dumbledore's aid meant at least a hundred Scots now had weapons, crude firearms made with ballistic magic (from what Lily could tell, essentially pulverized blasting charms) along with swords and daggers designed to be wielded by the deftness of wizards. The cold metallic assemblage of weaponry was stowed covertly, disguised as tax revenue, as they approached the castle through the woods. The other clans had joined them there in the forest, all of them meeting up for a surreptitious strategic meeting which Lily observed from afar.

She'd been right that it was James who would lead them. Dumbledore was a stranger to them, wealthy and old and English, and the clans deferred to James, one of their own, who was clever and fierce and brave. Watching James like this, so obviously in his element, caused another creak of longing in Lily's chest, though she clung to the knowledge that even if she'd lost him with her betrayal of hesitation, she had given him something, at least. She'd given him the courage to lead an army. She'd proved him capable of declaring his birthright. She'd put him on the path to reclaiming his freedom. He, the man who was a stag, valued his freedom above all things, and if nothing else would come from them having had each other, then at least James and his countrymen would take back what was rightfully theirs.

When it came time to plot their descent on the castle, everyone looked to James to lead them; to inspire them, the way no other man could. History would have it wrong, Lily thought. They would praise Dumbledore for his money and his magic and his might, but it would be another man entirely who'd truly made the difference. Lily made her way through the crowd of the Order, standing beside Remus and Sirius as James took to his horse, wheeling it around to speak to his audience.

"Lord Voldemort thinks he can take our home, tame us," he called to them. "But we are as wild as this country; we are as unbroken as this land. We are no more born to be captive men than the trees are born to bend, or the highland hills to bow!"

He paused as the Order cheered, and for a moment, he seemed to be looking for something. He was scanning the crowd, and part of Lily's chest abruptly filled and burst, torn apart by the perilous mix of both optimism and longing.

"We have a right to rule ourselves," James shouted, and the crowd roared back in agreement. "By the sovereignty of the blood in our veins, this land is _ours_ ," he called to an uproarious shout of approval, "and in that, we are united. There are no titles between us. No lairds, no lords; we are all equals, and together, we are all—"

He broke off, spotting Sirius, Remus, and then, with pained deliberation, finding her.

"Rebels," he said, and locked eyes with her in the crowd.

It was an impassioned moment; James was gleaming with greatness, with fervor and fury, and when he looked at her, she realized she was crying at the sight of him. He was history itself, victory incarnate, and it was impossible not to take strength from him. He was a man born to lead a revolution, and she was as willing to follow him into battle as every Scot who stood breathless at her side.

She smiled through her tears, overcome with pride in him, and after a moment—after a helpless shake of his head—he jumped down from his horse, hair wild and eyes bright as he raced through the throngs of men to aim himself in her direction. The crowd cheered again, parting for him to make his way through, but he paid them no attention. He didn't let his gaze drop from hers until he had reached her, her attention fixed so completely on his oncoming form that she didn't notice Remus and Sirius fading into the background.

James held out his hands for hers and she took them without hesitation, unthinking.

"I dinna care who loved you first, Lily, or who will love ye last," he told her gruffly, taking her in his arms. "I will love you best, reubaltaich."

She shut her eyes, lips parting with a gasp as his mouth fell on hers, his kiss as familiar and as wild and full of freedom as ever. She could taste the adrenaline on his lips, pounding in his heart, and she coiled her fingers desperately in his shirt, refusing to let him go even as the men around him whooped their approval.

They parted briefly, his eyes falling gladly on hers. "Will ye fight at my side, reubaltaich?" he asked her, breathless with relief. "I wouldna have you anywhere else."

"James, if I don't stay close to you, someone's surely going to try to kill you," she said, and then laughed through her tears, letting him kiss her again. "But I won't let them," she whispered to him, and he pressed a kiss to her nose, her eyes, her forehead.

"So long as I have you, Lily," he said. "Mo leannan, my love, with you by my side, I canna fail."

She didn't bother to correct him. He had her, fully, for at least the rest of this day, and she sensed that even if she left his side, he would still have her— _all_ of her—in a way no one else ever would.

"Let's go take your country back," she said to him, and he smiled at her, hoisting his sword in the air.

"Reubaltaich!" he shouted to the crowd.

"Reubaltaich!" they shouted back, and the echoes of their voices rained down around them as James kissed her again, his lips ripe with the honeyed taste of victory.

* * *

Lily understood why James had been quick to believe she'd been sent into the castle by Dumbledore, and why Dumbledore had presumed her to be a spy; the old Englishman was far more sly than he seemed, overly fond of espionage, and advised James to take a furtive way in to keep Lord Voldemort's Death Eaters distracted.

"There's a tunnel," Lily recalled, blinking. Severus had mentioned it at least twice while they'd been on their initial tour of Hogsmeade. "It runs from somewhere in Hogsmeade into the castle."

James nodded his agreement. "They willna refuse us," he said firmly, glancing at Sirius. "They will let us in. Do you know where the entry is?" he asked her.

His glance at her was attentive again, steady with his iron certainty and unshakeable faith in her, but she faltered, unsure how to explain it had been a sweets shop in 1983.

"It's nearest to the castle," she said, and James nodded, sending Sirius and Remus off with a gesture. "What about you?" she asked him, and he shook his head.

"Us," he corrected her, and she frowned.

"But what am I—"

"You said you wouldna hesitate to stand at my side, did ye not?" James asked, grinning at her. "It's your lucky day, reubaltaich. That's precisely what you'll be doing."

"But," she began, and faltered. "But I can hardly wield a sword. _Or_ a gun, for that matter—"

"Ye'll not have to, mo leannan," he said, taking her face between his palms and kissing her forehead gruffly. "Ye've got that magic stick of yours, do ye not? And me," he promised, pressing his forehead to hers. "Ye'll have me, Lily, and I willna let any harm come to ye."

She believed him, strange as that was—which was why, she supposed, she found herself doing the most insane thing she could possibly fathom: agreeing to face Lord Voldemort.

She found she wasn't afraid; not even remotely.

She didn't need to be.

"Will you have my back?" she asked him, and he smiled.

"Aye, and your front," he murmured to her lips, "and your side—" A kiss to her cheek, brushing down to her neck. "And your—"

"Jamie," Mad-Eye growled. "Surely there's a better time for this?"

He winked at her, shameless, and she laughed, lacing her fingers in his and forging boldly ahead.

* * *

"My husband has earned his place here," Lily said loudly, glaring at the Death Eaters who surrounded them. As she spoke, she knew that Remus, Sirius, and Mad-Eye were leading the other clans of the Order through the tunnel to break into the castle en masse; she and James only had to keep Voldemort distracted for perhaps twenty minutes. "You cannot keep him from his right to participate in the ruling of the Highlands. This castle—"

"Let me stop you there," Lord Voldemort said, eyeing her with palpable annoyance. Beside him, Greyback licked his claws, not taking his eyes from hers. "This castle is mine, Lady Potter, by order of His Majesty, and you should be quite grateful for my assistance. I recommend you both turn and go back to your estate," he added to James, "unless you'd like to be punished anew for your wife's inability to hold her tongue."

"Dinna speak to her that way," James warned, one hand falling on the hilt of his sword. "She speaks on my behalf, and she doesna speak false. This land isna yours to rule, Your Lordship," he said, sparing pointed traces of mockery at the title, "and ye canna keep your interests here for long."

"My god, this is exhausting," Lord Voldemort declared, falling back in his chair with a weary sigh. "Fenrir, would you take care of this, please? Just…" He waved a hand. "I don't know, put them somewhere, eat them, do whatever you like—"

"You can't be serious," Lily said, trying not to flinch as Greyback unfurled a long claw and smiled; even James looked unnerved at the prospect, stiffening slightly at her side. "You can't intentionally set a creature on a wizard, that's _illegal_ —"

"Oh _drat_ ," Lord Voldemort drawled. Beside him, his Death Eaters were losing interest, clearly letting their attention wander at the prospect of James and Lily being dispatched. "Add it to my list of unprovable offenses, Greyback, when you're done with your present instructions—"

This wasn't going to work. It wouldn't take twenty minutes for them to die; she had to think of something else, and quickly.

"How about a duel?" Lily asked suddenly, and James' hand shot out to hold her back, but she'd already stepped forward, ready this time when Lord Voldemort's ice-blue eyes shot to the wand she slid down from her sleeve. "Just try me. If nothing else, a bit of sport for your noble court," she said, gesturing around to the jeering Death Eaters. "Unless you're afraid?" she mocked, and behind her, she was certain—had memorized him well enough by now to know—James had cracked that crooked, arrogant smile, trusting even her most reckless of ideas.

Under other circumstances, now would have been time to panic. Under most circumstances, in fact, she _would_ have panicked, but not with James here.

With James at her side, she felt madly certain there was nothing to fear.

"Please," Voldemort said, sweeping a hand, but she was ready. His magic, in this time—with only limited advancement and training and without the refinement of a wand—would only manage to be elementary; a crude form of _Avada Kedavra_ without something to channel its effects. She flung a stunning spell at him, just missing something that brushed her ankle to bring her a shudder of torment; probably a primitive form of _Crucio,_ she guessed, gritting her teeth through a bodily ricochet of pain.

He was better than she expected, even with her advantage. Still, she didn't need to beat him; she needed to keep him distracted, and more importantly, she needed to disarm his guards and his men. She glanced around, trying to think of the best way to manage it, and aimed a blasting curse at the ceiling, sending part of it crashing down overhead.

"Lily," came James' growl, thrusting a hand up to pause a fallen slab of stone from landing on her, "be _careful_ , ye reckless little—"

"Get over here," she hissed to him, grabbing his hand and tucking him behind her as she cast a charm to slow the rubble over her head, watching Lord Voldemort manage to do the same with only the magic that expelled from his palms. "I'm—I'm just trying to—"

"I know what you're doing, mo leannan, and you're making a verra fine mess," James told her, "but still, ye need to watch your head, or who will do the healing?"

She shoved him back to avoid another spell from Lord Voldemort, and then, from the courtyard, she heard the sounds of men and shouting; signs the barricades of the castle had been breached by the rest of the clans.

Emboldened, she threw another blasting curse, this time caving in the exit the Death Eaters were using to try to escape. "We have to make sure to get Lord Voldemort," she said to James, panting as she tried to climb over the piles of stone. "Do you see him?"

James' arms came around her waist, tugging her back just as a spear of magic sliced at where she'd been.

"Found him," he said in her ear, both of them choking on the rise of dust from the impact of the castle crumbling.

"Who are you?" demanded Lord Voldemort, appearing from within a thick cloud of smoke as bits of the ceiling continued to rain down, the rebels making their way inside with the heady smell of gunfire to apprehend the Death Eaters. "You," he flung at Lily, "you're not one of Dumbledore's, you must be—"

He stopped, blinking.

"The seventh floor," he said slowly, swatting away her stunning spell like it was nothing more than a fly. "The room—you found it, didn't you?"

She didn't bother registering his remark.

"I'm a fucking rebel, Your Lordship," she assured him, "and you may as well have dug your grave the day you tried to kill me."

She threw another stunning spell but was forced to duck as Lord Voldemort sent a crude ball of magic her way; surely a killing curse. Curses were faintly colored, just as they were when cast with a wand, and she suspected she knew what he was doing with that one.

"You're good," came Lord Voldemort's voice, "but you can't outlast me."

"Oh, is that so?" Lily said, feeling a telling vacancy behind her.

 _Will you have my back, James?_

 _Aye, and your front, too—_

"Watch me, Your Lordship," Lily snarled.

She threw another stunning spell, catching the tell-tale flash of motion behind Lord Voldemort as he dodged it again, flinging another curse at her. She hurled a blasting curse his way, upending the floor between them to root him in place as he stepped towards her, and then caught a glimpse of exactly what she'd been waiting for.

"NOW, JAMES!"

Lord Voldemort cried out as a sword flashed amid the rubble and smoke, burying itself in the Baron's back. He staggered forward, choking, and blood dribbled down from the corners of his lips as he dragged his gaze up to Lily, coughing.

No, not coughing.

 _Laughing_.

"I'll be back," Lord Voldemort gargled up, and she shoved him to his knees, the extension of James' sword from his sternum holding him upright amid the shards of stone. "You'll see, just watch and—"

She aimed her wand. "That's enough from you," she said flatly, and felt James' hand steadying her at her elbow as she cast a final spell, stunning Lord Voldemort to silence and leaving him to bleed out on the floor of the castle he'd stolen.

Then she turned with exhaustion and relief, seeking the broadness of James' chest.

"Lily," she heard him say in her ear. "Lily, we have to get out of here—"

She nodded hazily, a little drained from the effort of duelling, and without hesitation, James scooped her up and lifted her from the ground, carrying her over the sharpness of jagged wood and stone. He hurried her away from the fighting for what seemed like miles, eventually kicking down a door to duck into the room she was ironically certain would one day be the potions dungeon where Severus had been working the day she'd disappeared.

James set her down slowly, placing her with grave care atop the surface of the wooden table.

"Are ye hurt at all?" he asked worriedly, scanning her for injury. He tested her arms, her wrists, checking over her shoulders; her dress had been torn and she had some cuts she'd need to heal. She watched his brow furrow, his entire focus on her, and felt a stirring of something she wished she'd known sooner.

But once she knew, she dragged his mouth to hers, unwilling to wait. He gasped with surprise, the salt of sweat and hard-fought triumph mixing with desperation on the tips of their tongues. He held her without reservation; he kissed her with fervor, with ardor, and with the sanctity of lifetimes; with the conviction of being bound to her, wholly and completely, with his breath between her lips.

She pulled him into her, fitting his hips between her legs as she kissed him deeply, without hesitation. She licked the ash from his mouth, eagerly permitting his touch to kindle the adrenaline already sparking through her unsteady limbs, and his hand came down to rest over her racing pulse, tearing them brusquely apart.

"It isna easy, resisting you," James managed hoarsely, half-laughing at himself, "but still, Lily, are ye sure—"

"I want you," she said, bunching up the material of his kilt with all the foregone patience she felt certain she'd never have to waste again. "James," she whispered, "I shouldn't have—I should have told you, I should have told you every day that we weren't speaking that I wanted you, and—"

He shuddered as her hand closed around his cock; it seemed fighting had directed the majority of his blood helpfully elsewhere. "Mo leannan," he choked out, "if you dinna plan to stay, I dinna think I can bear it, I canna think t-"

He broke off as she brought his hand to the wet slit of her cunt, guiding his fingers against her. She was certain that if she'd been bare before him now, he would have seen how much her cunt glistened for him, even in the ruddiness of the dungeon's light. She felt like a randy teenager again, diminished to traces of her younger self, even as she saw well into the future, too.

She marveled at how temporally misplaced she always was with James; never quite rooted in any time or another. Not 1983, not 1633, not in any time or place she'd ever been before or would ever be, but just… with him.

Just him.

"Don't refuse me, James," she rasped, moving his hand to stroke herself with his fingers. "You know how pointless it is; you know I'll only—"

He cut her off with a ravenous kiss, his hands dropping to her bodice.

"Can ye fix it," he said, gesturing down, "if I—"

"Rip it," she whispered, and he shuddered hard, his cock leaping against her thigh as he tore open the front of her dress.

He dropped his head, inhaling the scent of her, and brushed his lips to the swells of her breasts.

"Lily, I swear ye'll be the death of me," he told her, shivering as he pushed himself inside her and they both cried out in unison; in harmony; in satisfaction, at long last.

* * *

This time, the door was there.

She and James stood still, staring at it.

"What is he like?" James asked, and Lily glanced at him. "Your betrothed."

"Not like you," she said, turning to face him, and he chuckled. "He's a scholar. Very serious."

"Ah," James said sagely, nodding. "Less likely to get injured, then."

"Yes, much." She chewed her lip, eyeing the outline of the door again. "But it was never just him. It's my mother, too, my father, my sister—"

"Of course." James pressed his lips to the top of her head, brushing a tender kiss. "I dinna ken how it happened, reubaltaich, but if this is as much as I've been given—"

He shook his head, taking her fully in his arms.

"I took a vow," he said, "to love you. And I will." He kissed her forehead. "Whatever you choose, mo leannan," he murmured to her, "and wherever ye go, I will die with your name on my lips."

She closed her eyes, exhaling, and tilted her chin up, letting his kiss float down to her mouth, blessing her with certainty.

"I'd better stay then," she whispered, "or else that will surely happen sooner than you'd like."

He froze, then took a step back, looking down at her. "Lily, are you—"

"Am I sure? Yes," she told him, reaching up to wind her arms around his neck. "Thank you for giving me the freedom to choose, but I promise you, I'm sure—about this, and about you, James, I'm sure."

She stood up on her toes, waiting for the thrill of his lips meeting hers, and he didn't disappoint. His kiss was warm and comforting, alive with everything that was to come, and she pulled him close to rest their beating hearts against each other, letting their rhythms intertwine.

"Mo leannan," she whispered to him. "My rebel laird."

He smiled down at her. "My love," he said, and she smiled slowly in return, basking in the promise of all that was yet to be as she left the door on the seventh floor behind her.

* * *

Halloween was Severus' least favorite holiday.

Primarily because his fiancée had disappeared without a trace the year prior, and just days before their wedding. There'd been no sign of her; local aurors only insisted she must have run away, though Severus doubted it. Her clothes were still there, untouched, as if she'd simply vanished into thin air.

At least Lily's disappearance meant Severus was free to pursue his academic career at Hogwarts now, which was something she would have found mundane, to say the least. Potions had always been Severus' first love, and Lily had never quite understood that. She'd always been itching for something, nothing either of them could identify or explain, and he had never found himself properly able to give it to her.

Since Hogwarts had been reopened as a research facility, though, Severus found Samhain an unbearably touristy holiday, during which he could get little work done. It was always crowded, most of the castle open for tours, and it was exhausting. He rubbed his temple, shaking his head, and made his way up the stairs.

Luckily the seventh floor was always vacant. He'd gone up there several times after Lily had insisted there had been a room there, but he'd been right. She must have been mistaken. There was nothing there, nothing there at all, and this time was no diff-

He stopped, eyeing an ornate wooden door just as the handle turned, someone stepping out at the precise moment his feet touched the landing.

"Hello?" Severus said, and the black-haired man in a strange costume turned, eyeing him.

Severus blinked, stunned.

The door had never been there before.

Had it?

He shook himself.

Clearly he was starting to hallucinate.

"Where am I?" the man asked. English, not Scottish, though his accent was difficult to place.

"Hogwarts," Severus said slowly, and the man frowned.

He looked familiar, though Severus couldn't quite place it. He thought of a portrait on the bottom floor, but that couldn't have been it. Perhaps the man was some sort of actor hired for the evening's 'traditional' Hallow's Eve feast (which was hardly traditional so much as it was overpriced and ghastly).

"What day is it?" the man asked.

"31 October," Severus said, and then, in the interest of accuracy, "1984."

The man blinked.

Blinked again.

"Ah, Samhain, I see," he said, and settled into resolution, a slow smile spreading across his lips. "Yes, of course. I was lost for a very long time, I'm afraid."

"Are you looking for the feast?" Severus asked. He had no time for this, of course, but it seemed rude not to ask. Lily had always told him he was too invested in his own little world; perhaps that was why she'd left him, in the end. He made a note to himself to simply take this particular day off next year. "Do you need help finding…" He trailed off, eyeing the man's dingy costume. "Wherever it is you're going?"

The man, whoever he was, looked positively delighted.

"No, actually," he said. "I think I'm precisely where I need to be."

* * *

 _ **a/n:**_ _Hope you had fun! I'll be back soon with a dramione for Chmura's birthday. I do have some other things in the queue, but tbd on how long they'll take. Reminder that my new book,_ _ **Lovely Tangled Vices**_ _, is now available to you, should you wish to have it. Thanks for celebrating Halloween with me!_


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